Into An Idiot

9. Things Happen

"I just don't get why or how." Michael says, his thumbs wildly clicking the buttons on his controller. "How do people ask you out? Why?"
"I don't know, I've never asked anyone."
"What a great load of help you are, Sophie."
"Well, I don't know. I mean, occasionally I'd be taken out, not really with Jack. And he was late the few couple times he did take me out." I say, trying not to die as I try to make my avatar run along the screen.
"I'd never do that, I'd always do whatever my date wants to do. And I wouldn't be late or rude or anything like Jack was. I'm just saying." Michael says.
"You've never had a girlfriend, right?"
"No, why?"
"You'd be a good boyfriend."
"Are you suggesting something?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, how do you get people to like you?"
"I don't know, they just like you."
"Do you like me?"
"Why do you always ask me that, of course I like you."
Michael sighs, clearly frustrated with this whole 'being loved and liked' topic. I understand, though. Ashton wasn't too keen on it either.
We eat dinner and then decide to watch movies. We go to bed around eleven or twelve.
I'm awakened by Michael sitting up abruptly, pulling some of my sheets off with him.
"Michael?" I ask sheepishly, "What are you doing?"
"I just need to get something, I'll be right back." He whispers, getting up and walking out of the room. I hear the water running in the bathroom, he's probably just getting a drink.
He comes back a few minutes later and lays down.
I fall asleep soon after he gets back into bed.
I wake up again because of him. Small, quiet, sobs racking his body cause the bed to shake slightly.
I sit up, and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Michael? What's wrong, why are you crying?"
"I'm s-sorry." He cries.
"What? What is it?"
"I can't sleep, there's something wrong with me, I can't sleep, I don't want to lay down, I think I'm gonna die. I'm scared." He sits up and kicks his feet into the mattress hard, flinging his blankets off and taking a gasp for breath.
"Michael, calm down." I try to hold his hand, but he pulls it away.
"No, no, I can't. I can't. There's something wrong with me, I can't, I can't." He gets up and starts pacing back and forth across his room; his entire body shaking.
"Michael, get back in bed, you need sleep. It's three in the morning."
"I can't, it's too hot in here, I need help, help me, help me!" He cries, moaning and pacing.
He grabs my arm with a sweaty hand and pulls me up.
"Take me to the hospital so they can fix me, I'm scared." He raises his voice.
"Shh, calm down. What's wrong?"
"I can't breathe right, I'm hot and sweaty, I feel like I'm going to be sick, help me." He panics.
"Michael, please get in bed." I do my best to pull him over into his bed.
"If you lay down and fall asleep and stay asleep, I'll know you're okay. If you wake up again, I'll tell your mom and we'll get help. Okay?" I tuck him in.
He nods, looking at me fearfully.
"I'm so dumb. I'm sorry." He whimpers.
"You're not dumb." I run my fingers over his forehead, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
He's still shaking:
"I took them. I wasn't feeling good because I felt dizzy and I didn't want to get you sick or anything, so I took pills, and I don't know what they do, I think I'm gonna die." He takes his hand out from under the sheets and squeezes my hand.
"How many?" I ask.
"The bottle said take two and I did and I waited a while and nothing happened so I took three more." He sniffles.
"Nothing's going to happen to you, that's not too much. The worst that can happen is you'll have a headache when you wake up. Just try to relax and then go to sleep."
I get into the covers and lay so my head is close to his.
I can hear every breath, every movement. He moans and squeezes my hand, beginning to sit up.
"It's okay, I'm here." I say. He reaches put his arms and puts them around my torso, and I put mine around his shoulders, pulling us closer.
He seems to relax a little.
"What I meant to say was I-I think I'm in love with you." He whispers. His face is close to mine. I see teardrops on his face. He closes his eyes and lets a sob escape his lips.
"I'm sorry you have to see me like this." He says quietly. "Every few days I just break down, I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry? You're always alone, going through this; it's not your fault."
"I'm sorry." He sighs.
Michael wakes me up again, though this time not purposely.
He's still asleep, but this time he's rolling over and over, and muttering things.
He squeezes his eyes tighter.
Then he opens them, and gasps, yelping and practically jumping into my arms.
"Go back to sleep, it's five in the morning." I whisper, pulling his blankets over him.
"I can't. I had a bad dream, and I'm thinking a lot. I was having such a good day." He says.
"I know." I tell him. He rolls onto his stomach and lays his head on his pillow.
"I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend everything is alright. I can't tell people I'm just tired, or I'm just cold, or I already ate, I'm done. I'm fucking done with everything. I can't tell anyone anything because the next thing I fucking know is that everyone knows what I said or I did, and everyone hates me anyway, and I'm so done with being judged and lied to." I hear tears plop onto the pillow.
I lay close to him, and he moves so his nose is practically touching mine.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm usually alone and crying by myself. It's so hard being alone. I can't calm down."
"You're more calm now."
"But you're here. Without you, I'd be bleeding all over the place."
"Michael, I'm so sorry."
"But it's true. Without you, who knows where I'd end up."
"What did you dream about?" I ask, trying to change the topic as the glow of the sunrise peeks through Michael's window.
"I don't know... I was just kind of scared."
"What where you scared of though?"
"I'm embarrassed to say." He says.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Michael, tell me or I'll... I'll... uh... I'll lick you."
"So?"
I stick out my tongue so it touches his nose.
He smiles.
"Did that cheer you up?"
"A little. Kind of gross, though. You've got your spit on my nose." He chuckles.
"Sorry, and okay, good. Tell me, what was your dream about?"
"I'm sorry. But I don't want to tell you."
"Who will you tell?"
"Nobody."
"Tell me. Now."
"Fine. I had a dream that the band got famous, but we had to leave home and move away and I want us to be successful and stuff but I don't want to have to leave you."
"What's embarrassing about that?" I ask.
"I don't know. I give up, I want to restart, I hate this." He rolls onto his stomach and sighs. "Ugh. Life."
"I really want you to be famous. But only if you promise you won't forget about me."
"I don't want to forget you, ever. I'll never forget you. And I'll always love you."
Michael turns onto his side, playing with my hair.
And for the rest of the night, we both sleep peacefully.