KATE
I barely pay attention the entire drive back to Britt's apartment; my mind is elsewhere. I am trying so desperately not to think of Michael or his speech, or the cowering, frozen six year old that he used to be.
My strappy heels are kicked off the second that I step through the door, and it's quite a struggle to unzip my dress by myself. Still, once I am wearing sweatpants and a large t-shirt, I feel infinitely better. For a minute, I stand alone in the kitchen, staring into space. I don't want to think about it, don't want to think about him, but there is nothing else to occupy my time. Once again, I am alone.
I flop down on Britt's couch, wishing she was coming back tonight instead of tomorrow. Not that I would even be able to talk to her—or to anyone—about what's going on in my head. I can't even figure it out myself.
What am I going to do?
It's a question that I've asked myself countless times, and now I can't help the few tears that slip out at my complete lack of an answer. I draw my knees up to my chest, my body shaking with repressed sobs. I turn my face into the couch cushions and hold myself together because no one else will.
I am still struggling against the currents of my own emotions when a knock at the door startles me. My heart starts to beat in overtime, because there's only a few people that it could be, and I have a hunch. I don't even bother wiping my face or glancing in the mirror before I walk to the door, taking a deep breath before I pull it open.
Even though he's the one knocking, Michael still looks surprised to see me when I open the door. Shock turns to concern as tears continue to stream down my face, but neither of us say anything for a few seconds.
"Kate," Michael breathes, reaching his hand out to wipe my cheek.
And that's what does it, what pushes me over the edge. Surprising us both, I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, ignoring everything in me telling me not to. I sob unrestrained into his chest, leaving streaks of makeup and eyeliner on his white dress shirt. But he doesn't seem to care, and neither do I. Michael's arms wind around my waist, pulling me to his chest and holding me so tightly that I can't even breathe enough to keep crying.
"Shh," Michael whispers into my hair. "Shh." I hadn't even realized how much I'd missed the feel of his breath on my neck, only making me cry harder. Michael's hands run over my hair, comforting even though he doesn't understand. I don't even understand, but right now I just need someone who gives a damn about me, and regardless of what else he's done, Michael does give a damn about me.
I pull back, but it takes several attempts before Michael actually lets go of me. "I'm sorry," I say weakly, my voice shaking.
"No," Michael says quickly. "No, this is why I'm here. I know you need someone."
I furiously wipe at the tears on my cheeks, nodding at his words even though I'm unsure of how much truth they hold.
"Um," I say, finally letting the air turn awkward. "Do you want to come inside?"
"Yeah, uh. Sure," Michael shrugs. He follows me inside, and I see him try to be subtle about glancing around. Majority of my things have been moved to a storage unit, but there is evidence of me all over Britt's living room. Michael's eyes linger on a stack of books that used to line my bookshelf, which now sit in a stack on Britt's coffee table. I sit on the couch with my legs folded underneath me, and Michael sits down on the opposite end. It's not too far away but it's certainly not close, and I'm not sure if that's what I want. I take a breath to break the silence, but Michael beats me to it.
"What are you doing here, Kate? I mean I know that you were done with me, but you didn't have to... leave. You didn't have to move out, and if you really wanted to be away from me that badly, I would have moved out."
