When Michael woke up the next morning on a park bench, the sun hovering high in the centre of the sky, he struggled to remember the events of the night before. He remembered wandering through the village, his tiredness consuming him until his legs put themselves in front of him of their own accord. He remembered basically being a zombie, not even jumping as a stray cat dashed in front of him. He had been so tired he could barely stay awake, but at the same time, he knew that if he lay down, his thoughts would tear him apart.
Then he remembered, as the darkness had begun to fade and the the horizon was touched with colour and light as the sun rose, sitting down on the park bench. The sleepless night had made him tired enough to finally allow the darkness of sleep consume him.
He sighed, standing up, and all at once, an overpowering wave of fury knocked him back down again. He felt so angry, it was hard to get air all the way to his lungs. His throat was choked with his tears, and he had to hold back the urge to scream. He wasn't just angry with Ari for deserting him and his mother for sending him away and Suzanne for not giving her shit for being such a bitch-tastic mom, he was angry with the world for being such a cruel and unforgiving place. Why did all of this have to happen to him? And why was everybody deserting him, just when all he wanted was someone to help him, or kill him, or both. Why? That was his only question. His just wished someone would answer it.
When he arrived back a Suzanne's house, he realized that she might be a bit worried. It had to be at least lunchtime, and he hadn't exactly used the front door to exit the house.
He sighed, decided that standing dejectedly in front of the house was just delaying the inevitable, and slowly turned the knob.
Suzanne was sitting in the living room couch when he entered the house, the phone pressed to her ear. When she heard him enter, she turned to face the door, relief lacing her features when she saw it was him.
"Never mind," she told the person on the phone. "He's back." She pressed a button on the phone, presumably ending the call, and stood up. "Where were you?"
"Hell." Michael replied simply before quickly scaling the stairs.
When he entered his bedroom, he locked the door behind him. He was in no mood to talk to Suzanne.
But there was someone he did want to talk to.
He tried to swallow his tears as he picked up his phone from his bedside table and dialled her number.
"Hey." She said when she answered.
"Marcia, hi." He was shocked at how weak his voice sounded, as if it had been thousands of people speaking before, and now it was just one.
"Michael," Marcia's voice sounded cheerful, like she was excited to hear from him. "How's it going?"
Michael suddenly burst into tears, jagged sobs, like nails on a chalkboard. "I hate myself." He choked.
"What?" Marcie sounded aghast. "Michael..."
"I just...I can't...fuck-"
"Michael," Marcie cut him off. "what the hell is going on?"
And so he told her about Ari, and about how confused he felt, and how it seemed like nothing would ever be better.
"I just feel so lost," He sobbed. "like I'm in the middle of the ocean and there's no land. Everywhere I look there's just water, water, water-"
"It's okay, Michael," Marcia said, cutting off Michael's seemingly endless ocean simile. "You'll be o-"
"No, I won't be okay." Michael argued, flopping backwards onto his bed and squeezing his eyes shut, feel a final hot tear trickle down his cheek.
There was a moment of silence on the other end, and then Marcia took a breath. "Okay, Michael, you know me. I've never been any good at this sentimental shit. I don't know how to cheer you up, but I do know that you're strong. I've seen what you can do. You can get through this, even if you don't want to. Even if it doesn't seem worth it to keep fighting, I know you'll beat your demons in the end. They're nothing but demons, Michael. You can do this," Marcia sighed. "And remember, even if it seems like everyone is deserting you, I'll always be here for you to help you fight."
Michael let out a high pitched noise, something between a sob and a wail. Marcia was right. It felt worthless to keep going, like when you try to get up in the morning, but you're so, so tired.
You keep imagining yourself getting up, and sometimes you even think you're actually doing it, but you're actually still just laying in bed, your limbs as heavy an concrete blocks.
But then Michael felt it. That feeling in his chest, like a million fireworks were trying to explode out of him. He wanted to get up. He wanted to do this. He could feel that he had it in him to keep fighting.
Michael took a deep breath.
And then he stood up.
Wow, that chapter was actually kinda not-depressing at the end.
Yay!
Loser_Luke
