Why, Mikey?

Past-Midnight Thoughts

Michael thought moving to Los Santos would put his worries far, far behind him. North Yankton would fade away, everything he had done, everyone he knew would all go away.
 
He was doing his duty to his family. He wanted to be there to watch his kids grow up, and to support them, but in trying to be a good father, he had turned them into entitled monsters. His kids made him hate his life.
 
And then he got back into playing his same old game. Old game, new players. Maybe it was selfish of him...
 
"You forget a million things everyday, pal, make sure this is one of them."

Michael cursed himself for uttering that phrase at Vangelico. It could've saved him so much bullshit if he had just kept his mouth shut and run. And then Trevor Philips showed back up out of the blue like a past trauma. In many ways he was Michael's past trauma.
 
"It's my duty to her." Michael's own words from years past echoed in his head.
 
He used duty like an excuse. There had been many harsh words said between Michael and Trevor over Amanda. Most of them had no real intention except to hurt.
 
"Duty? Fuck me, Michael. We have something here Something real and good and- and we can keep it going." There was a double meaning in Trevor's anger, and a stabbing pain in his desperation. Michael heard it, but felt it later. It was much too late now though.
 
In that motel room, with the peeling wallpaper, black mold growing at the baseboards and stains in the carpet that Michael didn't want to know what were, he felt so much more at home than he did as he sipped scotch on his pretty white couch, in his large home in the hills. Of course, that was because home was where the heart was. Michael's heart was on the run, where it belonged... where he belonged.
 
But then Amanda came along, and then Tracey, and Jimmy, and Michael knew that he couldn't stay on the run. Not if he wanted to be the father they deserved. Then again, he still wasn't the best father, no matter what.
 
Amanda never really loved Michael. She loved his money, she loved the lifestyle that came along with his money, Michael understood that. After their latest fight, he was sure a divorce was right around the corner. They said they were going to make things work. They told each other they'd give it another shot, for the kid's sake, but the truth was it was over before it began. Amanda was a means to an end. An unhappy end.
 
Michael wondered what his life would've ended up like if he had just kept his hands off Amanda in that strip club and continued his life of crime with Trevor. If he was being honest, he probably would've ended up dead years before this point, but it could've been one hell of a trip, and he would've felt more alive than ever.
 
 His life was an endless monotonous nightmare now that the UD, the big one, was finally hit. Nothing he thought about even piqued his interest anymore. He had no goal. His past dream had become a nightmare, and his current dream was the past. Just like an addict, he was seeking a high. His high just happened to be the fast paced life of crime.
 
Michael felt like his soul had been sucked out. Amanda had syphoned every last bit of it she could get until Michael was nothing but the dead man he was supposed to be. He was certain that was his punishment for moving them here.
 
He wanted this nightmare to end. One way or another. He thought that throughout the last couple of scores they took, something would've killed him by now, but he managed to survive each one.
 
And every time he thought about picking up the pistol from the end table, Trevor popped back into his head like a PTSD induced flashback. These last few months working with him, working at his side, and calling the shots, reminded him what it was like to be alive. The ghost of Michael Townley had possessed him when he was with Trevor, and it felt great. But it was all over sooner than he would've liked, and now there wasn't anything left for Michael.
 
 He groaned after he glanced at the clock and it read 2:07 AM. His drinking and moping had helped him lose track of time. He drug himself off the couch, and across the house to the bottom of the stairs. He stopped to look at the portrait of Amanda on the wall. Downstairs wasn't where it had originally hung, but he couldn't fall asleep at night with it hanging... watching him in the darkness.  He stood, only for a moment, and sighed, taking in her features as if she was here with him. He kissed two of his fingers and pressed them to her cheek. 

Even if she was a toxic woman, he still spent years with her and deep down, he believed he loved her. Then again, they were both toxic people, destined to self-destruct. It truly was a shame they had children.

He shook his head, if only to be disappointed in himself, and climbed the stairs to his empty bedroom. In the bathroom cabinet was a bottle of Ambien that had been prescribed to him a few months back. It didn't take him long to find the bottle in between the other prescription meds and twist the cap off.
 
"My life may be a world of pain, but from here on out it's gonna be a cool, comfortable, air-conditioned pain." The air-conditioned pain was just a little too painful at times, and that had helped him build up a tolerance to his Ambien. 

Unfortunately, it was only a tolerance to so much, and tonight he took just one too many.