Diamonds and Why Men Buy Them [Mike Fuentes]

6.All The Small Things

I shoot up from where I'm laying, unsure of where I am. My heart pounds as I try to survey my surroundings. The room is small and dark, but light is trying to shine through the blanket covered window. Pain shoots through my forehead and I lay back down, feeling dizzy. I can't remember what happened. The last thing I remember is seeing Michael's face. I'm not in a hospital, it would smell cleaner. Am I at Michael's house?

I slowly try to make my way out of the bed. As I lift my fragile body off the bed, the door slowly starts to open and startled, I fall back on to the bed. Hearing me, Michael opens the door all the way and turns the light on. I give him a weak smile as he sits on the bed next to me.

He frowns. "Okay Mickey, what's really going on here?"

I lightly shrug. "I'm just having a rough patch right now. I'm okay." I lie. I hate that he's worrying about me. I want to put his mind at ease, but I also hate lying to him.

"Mickey, I saw your sign. Are you really homeless?"

I look down at my feet and my face turns red. "You shouldn't have looked through my things."

He stands up. I think he's angry. I look as his face. He looks more concerned than angry. "I think I have a right to after someone passes out in my arms. I could have left you there, Mickey. I could have taken you to the hospital and left you there. Hell, if it would have been anyone else I would have. But I care about you, I'm trying to help you. Can you please tell me what's going on? I have every right to know now."

"I'm sorry, Mike. I'm sorry I lied to you. Admitting to someone that you live behind a dumpster isn't the easiest thing to do."

"How long have you been homeless?"

I can feel my stone exterior cracking. The emotion I'm feeling is overwhelming. I've pushed it away for so long. "Four months." My voice is shaky.

"I can help you. I want to help you."

I slowly stand from the bed, my body quaking from the emotion I'm bottling in. I can't crack now. "I need to go." I grab my bookbag that is sitting by the bed and sling it onto my back.

Mike stands in front of his door. "You can't leave." I lightly shove him out of the way and he follows me. I place my hand on the doorknob of his front door and he grabs my wrist. "Please stay here, I want to help you Mickey."

I pull my hand away from his grasp. "You only want to help me because you feel bad for me. I don't need your sympathy. I've survived this long. I would have died a long time ago if I couldn't handle it. My time is coming, but it will be when I deserve it and not because an old friend is taking pity on me. Thanks for the help Mickey, but I need to go."

I walk out of the door and walk away as quickly as possible. I don't know if what I just did was the right thing, but I took it as a sign that things were soon going to look up.