The Devil Walks Among Us; Book l - Completed 4/21/22

Reflection

Walking into Michael's room, Mia felt defeated as she couldn't stop the intrusive and inappropriate shock therapy she assumed was done to him. The familiar smell of ivory soap filled her senses, seeing the format of Michael's room had changed. Now, he was seated at his desk he had moved out of anger facing his window. He sat with his head hung low, the mess of water on the floor as well as his brushes he had used to spread glue when making his masks. The mask that she had seen before on him that she had now assumed to be his favorite, was sitting on the floor, crumbled as if he had stepped on it, ignoring it due to his rage. His bed had been moved, but was still tidy from the nightshift janitor that would make beds if they were not being slept in. "Michael, I'm so sorry." She frowned, kneeling down to pick up the mess on the floor, hesitant to touch his mask as she was afraid he would do the same thing to her as he had done to the security the week prior to her return. 

He turned his head to look at her from over his shoulder, thankful that she was there to distract him from his inner thoughts telling him to completely decapitate her for touching his things, even though he was the reason why she was cleaning up after him. "I'm going to try and put a stop to this," She started, bravely walking closer to him, approaching him from the side, respecting his boundary of not getting too close for comfort. "Here. I knew he threw it away, but I know you like it," She continued, setting the now-crumpled photo of her horses on his desk, seeing his head turn very slightly to look at the photo she had returned to him that he grew to like very much. "It makes me mad that he threw it away too. They're my whole world and bring me so much happiness. I don't see why they can't make you happy, too."

In a snake-like reaction, Michael gripped her left wrist, looking at the Apple Watch that was on her after seeing a glimpse of a photo of her kissing her white horse on the muzzle as it was set as her wallpaper on her watch. She gasped, pulling back briefly at his firm grip, hoping she wouldn't be his next victim. After the wallpaper had disappeared on the watch face, Michael grimaced to himself as he saw his own reflection, hating every detail about his face. His white, growing beard, his deep scar on his left eye leaving his eye a colorless oracle of an organ. He was utterly unhappy with himself, for a second, wondering what he could've done to keep from living his life like this - miserable. He wanted what she had: a happy, productive life, but he also wanted to take that away from her as he thought it wasn't fair for her to enjoy her life whereas he couldn't, having to wait a week to even see the one person who didn't pressure him to talk, who didn't try to force a reaction from him by shocking his body, who didn't judge him for the crimes he had committed. He knew he was a monster and possibly wanted to stay one, but also wanted another shot at a normal life that he knew he couldn't have.