Sincerely, Mike

03: A World of Doubt

As the month of February began to wane away, Tré Cool's mental stability waned away with it. Run absolutely ragged from caring for his utterly heartbroken godson day and night for nearly a month and a half, all while having to deal with his own personal feelings of worry and dejection, he wasn't sure how much longer he could continue living like this. He knew he was doing what Billie would have wanted, and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered to him at this point, but the price at which doing so came was quite a heavy one, and he wasn't too keen on the idea of continuing to pay it.

Mike had, of course, been conscious of his friend's struggle.

He had offered his help countless times, but for some reason, Trè had always pushed him away, insisting that, in true ornery Trè fashion, he could and would do this himself.

Despite the fact that it greatly angered Mike to be cast aside so bluntly by his stubborn and sometimes narrow-minded friend, he still kept himself open to Trè, and when he received a desperate phone call in the middle of the night over which Trè screeched endlessly about having reached his breaking point, he was happy to swallow an "I told you so" or two and spring into assistive action.

***

When Mike arrived at Trè's house the next morning, it was a dead sort of silent, which was odd, considering that it was 10 AM on a Saturday at Trè Cool's house.

He very lightly rapped his knuckles on the door, only to be greeted by a squirrelly-eyed Trè a fraction of a second later.

"THERE YOU ARE!" Trè basically screamed, ripping the door open. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE, I'M ABOUT TO LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND!"

Somewhat taken aback by Trè's booming voice and frenetic energy, Mike slowly stepped through the doorway, following the frenzied man in front of him into the kitchen.

Mike watched with wide eyes as Trè bumbled over to the fridge, pulling the door open with tremendous force and snatching two cans of Coke off a shelf. Eyes still wild, he slammed the two cans on the table and gestured to Mike to sit, waiting until the other man had seated himself to throw himself down in the chair directly across from his friend's.

"So, uh...Trè..." Mike began as he popped the tab of the soda can, his voice trembling ever so slightly as a result of the uncomfortableness of the situation.

"I...slept...FOR TEN MINUTES!" Trè cut him off, picking the can of Coke up and then slamming it down on the table angrily. His bloodshot azure eyes darted up to meet Mike's, viciously grabbing his gaze and holding it tightly.

"I CAN'T HANDLE THIS ANYMORE! HE'S RUNNING ME INTO THE GROUND! I AM AT MY WIT'S FUCKING END, MICHAEL! IF I HAVE TO HEAR HIM CRY, OR ASK FOR BILLIE ONE MORE TIME, I'M GONNA SET THE DAMN HOUSE ON FIRE!"

The walls shook with the vibrations of Trè's anger.

Now silent but still physically abuzz with various intense emotions, Trè dropped Mike's gaze and refocused his attention to the can of soda in front of him, his lips slowly beginning to quiver.

Mike watched in anticipation, his heart beginning to sink as he observed the tears forming in Trè's eyes, the sudden redness in his cheeks, and the quiver of his lip. He knew Trè far too well and didn't think could possibly even attempt comfort Trè when he got into one of his slums.

Only Billie could do that.

Despite the sudden pang of sadness that he felt as a result of his own internal mentioning of Billie's name, Mike was quick to brush the thought of him aside and spring to his feet, immediately appearing by Trè's side as the poor sleep-deprived man relinquished his control over his emotions and buried his face in his arms, sobbing.