"Don't you think you should at least go talk to her?" Luke, Michael's friend from college spoke across the line, as Michael was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. One hand was holding the phone to his ear, while the other threw up the decrepit soccer ball, throwing, catching, throwing, catching.
"What's the point? I can't even go near a car without my pulse racing." He sighed, tossing the ball across his room, "I don't know what's wrong with me, Hemmings."
"Maybe you have one of those disorder things, anxiety?" The blonde boy on the other line paused. "I think you might need a shrink. If you're not going to talk to September about anything, you should find someone who you can talk to."
"No way. I'm not mentally disturbed--" Michael swallowed thickly. The past nights, he had woken up with a cold sweat and clammy hands at one or two a.m. Night terrors, as someone had once told him, happened after any traumatic event, or were anxiety induced. "But what's the point in talking to someone who's not even going to talk back to me?"
"I heard thing about how it helps your mind with grief and acceptance of your mistakes or something if you talk to people when they're in a coma. It's sort of like when someone dies and you have to put all their stuff in a box, hiding it away like you wanna forget about them, but at a certain point you just have to take the box down and go through the items, accepting what happened and moving on." Michael could picture Luke shrugging.
"Makes enough sense... I just..." Michael ran a hand across his jaw, "I'm scared, man. I'm scared because it's all my fault, and her step-brother's probably going to be there, and if he's there he'll chew me out. I..."
"Trust me on this, it'll heal you. Talking to September is a healthy outlet." After those words, Luke hung up, leaving the line dead and Michael still pressing it against his cheek.
It was an abnormally cold morning when Michael fished the house keys out of his coat pocket and twisted the doorknob, making sure he'd locked the front door. His breath came out in white puffs, and one could almost mistake them for the smoke of a cigarette. The walk to the hospital was a lot quicker than he'd expected. Forty-five minutes of walking down cold and abandoned streets, cutting through neighbor's yards, and slithering through the alleys.
"September Rivera?" Michael spoke to the receptionist, rubbing his cold hands together.
"She's been moved to the Intensive Care Unit, room B68,"the woman replied curtly. He asked a nurse for directions before making his way toward the ICU, twisting his fingers together with anticipation.
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quick dedi to my lil bean muketapes, i love cami and rlly miss her :( i have lost touch w/ so many of my friends on here b/c i've been so busy n stuff :((
anyways, i hope u r enjoying the chapters so far :) don't forget to vote/comment!!!
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catch 22 :: m.clifford
Fanfictionwhen michael finds himself in the space between a rock and a hard place.
