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Today was Raphael’s 18th birthday. But it was not a happy birthday. In fact, he was feeling quite frustrated.
What was the point of being excited for his first year of adulthood?
It’s not like he could do any of the normal adult things, because he was a turtle. A mutant turtle, sure. But still a turtle.
He was trapped in this stupid, pointless life. Whenever he wasn’t risking his life to save the world, he was stuck in the stinky sewers.
When Michelangelo went to wake Raphael up, he saw a horrible surprise.
Raphael was gone. Actually, that wasn’t the surprising part. Raphael liked to be alone, especially lately. The real surprise was what Michelangelo saw on the sheet.
Streaks of blood.
“Well, Michelangelo?” Leonardo asked.
Michelangelo quickly pulled the blanket over the sheets and smiled nervously.
“Actually… I… uh… just remembered something.”
“I have to go meet him at… uh… the skate park!”
“The skate park?”
“Yeah, I told him to meet me there!” Michelangelo said. “I’ll distract him while you two set up the party!”
Before Leonardo could say anything else, Michelangelo ran off. On his way out, he knocked the blanket off the bed, and Leonardo saw the blood.
“Uh-oh,” he said. “That’s not good.”
“Maybe he just had a nosebleed,” Donatello shrugged.
Michelangelo knew he had to do something. What if Raphael was hurt and all alone?
He tried to call Raphael on the TurtleCom.
No answer.
Of course.
“I gotta find him! But where do I even look? He could be anywhere. I need some help.”
He called April. They searched for hours until Michelangelo got a call from Leonardo, telling him to come back home. When he got there, he saw Raphael, curled up on the couch. His arms and legs were covered in long cuts.
Michelangelo approached.
“Hey, man! What happened! Didja get into a fight or something?”
Raphael covered himself with a blanket, not answering.
Michelangelo laughed nervously.
“We could’ve helped you. You don’t need to fight alone.”
After Raphael still didn’t answer, Michelangelo turned to Splinter. “What happened to him?”
Splinter inhaled deeply.
“Michelangelo, I think we need to have a talk. Come with me.”
There was hushed conversation, and then Michelangelo got loud.
“Does he not love us?” His voice broke. “Does… does he think we don’t love him?”
Michelangelo insisted on staying in the living room that night.
It was eerily quiet. He could hear the tears rolling down Raphael’s face.
Raphael didn’t sleep, and neither did Michelangelo.
As the hours ticked by, Michelangelo felt more and more uneasy. He just wanted to know if his best friend was going to be okay.
Michelangelo felt a chill and wished that he’d brought a blanket. He curled up and hummed quietly to himself. It was one of Raphael’s favorite songs. He just couldn’t get his brother off his mind. When he stopped, he heard snoring.
Raphael was finally asleep.
Michelangelo felt his eyes getting heavy. He fell asleep, too.