A Rose by Any Other Name

Chapter 13

Mike stood up from the kitchen floor, taking the cake out of the fridge and cutting two slices, a large one and a slightly smaller one.

I swiped a finger against the tiled floor, not sure when Mike had cleaned up the blood, feeling strange that it was no longer there.

Mike laid out the slices on different plates, "Will cake make you feel better?" he said quietly, back still turned as he put the cake away.

I went into the living room, not feeling like being in the kitchen anymore. Not when all I could feel or see was some entity like Steve hovering over me, suffocating me. My kitchen looked so much like theirs, fuck, how could I live like this? I got the urge to just gut the kitchen, tear out the tiles, rip out the walls and make it look different. Make it feel different.

Mike came with the cake slices to come and sit beside me. He handed me a plate, and I took it wordlessly, wanting to ask so many things but being afraid to know.

"Derrick-" Mike said, squeezing my thigh, "Just let me in?"

"I-" I swallowed past the stone in my throat, "I remembered something. And I don't know if I want to remember anymore." I took a bite of the cake, "Fuck-" I said, licking the icing on the fork, "This is really good though."

Mike smiled and something in me softened as he ate his cake, too. "What did you remember? Something good?"

I gave a humourless laugh, "Steve and Martha."

The smile dropped from Mike's face and he looked like he was chewing on rocks, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I only remembered my sixteenth birthday-just-just-just," I took a deep breath, not sure why I was suddenly stuttering like I was sixteen again.

Mike looked at me patiently, like this had happened before.

"Do I have a stutter?" I asked instead, liking the feel of Mike's thigh plastered against mine.

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, "Not usually. Sometimes though, if you start talking about the earlier foster homes, you start to. If it makes you feel better, it's been years since the last time."

"But why was I even in foster care, I know you said my mom and my dad weren't great...but when I aged out of the system and you said I became homeless. What happened?"

Mike sighed, "It's a long story, but do you really want me to tell you?"

I looked at him and then away, "No. I don't want to know."

Mike took our plates and went to wash them in the sink. I followed him in there, the clinking dishes loud in the silence. He turned after he was done, wiping down his hands on a dish towel.

"I feel like you want to say something." Mike said softly after he had turned after finishing.

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you earlier, I don't know why I did that." I murmured, twisting my hands together.

Mike laughed, "It's okay."

"No," I stressed, "It isn't, it's not okay. I wouldn't want you to just lose your patience with me, and God, Mike, you're so patient. Too patient."

He looked bashful for a moment, "It's not a big deal." Mike said, coming closer and kissing me gently on the forehead.

I closed my eyes and inhaled softly, wanting Mike closer than he already was.

#

"God," I groaned, "It's too big, Mike, it won't fit."

"Yes-" Mike said in a breathless voice, "It will, Derrick,"