Isolation

Losing it

Micky knocked quietly on the door.

"Hey, Mike," he said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

No response.

"Mike?" He asked again. "Are you in there?"

He carefully creaked open the door to reveal Mike sitting on his bed, looking down at the hat in his hands.

"Hi, Mike." He smiled, and Mike looked up at him, not saying anything.

"Peter said you had a pretty rough night last night. I wanted to come up and check on you."

Mike didn't speak. He looked at Micky for a moment before giving a slight nod and turning his gaze back down. Micky walked in and sat beside him, a little nervous.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, putting his arm on Mike's back. Mike pulled away from the touch, and Micky didn't try and stop him. Once again, he didn't say anything.

"Can you...can you please just say something so I know you can hear me?"

After a long moment, he nodded and dropped his head down.

"Can hear you."

Micky sighed with relief and tried to look at Mike.

"Mike, can you tell me what's wrong?"

He shook his head, impulsively running his hands through his hair.

"Mike...?" Micky took his hands and he stiffened a little when he did. "Mike, what is it?"

Mike closed his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking.

"I...can't...tell...you." He said each word carefully to make sure Micky understood. He opened his eyes again and turned towards Micky.

"You can't tell me what's bothering you?"

"No." He shook his head and looked down, pulling his hands away.

"No? Why not?"

Mike sighed and shook his head, still looking down.

"I can't."

Micky put his hand on Mike's shoulder and was able to get his attention. He didn't resist the touch.

"Mike," he started. "I'm sorry if I'm stressing you out right now, but, please, I need you to tell me what's wrong. So that we can help."

"I can't." Mike dropped his head down, and Micky sighed.

"Please? What is it? Why can't you?"

"Micky!" Mike said sternly, now looking at him right in the eye.

"Mike..." his eyes widened. Sure enough, he was still there. "Mike, what is going on?"

"I can't tell you."

"Mike, please-"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?" Micky was becoming desperate. "Give me one good reason why you can't."

"I..." Mike shook his head and stood. He rushed over to the corner farthest from the bed and crumbled onto the ground, putting his hands over his head.

"Mike..." He sighed and made his way over, sitting in front of Mike. He was whispering something Micky couldn't quite make out. "Mike, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

"I don't know," Mike muttered, now looking up at Micky with wide eyes full of fear. "I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

He looked back down, whispering something to himself, now rocking back and forth slightly.

"Mike...?" Micky tried again.

Mike's head shot up, and he stared at him. Micky could see the tears fill in his eyes. Mike suddenly broke down and clung to Micky, holding him in an awkward tight hug.

"Hey," Micky said softly, rubbing Mike's back comfortingly. "It's okay, it's okay."

"I don't know."

"It's fine if you don't, babe. Really."

"No," Mike pulled away, clearly frustrated with himself. "You don't understand."

"Well, can you help me?"

He wiped his face and sighed, carefully thinking about each word before he spoke.

"I can't tell you...what's wrong...because I don't know."

Micky's eyes widened, unsure of what it meant.

"You don't know what's wrong?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know anything anymore." He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He stared up at the ceiling blindly. His hands were trembling as he took a shaky breath. "Mick, I think I'm losing it."