Broken and Together

Chapter Six: A Night at Michael's

    Michael mouthed along to the music that blasted in his clunky headphones while he danced around his living room, vacuuming in the process. But, of course, being horrible at multitasking, he wasn't entirely vacuuming. He danced with the vacuum, practically forgetting to actually clean the carpet. It'd been a while since he had such a relaxing and entertaining night by himself; usually his chores were dull and tiring. Just this once, he thought he might spice it up with some of his favorite rock music. He would soon learn that that wasn't the best idea, and it only led to him hardly cleaning.

    He had his tunes cranked up so loud that at first he did not hear the frantic knocking on his door, nor the ringing of the doorbell. The roar of the vacuum cleaner almost drowned it out as well. However, the sound soon managed to reach him.

    "Huh?" He yanked off his headphones. The knocking came again, quickened pounds in a panicked succession, followed by the doorbell ringing repeatedly.

    "Michael!" A muffled voice came through the door. "Michael, are you there? Someone's following me! Let me in! Please!"

    "Charlie?" Michael ripped off his Walkman and released the vacuum. He didn't even bother to turn either of them off, charging straight for the door, unlocking it, and flinging it open. A sopping wet Charlie stood outside, shivering hard and staring up at him with large, desperate eyes. "Charlie!" He gently grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. The moment he closed the door behind them, he whipped around to her. "Are you alright? You're soaked to the bone! What happened? Who's following you?"

    "Shh!" She darted over to one of his windows and peeked through the curtains. Frowning, he walked behind her and peered over her shoulder. Through the darkness and the rain, he could just barely make out a car creeping along beside the road. It edged past the house, then its speed picked up and it drove out of sight in nearly an instant.

    "Was that car following you all the way here?" he asked, tensing and turning to her.

    "Yeah," she said, a tremble to her voice, "and it had me really freaked out! I thought I was gonna...well I...ugh! I don't even know! That was just terrible! I'm so stupid!" She put her head in her hands, her drenched locks of hair flopping forward as she leaned in that direction. "This wouldn't have happened if I was just mature enough to face my father, if I hadn't yelled at him in the first place! What is wrong with me?"

    "Whoa, hey." Michael took her hands and moved them away from her face. "Stop freaking out. You're safe now, okay?" As she glanced up and met his gaze, he locked eyes with her. Judging by her wince, the massive amount of anxiety knotting and coiling in his stomach leaked into his expression. "What happened?"

    She sighed heavily, glancing down then back up. "Um, I...I tried to ask my dad about letting me help, and it didn't go well. He had to drive me to work, because my car's being fixed up, so I didn't have a ride home. I didn't want to face him, so I left on my own."

    "But your apartment is on the either side of the city, it's nowhere near the pizzeria." Michael frowned.

    "Exactly," she said, shivering and adjusting her soaked jacket. "It was stupid of me. I don't know why I even did that."

    "Hmm." He tilted his head. His eyes ran along her sopping wet form, and how much she shuddered. "How about we talk this over more in just a minute? You look freezing. Here, uh—" he glanced around— "sit on the couch, I'll get you a blanket and make you some tea or something."

    "Tea?" A grin broke across her face, defeating the fearful expression for a moment. "Wow, you really are British."

    "Oh, shut up." He chuckled, leading her over to his couch. She sat down, and he hastily turned off his music and the vacuum. After putting them away, he hurried to his room and made sure to return shortly with a fuzzy, grey blanket. "Here." He wrapped it around her snuggly.