I'm Not Fine At All 》Michael Clifford

Chapter Sixteen

Riley's POV:

I sat on the sofa, watching old reruns of SpongeBob SquarePants, when I head the door open. I turned around and saw him stumble inside, slamming the door shut behind him, then grunting out a low 'ow' as he rubbed his temple. I smiled, happy that he was finally home.

"Hey, how was your day?" I asked cheerfully. He shot me an angry glare, and my smile immediately dropped, as did my stomach. "What's wrong?"

"I've got a massive headache, and you keep on yelling at me, that's what's wrong!" His words were slurred, and I could obviously tell that he was drunk.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." I replied in a quieter voice.

"Dang it girl, I said to quit shouting!" He said as he walked past me and into the kitchen. I stood there for a moment, before grabbing my empty water glass and following him. He had his hands in front of him gripping the counter, and his head was hanging with his eyes closed.

When I tried to walk past him to get to the sink, he was unaware of me being right behind him. His whole body jerked and he knocked into me, causing me to lose my grip on the glass in my hands. It fell to the floor and shattered with a loud crashing sound, and he turned to me with a look of fury in his eyes.

"Why were you behind me?" He demanded.

"I... I... I'm so sorry, I just wanted to get to the sink so that I could wash my cup but-" before I could finish, there was a hand across my face, and I was knocked off balance. I fell toward the broken glass, and out of habit, put my hands out to catch myself. My hands made contact with the razor sharp peices, and blood immediately started to flow. The pain was unreal, and the blood was coming quickly. Tears stung my eyes, as I looked up at him. He had a smirk on his lips, and turned to walk - well, stumble drunkly - to his room. I could just catch the flash of red hair as he turned the corner around the kitchen door and dissappeared.

I sat up with a jolt, my heart racing and my breath coming out in short, fast pants. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I felt cold, even though I was in Australia, and even though it was the middle of the summer here. It was all so real. I rubbed my face with my hands as my breathing evened out, but my heart was still pounding. I searched my head for answers, for thoughts. But only one thing could form, and that was a question.

Why would I see Michael hurting me?

I looked at the clock on my dresser, and saw that it was two thirty in the morning. I wasn't used to the different timezones, this being my first night in Australia. I decided to blame the dream on jetlag, and try to forget about it. I silently slipped out of bed, and left my room. Scary dreams or not, I needed some fresh air. I walked past Michael's room, and on down to where he showed me the sliding glass door to the upstairs balcony. Quietly as I could, I opened the door and stepped out into the warm night air, and closed it behind me. I took a deep breath and walked over to the railing, and leaned my elbows up against it.

The stars were different here, but still beautiful. I could see more of them than when I was in the city. They shone bright up in the sky, and I couldn't help but smile. I'd always loved the night sky. I closed my eyes and kept my face turned toward the sky, taking in the small breeze that blew up on the balcony.

"Timezones, huh? They suck, don't they?" I jumped a little at his words, but was immediately calm when I recognised his smooth voice.

"By far the only bad part about moving to Australia." I replied quietly. That and the crazy dreams. He stood a little ways down the railing, leaned up with his back against it. I didn't look right at him, but I could see him in the corner of my eye looking up at the stars. Then, he looked down at me. His smile turned to a look of confusion, as his eyebrows knitted together.

"Riley, have you been crying?" I looked up at him and put on my best surprised expression.

"No, why?" He shook his head.

"Okay, spill it Riley." How did he manage to always see through my fake faces? I shook my head.

"It was just a dream, nothing to worry about." I replied.

"It's always something to worry about if you've been crying over it. What happened?" I just shook my head slowly again and looked down. My smile was long gone, and I could feel my nose starting to get runny again. Michael stepped closer to me and put an arm over my shoulder, but me and my stupid, paranoid self, I shuddered and shrugged his arm off without even thinking about it. He stood up straight and folded his arms, giving me a look of seriousness. "Riley." He said sternly stepping toward me, but I backed away and closed my eyes.

"Please don't hit me," I whimpered pathetically, and I heard him stop.

"It was about me, wasn't it?" He asked after a few minutes. "You had a dream that I hit you?" I looked up at him through teary eyes, but didn't say anything. That was all he needed though, before he pulled me into his inescapable embrace. "Oh, Riley, you know I would never, ever do that. Never in a million year would I ever hit you." He combed my hair with his fingers and I let my arms slowly wrap around him as I relaxed and calmed down. I realized how ridiculous I was being, thinking that he would ever try to hurt me like that.

"It was just like what happened the first time my dad ever hit me after he came home drunk. Only, this time, I saw you. I don't know why I saw you, but it felt so real. It's like I could feel the sting in my cheek." I sobbed quietly into his shoulder. "I was so afraid." I whispered like a little child. He kissed the top of my head, then rested his chin on the same spot.

"I'll never let anything like that happen. I promise." I could feel myself getting tired, crying always wore me out. I took a deep breath and sighed into his chest, and felt my eyes drooping. Before I knew it, he lifted me up into his arms, one supporting my legs under my knees, and the other around my neck and shoulders. He carried me back inside and down the hall, but he stooped in front of his bedroom door. He looked down at my door, then at me, and back at his own door. I lifted my head off of his chest and looked at his eyes.

"Michael," He looked back down at me. "Could I stay with you?" He smiled, and without a word opened his bedroom door and carried me over to the bed. He layed me down and crawled up next to me, then pulled the blankets over the both of us, and wrapped his arms around my waist. I scooted as close to him as physically possible, and tangled our legs together as I burried my face in his neck.

The last thing I remembered, was his lips against my forehead and his sweet voice whispering the words, "I love you to the moon."