𝕮𝖊𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖞 𝖋𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗 .𖥔 ݁ ˖. Chapter One
𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐍, a nineteen year old boy who suffered with self harming, and drug addiction, meets the new student—𝐘/𝐍 𝐋/𝐍, but what he didn't expect was that, Y/N would eventually turn his life around.
Tags: Underage drinking, Self Harming, Trans-friendly fic, Drugs and Substance abuse, Bite of '83 never happened, Graphic Themes, No smut(unless making out and biting each other's neck counts), Male Reader, Bisexual Michael Afton, Slow Burn ig?
Ao3 available here!
“WE'RE MOVING TO UTAH?” A tinge of animosity coated each and every word that came out of my mouth. It was summer, and the heatwave was already making my mood sour, and the whole ordeal about moving wasn't helping the overwhelming feelings surging through my body. My mom merely nodded, she attempted to speak, but only a small sigh bailed out of her mouth. I’ve moved city's twice; once when I was in Kindergarten, we moved to South Carolina after mom finally pulled her shit and decided to divorce our couch-bound, drunken excuse for a dad. The second time was when I was in seventh grade, mom had a win-win job offer in Oregon, which now leads me here. For five years, I’ve been living peacefully in Oregon, Seaside. It's not exactly the safest place to live in especially when it's the rainy season, but the sea makes up for it.
So, imagine the disappointment that's written on my face the moment my mom dumped the news on me without aftercare at all. “Mom, we had this ‘talk’ already, we’re not moving to Utah,” I defensively stammered, my grip on the microwave handle tightened as I slammed it open with force, causing it to tumble slightly. “I'm not doing this shit with you, Y/N. Again.”
The silence pierced the air for a short while. “But, this isn't fair. I’ve already made my own friends here, what happened back then was just exaggerating bullshit!"
"Look, mom. This town is peaceful, I don't care if a group of fucked up assholes harassed the shit out of me during school, my friends are here to back me the fuck up, if they trynna beat me up again I could just-”
"That's the thing, Y/N. We moved to this town for your safety and my own, I know you're spewing out comforting words to ease my marbles. But if I found out my child’s being harassed on a daily basis like it's already a normal thing to happen, I'm gonna take action. And if that concludes us moving somewhere else and leaving this behind, then I will do it.”
I watched the frustration gnaw at my mother's face, and hear a slight tremble in her voice, and for a short while—I was looking at a mother who would sacrifice everything just for the sake of her own child’s safety. She looks pissed and worried, and I'm slowly coming to understand it. But still, I wasn't ready to let go of the memories I had with my folks here. It is true, while the bullying and the harassing took a shit toll on my mental health, I never made it a big deal. Those people were just insecure, thinking fear would make them dominant to others, my friends were always there backing my sorry ass up whenever I stumbled down, and hearing the fact that I need to leave them behind? It made my heart throb with anxiety, I fear that my friends will be the next target.
“You're a child, Y/N. Not a punching bag, do me a favor and think of your well-being for once, yeah?”
A groan slipped out of my me, I grabbed the warm pizza and started shoving it into my mouth, my movements weren't serene nor calm. I was purposely bumping on things and making a scene in the kitchen. “Don't give me that attitude, young man. Go to your room and start packing."
-
One thing’s for certain, God definitely detest my being. Because if He doesn't then why should I have to suffer like this? I had my food on my hand and a glass full of orange juice, sitting on my desk as I fumbled the zipper of my duffle bag. It was barely even past 9 O’clock yet I'm already yawning my ass off. Setting all this aside, I should probably ring their phone's, I don't have any intention to just disappear on ‘em all of the sudden, I trotted my way on the edge of the bed, the telephone sitting idly on my bedside table next to those awfully, iridescent lamp and a few shell knick knacks. The first person I wanted to talk to was Anya, out of six of them—she’s by far the most understandable and smartest person I’ve talked to, I'm pretty sure she'll be able to handle telling everyone about my situation.
I nervously started punching each button, and suddenly, nausea started grumbling in my stomach the moment a small ‘beep’ started echoing through the other side of the phone, I was already planning how I’ll explain. But I'm pretty sure the moment I hear her voice I’ll whimper away in a small corner. Eventually, someone picked up. “Hello?" There she was, her melodious soprano voice ringing in the telephone, for a short moment I feel relieved, and then a sudden weave of sadness shot me. "Anya? Hey, I thought you’re busy developing pictures or something.” An awkward laugh bellowed out of my mouth, Anya laughed along.
"Nah, it's closed. Frehley's on a break so no one's running the shop, I gotta wait for a while." Anya melodramatically sighed. "I should've convinced dad to let me get my own photo developer shop or whatever, I can get great money out of that.”
"Yeah, but isn't it expensive? It's good for business but it feels like you lose a huge portion of money." I argued. Anya could only hum, almost as if trying to find a loophole to prove her point. “Or I could charge them about $25 dollars? If I multiply that to a whole month I’d get $750. And if I multiply it to a year, I’d get $9,125. Minus the expenses with the items and rent for the shop, sounds like a great deal?”
Did her family raise an idiot? I wanted to go there and blow a punch to her face. “Rent costs like $1,000 a month, darl." A disappointed silence welled in the air for a while before Anya cursed out. “Fuck."
Right, like I said, Anya is by far the most understanding and smartest person in the group, I forgot to add ‘Emotionally’, in terms of her little entrepreneurship plan, she kinda lacks common knowledge in that department. But still, she's understanding. This little banter we had somehow lifted my soul. Surprisingly, Anya’s naiveness can be quite funny, that's definitely her best trait.
“I'm moving to Utah on Saturday." I spurred out, judging by the silence, I can already make out the face that Anya’s making behind the phone. “She wasn't convinced?"
“Fuck no. I already said I'm fine, she's just a bit of a lunatic sometimes."
“Y/N, I'm gonna be forward with you, but it's for your best too. No matter how much you try to prove the fact that it doesn't bother you, it bothers all of us." Anya heaved, it sounded more like she's disappointed with me rather than my mom. “I know, but like I told you, I'm fine. If I leave, they'll definitely go after all of you guys.” I reasoned out.
"Y/N, c’mon man. Please, just leave. You already did us so much favor, what about you? Don't you think it's a little unfair on your end?” Anya asked, for some odd reason, my mouth began to dry out, and instead of forming an argument, I could only sigh. "See, that's what I thought. Now go, I’ll tell the others, and I'm sure as fuck they'll understand. Go start over somewhere. I'm one call away,Y/N. And we all care for you, as much as you cared for us."
The call ended abruptly, and I was left feeling a hollow emptiness in my stomach. My eyes followed the duffle bag, placed on the center of my room, semi-filled with clothes and other essentials. My wardrobe was an absolute mess, my hand reached to run a finger on my temples, and then I started packing once again. Goodbye Oregon, I suppose.
-
I stared outside the car window, the sweet wind of the seaside kissed my cheeks goodbye. I held on tightly to my walkman as I tried to focus on the song blowing in my headset—but it wasn't helping, because I was listening to Jeff Buckley’s song named Last Goodbye. As melodramatic as that sounded, Jeff Buckley's songs just fuels such a sad, yet comforting feeling ever known to humankind. For the whole car ride, I could only feel my own heart dropping into the pits of my stomach, and the urge to cry stuck in the back of my throat. All I can remember was my friends, the memories I had, the ocean. I will miss the soft white sand, the way the sunlight greets me with a precise feeling that only Oregon could ever make me feel. Here I am, stuck in the notion of denial, stuck in the fact that I'm leaving a core memory of me behind.
“Y/N, you ought to remember, change will always be inevitable." My mom spoke out of the blue as she steered the wheel. “Maybe Utah will give you a better start."
“But that's different, I can't just replace the excitement and joy I felt living in this city!" I frustratingly grumbled. And my mom could only nod in pity. “I understand, sweetheart. But know it's for the better, I’m sure you’ll make great memories in Utah." I did my best not to stifle a hiccup. “I don't want to leave everyone behind."
I vaguely remember sniffling a little and then falling into a deep sleep. The songs beaming in my ears paired with the exhaustion that my body felt—I remember dreaming the first time I went to Oregon, I was in seventh grade, completely clueless and introverted, yet I strived to meet others and create a new blossoming friendship. I remember the first time I entered the local high school down the streets and eventually getting along with the outcasts, as well as the disadvantages that come with being friends with them. But yet, I didn't have the heart to leave them be, knowing that all of them were all facing discrimination against other arrogant people. It was such a warm memory.
By the time mom and I arrived at the airport station—it was almost evening. I tried my best to relax on my seat, looking at the small window sitting next to me; greeted by darkness and flickering lights. I'm leaving, and it felt heavy. I distracted myself, reading out books, listening to music, taking small naps, but it felt longer with each passing minute.
It was 12 O’clock when we arrived at the Utah station. I helped my mom find our stack of bags, I can see how worn out she looked. Sunken dark circles underneath her eyes, chapped lips, and droopy eyelids. I offered to do the rest of the work, and gladly she allowed me. It was a good thing that my aunt lives in the same state as me and my mom's, if it wasn't, we’d have a hard time trying to travel to where we ought to live. My ass felt numb from all the sitting that I did, and my limbs felt so tired even though all I did was to just sit. My auntie indulged me into small stories of how her and my mom used to act, all while staying focused on the road, I would occasionally stifle out a laugh, sometimes mom would join in and both of them would be either arguing or bantering, but even so, it was enough to make me happy.
Auntie parked her car in the garage, swiftly moving out to open up the trunk to help my mom settle bags into our house a few blocks away, I would've helped both of them, but my auntie insisted that I crash on her couch because in her defense, my eyes were already on the verge of closing. And so I went ahead and entered my aunt's house, greeted by a friendly orange cat and small tuxedo cat who were carefully nudging my legs and smelling my socks as if trying to memorize my scent. Supposedly, I was going to give them a few pets, but the whole traveling fiasco had taken a toll on my energy, and I ended up collapsing on the couch not so long after.
-
I was greeted by the smell of eggs and bacon, and the sound of something sizzling in the kitchen. I regained my consciousness, and when I cautiously sat up, I realized that a blanket was carefully draped on me, as I remembered, I don't think I grabbed a blanket before I crashed, so it's either my mom decided to take the courtesy of wrapping me in a warm bundle, or my auntie did it.
“Y/N, you're up. Your mom’s in your new house, rearranging everything. You should eat first before going. C’mon, I made you breakfast; Eggs, bacon, toasties and some mashed potatoes." Auntie rang, as she turned the stove off and diligently tended to the dining table, I gave a nod and sat on the empty seat.
“Thanks, aunt Celia.” I purred, grabbing my spoon and fork as I started to dig in, my aunt could only hum in reply as she started to eat her breakfast too. My heart still aches, but I don't feel nervous. Utah, Hurricane is somewhat growing a good reputation to me, maybe mom was right on her part.
I eventually had to bid goodbye to my aunt, as I made my way down the sidewalk, familiarizing the street I'm in. When I got home, I noticed the house looked more comfortable rather than an empty, plain space of nothingness. My mom was snoozing on the couch, I hummed. Adjusting her sleeping stature as well as the blanket. The heatwave should be hot in Oregon, the temperature in Utah was much colder than expected. And suddenly, I missed the sweat sticking on my skin once again. I want to see the ocean.
