Quiet As A Mouse (Outsiders Fanfic)

Chapter 11- Sick

        I woke up and I absolutely dreaded the fact of getting out of bed, even though it was ten-thirty in the morning on a Saturday and I didn't necessarily have to get up.  Except for the fact that Kayla had just woken me up to inform me that Aunt Kat wanted to talk to me.

        I nodded in acknowledgement, but laid in bed for a while after she ran back downstairs.  I was exhausted, because the events of last night--after Two-Bit and I had gotten soaked on our way home from the movies at midnight--had involved three horrendous nightmares that left me dreading sleep every time I woke up with a start.  I was right, they were getting worse, lasting longer and happening more frequently.

        I was going to continue laying in bed, because I was exhausted, not to mention I now had a cold after being out in the rain so long last night, but then Two-Bit came barreling in the room, a grin on his face as always.  I was almost contemptuous of him, he was joyful as always, while I was exhausted, unhappy, tired, and getting sick.

        "Come on, get up already Mickey!  We're going to the Curtis's, I need you to help me kidnap Soda and Steve and force them to fix my car," he joked.

        I rolled my eyes but cracked a small smile, sliding my legs out from under the blankets and climbing out of bed, shivering once my feet touched the cool hardwood floor because I was no longer wrapped in a soft cocoon of warm blankets.  I had even put on fuzzy pajama pants instead of my usual shorts because I was so cold after our run through the rain last night, but I was still cold.  I wrapped my arms around myself, following Two-Bit out of the room.  Of course he didn't notice me shivering though.

        I entered the kitchen, knowing Aunt Kat was there judging by the faint linger of the smell of cooking food left in the air as she cleaned up from making breakfast for her kids.  And me, there was a still-warm plate of food sitting on the counter that was presumably mine.

        "Did you sleep well last night, Michael?" she asked me, and I could tell immediately by the tone in her voice that she knew about the nightmares.  Maybe Kayla had told her, or she had heard me up night after night no matter how quiet I tried to be, but she knew.

        I nodded, lying, sort of.  I still didn't know if even though I couldn't talk, it counted as lying or not.

        But Aunt Kat had always been able to see through my lies.  She must have gotten it from my grandmother, her mom.  Aunt Kat, my grandmother, and He could always tell when I was lying, though I don't know why.

        "Are you sure? I thought I heard you up once or twice last night," she called me out on it.  I guess I may be good at being quiet, but that had nothing against the creaky floor boards of the second story of a decrepit house.

        I sighed, giving in and writing down, 'I couldn't sleep last night.'

        "Kayla told me you were up the other night too, when she had a nightmare," she mentioned, in an offhanded way, but I knew she was telling me, in a roundabout way, that she knew it was a lot worse than either of us were letting on.

        I didn't want to tell her the truth, didn't want to give her another thing to worry about, but she asked first.

        "Have you been having nightmares again, like right after your broth-" but she stopped abruptly, trailing off and not finishing the sentence because she had noticed how I immediately froze up at the mention of that person.

        I stared straight ahead at nothing, forcing back memories and forcing back tears, wanting desperately to leave the room.

        Aunt Kat was silent for a while before saying softly, "I'm going to call and make an appointment for you.  Here, eat some breakfast," she said, pushing the plate at me and gently placing her hand on my shoulder to reassure me before she went to make a phone call.

        I wasn't reassured, and I picked at my food, not really feeling like eating anything.  I never felt hungry anymore, and before Aunt Kat had a chance to talk to me about my supposed mental illness or whatever you'd call it, I started walking over to the Curtis's with Two-Bit.

        Along the way, he asked me, "Did you die last night or something?" with a smirk, cracking jokes as usual.

        I shook my head no and wrote down in the notebook I carried with me for occasions just like this when Two-Bit was feeling talkative--though when wasn't he?-- 'No, I just didn't sleep well so I slept late this morning.'

        I was also really hoping Two-Bit hadn't overheard the conversation his mom and I had had this morning, but I'm guessing he didn't when he said instead, "That's amazing, usually no one can sleep later than me."

        'A dead person can,' I wrote down, though even though I thought things like that all the time, I rarely ever told/wrote to other people my jokes and sarcastic comments.  I probably wouldn't have this time either, except for I was trying to keep my mind off my runny nose and drooping eyelids, and the growing knot of dread in my stomach as the thought of going to see another psychologist lingered in the back of my mind.

        He gave me an amused smirk and said, "And I thought you didn't have a sense of humor, " as we walked into the Curtis's front yard.

        As we went in the house,  I couldn't help but hear the overused phrase, "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" directed at Dally from Steve.

        Dally glared at him, but surprisingly enough didn't say anything.  I think we were all expecting one of his cocky replies, or for him to punch Steve. Actually, I bet we were all hoping for him to punch Steve, but he didn't. 

        Instead he grabbed the notebook out of my hands and snatched the pencil out of the wire binding where I had stuck it and wrote in small, scratchy, spindly letters, 'I'm sick.  I can't talk, at all.'