Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

t w e n t y t h r e e ;

Charli

"What's your favorite kind of science?" We sat across from each other in a booth of a twenty-four-hour diner, Michael and I. The entire place was empty of all but the cook in the back; the waitress near the front, looking oddly cheery for two-thirty in the morning; and the two of us. Our spot was in the back corner of the restaurant; Michael faced myself and the wall behind me, I faced him and the entire facility.

"I don't know, I've never really thought about it," Michael said, looking up from his half-eaten cheeseburger in front of him. I'm just glad he ate something. I was obvious that something had upset him, and it would be very hypocritical of me to assume it was irrational for him not to eat. I'd done the same - much too often. I just glad that now, as he looked up at me, he was smiling. "I assume yours would be along the lines of Political Science?"

"Well, as much as I love politics, I didn't mean social sciences." I took a quick sip of my water. "I think my favorite would be astronomy."

Michael smiled again, seemingly enjoying the random information I was sharing with him. You couldn't blame me for prattling: I was tired, and it was the only way to keep me awake. And awake is what he needed from me right now. "Why astronomy?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side in an inquisitive, cute way.

"It's an infinite amount of unknowns," I started, folding my hands on the table in front of me - having already had dinner, I had simply been helping Michael eat his fries. "And that scares so many people, but I'm not afraid of could-bes or possibilities, or unknowns. Just take my fear of singing, for example. I don't care about getting up on stage and singing in front people who have the ability to judge me harshly, it's so different from that. I don't know, I can't exactly explain it. But the universe outside of our planet is like that stage, the mysteries of it like the audience. It could go so many different way: they could be horrible possibilities, waiting to pounce and extinguish your very existence; or they could be the greatest thing to ever happen to you.

"And it brings about so many answers to the questions we were unable to solve," I continued. "Space is such a beautifully confusing thing. It brings about philosophy, and that's what I love about it."

Michael seemed to be observing me, his beautiful eyes looking deeply into mine. He seemed to hang onto each and every word, as if they were the answer to all of the world's problems. "Have I ever shown you this?" Michael said, pulling the flannel from his shoulders. Now only in a tee-shirt, he held out his left arm, and pulled his sleeve up a little to fully reveal what he planned to show me.

A tattoo. To The Moon, it read. I found myself smiling, thinking of the night the moon revealed itself as Michael did. In the back of my mind, I could hear Evie's voice, talking on and on about her beloved fate. "I love it."

"Really?" he questioned. "I thought for sure you'd scold me for 'tainting my skin' or something."

"There's nothing wrong with tattoos," I commented.

"You'd just never get one, right?"

I smiled.

* * * * * *

The joys of having Dawson and Emmy away were probably only two things: sleeping in only a sports bra and pajama pants, and sleeping in. Sleeping in is something I haven't done since I was extremely young; but the circumstances were much different back then. Now, there was no one walking in and out of the living room - 'my room' - and I was exhausted after staying up all night with Michael.

The problem with sleeping in, it seems, is the grogginess of waking up. And I was forced to wake up earlier than expected when there was a knock on my apartment door. Like I previously explained, the grogginess was inevitable, and I didn't even realize I was still in simply a pink sports bra and grey sweats when I opened the door and spotted Michael, leaning against the doorway.

"That's not what I was expecting to see," he smirked, looking me up and down. My cheeks reddened faster than a car's brake lights.

I closed the door quickly, and ran towards the hall closet - 'my closet' - and quickly searched for a shirt I could pullover my head. Unfortunately, I didn't hear the door close completely, and just as I was about to pull the old camp shirt completely on, there was Michael's hands, attempting to pull the shirt back up again, making me very uncomfortable.

"Michael, I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to undress me," I said breathlessly as I fought with him.

But he didn't stop. He had his eyes set on my upper ribcage, at something partially hidden by sports bra. "Is that a tattoo?"

I glared in response.

Michael was smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning, though. "I can't believe it! Charli Sparks: the best of the best; with a - " He stopped suddenly, his mood dropping with as much force as the Little Boy in World War Two - okay well maybe not that much force. "Wow, Charli," he said, sounding as if he was holding back some form of anger. "Who would have thought - you, of all people: getting a guy's name permanently inked on your skin."

Aiden.

I angrily pushed his hands away, and this time, he didn't fight me. I'm glad he didn't, because I could feel my walls breaking. A second later, I had my back against the wall, on the ground, curled tightly into a ball, sobbing.

"What'd he do? Fuck you over and leave you?" Michael inquired, anger still tainting his voice.

"Shut up!" I bellowed, hair flying around as my head shot up to glare at him, tears still streaming down my flushed face. "You don't know the first thing about him!"

"I don't have to." He was no longer standing. He knelt before me, his hands cupping my face as he not only brushed away the tears, but forced me to look him in the eye. "Any guy who make you feel like this is a complete asshole."

"Stop talking about Aiden like that!"

"Are you serious? You still love this guy after he seemingly broke your heart?"

"Of course I still love him! He was my brother!"

Michael's hands slowly dropped from my face. He was silent for a moment, allowing me to resume my state of utter depression. This is not how I wanted him to find out. As they always do, that moment passed, and Michael spoke once again, his voice much gentler, like they always are. "Was?"

The tears came angrier, and I found it increasingly difficult to breathe. "He's dead."

For so long, I have been able to avoid this. I grew close to no one who hadn't already known, who hadn't lived it with me. Yes, there is Emmy, but by the time she and I became close, Dawson had already told her the source of our depression. I never planned to become this close with the boy two inches from me now. I never planned to have to tell anyone else about it. It's horrible to try to pretend it never happened, I know that, but there is no sound way that I could deal with it besides denying it. This always happens. A meltdown.

Please don't be like everyone else, I silently hoped. Please don't make me relive it.

He didn't say anything, not for a while. But after a minute or so of the non-stop tears, I felt Michael adjust, moving an arm around my lower back, his other under my knees. I flinched away, saying, "No!" unaware of what he was attempting to do.

"Relax," he cooed. "I just want to move you to the couch. Is that all right?"

I took a shaky breath, and nodded, moving my face from the palm of my hands, to his chest, letting out another sob. I coiled my arms around his neck, wanting to help him as best I could, but he lifted me with ease. I didn't bother opening my tightly-shut eyes, knowing my vision would be obscured.

He sat the two of us on the couch, quickly pulling me onto his lap, huddling me tightly into his chest. He softly stroked my arm, putting me in a place of comfort I have never known. I've never been held like this before, never had someone care so much about me well being as to take my angry sorrows and help me through them.

But as he gently rocked us side to side, he continued to whisper to me the unknowns, possibly the only ones I'm not unafraid of.

"It's gonna be okay."