Graffiti Girl // Michael Clifford

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*TRIGGER WARNING* 

PLEASE, if you may be triggered by anything, i've written where the triggering section starts and when it ends, so please just skip that part if you think you can't handle it. I'll put a summary at the bottom so you can know what happens, or go check there if you want to see if it is something you can handle. I'm always here, loves. XX

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I've been laying in bed, probably thinking too much, oh, oh.

Sorry I'm not sorry for the times I don't reply, you know the reason why.

Maybe you shouldn't come back. Maybe you shouldn't come back to me. Tired of being so sad. Tired of getting so mad, baby. Stop right now! You'll only let me down, oh, oh. Maybe you shouldn't come back. Maybe you shouldn't come back to me.

Trying not to forget. Should be easier than this oh, oh. And all the birthdays you've missed, I was only a kid oh, oh. 

«Shouldn't Come Back» Demi Lovato**

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"Do you think it's easier?" I ask in the silence of the room.

Evan and Ember showed up, and after a few hours, they convinced everyone to get out and just go eat dinner at the Macca's down the street. I told them I'd see them tomorrow. Michael and R put up a bit more of a fit about going to the motel for a night, instead of being glued to my side. Ashton stepped in and said he'd take tonight. I didn't appreciate them thinking I had to be babysat, but it made them feel better, so I'd deal with it.

Now, the sun has set below the horizon out the large window panes, leaving the room peacefully shaded. I'm wrapped up in a cozy blanket Em brought me, as well as a fluffy pillow that I very much appreciate. With the crisp cold of the air conditioning blasting throughout this entire building, it feels oddly easy to take a deep breath, which would be a weird thing to take notice of if I didn't find it a simple task most days of my life. Yet here, sitting miles away from my troubles, hooked up to machines, wrapped in warmth and the smell of iodoform, letting my mind wander isn't my worst nightmare.

"What?" Ashton asks, looking up from his phone as he sits on the windowsill.

"Do you think it's easier?" My voice comes out breathy and calm.

"Do I think what's easier?"

"Just not having a dad at all."

He looks momentarily stunned, before he pulls himself back together, clearing his throat and walking to sit on the chair by my bedside.

"As opposed to having one that made you love him and put up with his shit," I continue.

"I don't know," he muses, his mind deep in thought.

"Your dad left when you were little, right? Like you never really got to know him?" He nodded slowly, so I went on, "So, do you think it was easier that way? Not having him in your life at all rather than having him but not being who you need him to be."

"I think they both suck, quite honestly," he huffs and I laugh a little, making the corners of his mouth turn up. "The grass is always greener on the other side, but thinking about how much I hate a man I never knew, I mean—how much would I hate him if he decided to stick around and just cause more problems?" He gulped. "I think it sucks to have a dad that sucks at being a dad."

I look up at the foam-like tiles of the dropped ceiling, intently tracing their holes with my eyes.

"How did you deal with it? I mean, you seem to have turned out pretty great. How'd you do it?"