Michael had a problem. Couldn't go eight hours without popping a pill. Those closest to him knew, but none of them dared to say anything about it to his face. The rest of the people around him didn't know. Michael was good at acting like everything was okay. At least when he had his pills.

He never meant for you to find out that he was using. You weren't... You didn't need to know how much of a pathetic fuck-up he was. You didn't need to know about the voices in his head that got so loud he needed to act like a goddamn junkie to get rid of them.

But you had. You were in his room when you found them. He'd been careless. Hidden them poorly and then left the room, forgetting about his bottle that was behind the bathroom mirror. You had seemed off for the rest of the time you were over there, but you wouldn't tell him what was wrong.

He went to take them later that day and found that they were gone. All of his pills. Not just that bottle. He checked all of his hiding places, and he had none left. He knew it was you. He was so blinded by rage that when you came into his room, he grabbed you by the front of your hoodie and shook you.

"Where the fuck are my pills?! Where are they?" He roared. Michael was a big guy. He could be intimidating when he was angry.

Michael threw you to the ground, his hand rearing back. The pure fear in your eyes made him freeze. It was like a bucket of ice water. What was he doing. "...Honey." He whispered. "Oh, God."