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Something always stops Mike, he finds. Even with the pills in hand, alone and shaking. He can’t admit it’s out of fear. That he can’t take the handful and just do it already, because, well, he’s afraid. That, even after everything, something so mundane leaves him struggling for air.
Maybe mundane isn’t the right word to anyone else, but it was right to him.
He had never told anyone about the thoughts and ideation, because what’s the point in that? Everyone gets sad sometimes, how different could this be? Though, he’d never admit that it isn’t the only reason. He could never face Nancy or his mother with something seemingly so… crushing. The look on their faces... he’s sure that guilt would never go away.
He’s ripped from his thoughts, Nancy standing at his doorway. The world seems to stand still as they stare at each other, his head spinning. Her face is flushed pale, eyebrows furrowed and eyes glassy. Chest heaving, she rushes to his side, pulling him into a crushing hug.
“Mike? Mike, what’s wrong? What happened?” Nancy whispers, voice pitched up in distress. She takes the pills from his hand and he just can’t seem to move. Or think, for that matter. Dammit, he can’t breathe either, gaze moving between her and the pills rapidly.
Forcing himself to regain some composure, he reaches out for her fist, “I’m fine, Nance… Just, give them back. I’m fine.” He mumbles, eyes puffy and red from his crying minutes prior. Her mouth contorts into a deep frown, shifting as to drop the pills into his trash can.
Mike’s eyes fly wide open at this, squirming. “What the fuck, Nance?!” he howls, struggling to get out of her strong hold with surprising difficulty, “If Mom and Dad find them, I don’t even know what they’ll do!” his voice raises in volume with each word, chest rising and falling rapidly. Nancy shushes him, letting go.
“Calm down,” it comes out as a hiss, “This stays between us. I’ll take out the trash, but you have got to talk to me, alright?” The look on her face is worse than anything he’d imagined. Her eyes pleading, he can already feel the guilt consuming him. His gaze drops as he settles back on the ground.
Mike remains silent, unable to get a word out without his voice croaking awkwardly. Her eyes bore into his skull, burning painful holes. “I’m…,” he finally starts, unsure, “I’m so tired, Nance. I don’t know what to do, after everything. It’s too much, it’s all too much. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
Unable to look at her, Mike stares hard at the floor. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, comforting, but he can only flinch away. The air in his room is so heavy and suffocating, tension impossibly thicker. “I know, Mike…,” she trails off, unsure, “It’ll be okay, I promise.”
All he can do is force a small smile, unable to simply tell her, No, Nancy, you don’t get it, It’s not okay. I’m not okay. They share a hug.
----------------------------------------------------
The next morning is awkward. Nancy won’t stop giving him those concerned side glances, unable to say what she’s thinking. Treating him like glass, it makes his skin crawl. He’s not a fragile package, he’s just sad, that’s all.
She drives him to school that morning and he doesn’t have it in him to protest. The looks continue, burning. Mike keeps his gaze cast downward, still as if one movement will break everything. But, he just can’t take the silence, the glances, the tension , all of it. It’s all too much.
“Just say it, Nance,” he finally grumbles, her eyes flickering off the road briefly. Remaining silent, she chews on her lip, unsure.
“I don’t know what you mean,” but even she can hear the lie in it, running a hand through her hair with a sigh, “I’m… I’m just worried about you, Mike.” His stomach twists uncomfortably, his throat going dry.
He hates the pitied look she gives him as his breathing hitches. He tries to tell himself she means well, that she has every right to be worried about him. But an overwhelming, uncomfortable feeling begins creeping up his spine and he can’t stop himself from speaking.
“Do you ever…,” Mike pauses, sucking in air, “Wish you could fall asleep and never wake up? Like, everything would just be so much easier on everyone… If you were gone?” he pulls at a loose string on his sweater, choking on the last words. It feels so wrong to say, to admit that tomorrow seems so far away most days.
They pull into the school parking lot, silent. Nancy stares at him, at a loss for words, uncomfortable. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she pulls him into a crushing hug over the console. She doesn’t say anything in response and he can’t blame her. It’s an impossibly heavy question he regrets even asking.
Removing himself from her hold, he grabs his backpack and mumbles a goodbye. A lump forms in his throat. Stupid, the voice in his head hisses, You’re fucking stupid for that, Michael.
The school day passes by slowly. He goes to his respective classes, avoiding all of his friends along the way. The behavior is nothing new, but he can feel them looking at him. Like they know, that they know he’s a freak. That they know he cries himself to sleep, dreaming of pills, dreaming of blissful nothingness. He jumps as the final bell rings.
Collecting his things, he makes a break for the classroom door but Max blocks his escape. She stares at him, hard, and he recoils under her gaze. “You gonna explain why you’re flat out avoiding us?” she bites, gesturing to the rest of the party sitting across the room. He swallows thickly, chewing on his lip. He could just try and push past Max, but she might as well attempt murder right then and there.
“I’m not avoiding you guys,” he lies through his teeth, “Just tired.” Less of a lie, the deep purple circles under his eyes make sure of that. Max doesn’t buy it.
Her frown deepens, face reddening ever so slightly, “Mike, it is so fucked up how you just cast us aside, you know that right? I’d be surprised if you even considered us friends anymore.” The words are a lead spear, penetrating deep into his chest. His brows furrow and he can’t help how tears prick at his eyes. Against his better judgment, he pushes past Max without a single word. She calls after him but he doesn’t care. He needs out . Out of that room, out of this building, out of this fucking body. He breaks out into a sprint, ignoring everyone around him, ignoring the way his lungs contract uncomfortably.
Cold autumn air hits his face as he’s finally outside. It almost immediately jogs him wide awake, tears falling down his face simultaneously. He decides then to walk home. Nancy wasn’t there yet, so hopefully, she’d figure it out soon enough when she did get there. He can’t bring himself to face her like this, not with red, burning eyes and snot running down his face. He’d die of humiliation.
The walk home is surprisingly brief, Mike lost in thought as he navigates the streets of Hawkins. In moments like this, he missed Will. He always knew what to say, how to comfort Mike. The tears never stopped, earning stares when he let out a particularly heavy sob. Paired with the cold, he just couldn’t stop shaking and his jacket did nothing for skin and bones.
As the sun begins to set over the horizon, he arrives home. Rubbing harshly at his face, he steps inside, shouldering off his backpack and jacket. Avoiding his parents and sisters, he quietly climbs the stairs. He successfully makes it to his room, shoving a bottle of Xanax into his pocket from a drawer.
He quickly pops one before climbing into bed. All he can do as he recounts the day is stare at his ceiling. It’s unforgiving, cold, unsympathetic. That’s the treatment he deserves, Mike concludes. Soon enough, he’s crying again. Sobs wrack his weak form, nails clawing at his sides. No pain could hurt more than this , is all he can think as he drifts to sleep, hiccups slowing to deep, ragged breaths.
Nothing can hurt more than this.