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Int- Michael’s bedroom, Night – Michael and Arthur (The Spiral/Dr David)
Michael is sitting cross legged on his bed, panicking loudly, seemingly talking to himself. The room seems cramped due to the amount of space taken up by various mobility aids scattered around, closest in reach to him being a green cane. He is close to tears and is pulling at his hair in a futile attempt to solve all his problems “I don’t know what to do without seeing him Arthur, Dad- Roberto, will be there I can’t see him, see Anh and Teddy and Mum, I don’t know what to do I don’t know what to do I can’t not go I need to see him, Amé doesn’t go every year I need to see him I need to see him, Arthur fucking help me for fucks sake.”
“Michael what can I do, I can’t make her bring you and like you said you didn’t want to see Roberto for good reason. Is it really such a big deal not to go for one year? It’s not like Callum is going anywhere, right?”
“Arthur what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck do you mean ‘he’s not going anywhere’ I KNOW that! I know my fucking know my dead arsehole of a brother isn’t GOING ANYWHERE OH MY GOD ARE YOU FUCKING WELL? I NEED TO SEE HIM BECAUSE THE LAST EIGHT YEARS HE’S BEEN DEAD I WAS PISSED OFF MY BALLS DRUNK AND-” he breaks off, quieter now, an eerie calm settled over him “and he needs to know I can get sober. I need him to know I got better. Arthur, I NEED him to know.” He's sobbing now, his hand gripping large chunks of his hair pulling at it to do, something, lord knows he doesn’t know.
“Michael, calm down for fucks sake you’ll wake the fucking Lord up if you keep going on. I apologise, I misspoke, I’m well aware of why you feel you can’t miss your brother’s anniversary, but we CAN’T go. We simply do not have the means or manner to and if Roberto is going illicit some sort of reaction from you maybe it’s best not to attend.”
“I don’t care about that prick; he can drop dead of a heart attack in front of me and I would take the wallet from his pocket for the years of abuse I endured and I would deserve every penny I took.”
“What about your mother Michael, what about her, does she deserve to have nothing to her name-”
“Don’t use her like that. Don’t do that you manipulative bastard. Fuck off for all I care. What do you do besides chastise and give out to me? I asked for help not a guilt trip. Fuck off. I mean it. Go on. You’re as much help as Lex is you know that?”
“Fine. I’ll go. But remember you were the one who begged me to help him over not being able to go. Go on and crib about missing your precious druggie brother’s anniversary then since I’m so useless. Go, see how you cope without me keeping you alive and sane.”
Michael stiffens suddenly, hand still gripping his hair and tears still streaming down his face as Arthur leaves him alone in front. He sobs quietly, hands moving down to scratch his neck and arms in feverish motions.
“Prick, that prick, he knows- he knows not to use her like that-”
He breaks off once more, hiccupping and wiping his eyes on the bedsheets in an attempt to calm down; Arthur was right, he couldn’t cope on his own. Breath hitching in his throat still sobbing but less so now. Fuck Arthur and his bullshit lies; Michael had survived that hellhole of his fath- Roberto’s house for seventeen years with barely any help from his parts. Just because Arthur felt he needed to be some sort of parental figure or some bullshit to him. Another sob, smaller. He was fine, he was always fine. It′ll be over quick, it was always over quick.
”Sure! Keep reminding yourself of that. That’ll work, wont it, Mikey boy. “it’ll be over quick.” Just like how you were over Callum’s death quick weren’t you? How long has it been? 8 years now? Still throwing a wobbly because dear old dad is scary? No, no. I think you are just an overdramatic selfish brat who demands everyone love him or God forbid he try and end his life! Ooh am I making you angry? I thought that it would be “over quick” was I wrong? Hmmm?? I think Mr Full of Himself was wrong! Haha! What joy! Well! Toodloo Mikey boy, try not kill yourself this time! We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Int- Bathroom, Night – Lex and Olivia
Michael Lex, is sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the radiator, the cool tile of the floor keeping it grounded somewhat. It clutches a stained towel to its arms in desperation trying to stop fresh cuts from bleeding to little avail. It had cut too deep, it hadn’t meant to, it just needed to stop, to stop the itch that had been spreading throughout its body – the wrong body, too tall, too lanky, too human- it hated it, hated the skin, the bones, the joints that ached or stung or just plain hurt in an unfamiliar way. The only familiar thing was the blue of veins, the bright red of blood and the scars. The blood was a comfort. It didn’t care that it wasn’t technically meant to front alone or that it wasn’t allowed near the razor blades or the body’s medication.
Michael had been upset and that thing, that evil thing, he called spiralself a Doctor had been in front, it could feel it; feel the dizzy that spiral caused. He was no Doctor, that being of Spiral and Hate. Spiral existed solely to cause torment and pain to the body. Lex supposed it did too. It only wanted familiarity, what was wrong with that? It needed to stop the itch; the unreachable itch that only pain seemed to quieten the itch it needed to silence.
Footsteps and the bathroom door creaking open stopped Lex’s thoughts. Fear coursed through its - No. Not its body, this would never be its body. - through the body it occupied and it raised its head. Amélia. It liked her. She was safe. It thinks. Was she safe? The blood it so desired beaded and dripped down the sides of its arms, the towel long forgotten on the floor.
Probably stained beyond washing, a second voice whispers, why did you use that one.
Lex pushed the voice away. Whoever it was didn’t matter at this time, Amélia was saying something, it didn’t understand what. Its ears were full of the sound of rushing blood as the fear mounted in its chest. It wasn’t ITS fear; it couldn’t feel emotions like the humans could.
“Mikey? Oh Mikey, why that? Why do that! Of all things! Oh, Mikey and the towel!”
I told you the towel was ruined. She’s going to hate us now. She’s going to hate us, she’ll kick us out, we’re going to die alone on the street oh no oh no oh no oh no oh on oh no no no no no no no-
Lex tunes the voice out again; this was irritating it slightly. It needed to listen to Amélia’s voice, to something that wasn’t the incessant panic in its brain. The sting from the cuts was getting to it now, now that it was slightly less dissociated and it hurt. It was a raw stinging pain and it relished it, this was the closest it could get to humanity and it relished the biting sting and the tears pooling in its eyes from the pain. This was what it enjoyed about the whole ordeal. The satisfaction from the bloodletting, the itch being soothed, it gaining some feel for its little humanity.
~~~~~~~~~~
Did it really outweigh the disappointed look on Amélia’s face though? Really? It hurt so much. It hurt. She hated this. She hated pain. It hurt so much why did Lex do that, of course she was coming into front after it had relapsed. Or blood let as it called it. Blood let, relapsing, self-harming, it didn’t matter, all Olivia knew was that her arms burned and stung and were BLEEDING. Bleeding. Bleeding. Bleeding heavily. She couldn’t focus on Amélia’s words when there was pain and blood and it hurt. She didn’t know what her aunt was saying the panic was overwhelming and it threatened to spill over in a wave of tears and panicked breath and shaking and Olivia was meant to stop that, not cause it. Amélia was kneeling in front of her now, asking something.
“Arms darling, show me your arms. I’m not angry.” her voice is soft, gentle. Nothing like our mothers, the harshness and her questioning. It hurt to move her arms, the drying blood felt wrong on her skin, she hated it. It was her job to stop this, was she really this useless at keeping them safe?
Tears pooled and fell and panicked breath caught in her throat she pulled her legs in close to her chest – idiot Michael hadn’t taken off their binder – and wincing as she wrapped her smarting arms around them, she didn’t know what she was doing exactly, maybe an attempt to feel safe? An attempt to actually live up to her role or was she really as useless as their father had said? She was wasn’t she.
She was an idiot and she was useless and she was a fuckup who was incompetent and would get nowhere in life and end up on the street and- she’s in her body again, back against the radiator, arms still burning, the cuts mostly stopped bleeding. Amélia was still talking, something about a cat she thinks.
“-Looks like the cat did a number on you doesn’t it? Mikey, can I see your arms please? You’re not in trouble, you’re safe here.”
She was sitting beside her now, whispering sweet nothings to her trying to calm her down she supposed. Was it working? She didn’t know. Olivia wiped her eyes on her shirt not caring that there was blood stained on it. Too late to clean it now. She thought, sniffing loudly.
“Mikey-”
”I’m not Michael.” God her voice sounded horrible, scratchy and gravelly, nothing like hers.
“Ok, that’s ok. Who are you then?” her voice was still soft but smooth in the likeness of how you’d approach a frightened animal. A cat even. Olivia could laugh. She was likening herself to a cat. A fucking cat. Amélia’s arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her closer in a half hug careful not to touch her arms. They still stung. She didn’t care right now.
”Olivia.” Shame burned through her body, she didn’t want Amélia to know she was useless at her job and couldn’t handle a fucking breakdown as if they didn’t have one every other week.
“Olivia, can I see your arms please?” a request, not a demand. Why wasn’t she angry? She wasn’t meant to be like this. This wasn’t Olivia’s normal. There was no shouting or throwing things or frosty glares or snubbing. She felt like crying again. “I just want to make sure nothing needs stitches alright? Is that ok for me to do?”
”Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for letting this happen and for being useless and for-“ “Olivia,” She shushed her. “It’s alright. I’m not mad at you I’m not going to yell or shout or scream and you’re safe. Just let me see what happened.”
Slowly she unwraps her arms from around her legs, the blood having stained lines into their pyjama bottoms. They were her favourite as well. The movement had made a couple cuts start bleeding and she grimaced at the sight. Had Lex tried to kill them again? She fucking hoped not. They were a horrible mess of congealing blood and it was an eyesore to look at. Ignoring the fact, she hated the sight of blood of course
“Oh darling, oh Olivia lovey your poor arms.” She stood up, picking up the long-discarded towel Lex had pilfered with her. “Are you able to walk?” Olivia didn’t know, she hadn’t wanted to move. The cuts were bothering her and her legs felt like they would give out if she tried to move and plus, they hurt too much.
“It doesn’t matter, just stay there and I’ll be back in a minute, ok?” she shuffles out of the bathroom, towel in hand leaving Olivia alone again. Well, not alone. She had plenty of headmates but of course she was alone in front. Staring at her arms she wonders why Lex did that. It made no sense and part of her hates it for it.
~~~~~~~~~~
Int- Bathroom, Still Night – Michael
Michael is back in his body. Or at least physically. Dissociation was clouding his ability to think and feel things. He tries to think, squeezing his eyes shut, the pounding beneath his eyes of an incoming headache. He doesn’t know. He’s acutely aware of something being wrong, that something? He wasn’t sure of. Was it just that he was still upset from Arthur and David? Was it the fact there was a new pain, raw and stinging, that differed from the aching rot of his body? Was it because his hands shook and his legs felt numb from sitting on the cold tile? The tile? There was no tile in his bedroom. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
His mind was still cloudy, leftover remnants of someone’s panic swirling and he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to know why he was in the bathroom or why his arms smarted and felt like they had when his fath- Roberto had thrown the vase at him. He decided he didn’t care at the moment, just wanted to avoid the headache that seemed intent on blooming at the worst possible moment. Of course, he knew what had happened. Just not when or how or why. Maybe he did know why. For all he knew he was the cause of the why. Leaning his head back against the freezing radiator – why was he leaning against it – he stretched his legs out, the cramping ache of them contrasting with the sting in his arms. He was still angry at Arthur. That, at least he remembered. “Prick” he mumbled. The cold was helping ground him.
“Who’s the prick” Amélia’s voice. Lifting his head off the radiator he opened one eye slowly to peer at her. “What’s with the look? I said I’d be back soon” she says, edging around the door and turning the light on which made him scowl and cover his eyes. It hurt to move his arms. Oh. He had forgotten about that. “Turn the light off for fucks sake” he rasped, God his voice sounded horrible. Whover had been fronting before had either smoked his last pack of fags or been crying. Michael couldn’t taste any nicotine so he assumed the latter. “Are you trying to blind me?” He straightened up slightly, hand still covering his eyes. He could see dried blood on his hand.
“I need the light to see what I’m doing Olivia.” Olivia? He wasn’t- what? She didn’t do this. She had never self harmed. She was fucking terrified of blood.
That didn’t matter right now, his headache was still there, the pressure behind his eyes getting worse from the light. Amélia had crouched down beside him first aid box in hand and, something else he didn’t recognise, a smaller kit. “You made a right mess of your arms and they are deep but I don’t think they’ll need stitches.” Her voice was softer than usual, granted she was always soft spoken but there was something new there. Like how he talked to Anh and Teddy to reassure them when Roberto had been drinking and scared them or- or how he would talk to Cally’s grave. Like how Axel would talk him through a panic attack or the time he had passed out on the stairs and he had dislocated his hip. Too soft, too soothing. A deterrent. Something to stop him from panicking.
She was still talking in that same way as she started methodically cleaning the cuts. It fucking stung and he pulled away from her grip, grasping his arm. Amélia let him take it and moved to sit beside him. He had mostly avoided looking at them till now and it had been a good idea to. While there weren’t many cuts, they were deep, deeper than what Michael would have done when he was trapped in Roberto’s house. He stared at them seemingly studying them watching the blood reappear and bead. He had been clean for over a year and once he found who had relapsed, he was going to make alter death a reality.
Amélia interrupted his train of thought with a gentle tap on his shoulder and the words “Olivia, I know it hurts I’m sorry about that but-” Michael cut her off abruptly “I’m not fucking Olivia. Surely, you’d know your own fucking nephew by now. I can do that shit myself.” He wasn’t actually angry; he just needed to have some form of control even if that meant pissing off his aunt in the process. He knew she was making sure he was ok but he hated that she was so nice. He wasn’t used to this even after living with her for over a year. The kindness felt cloying and overwhelming at times, especially now. He was the one who cleaned up after he had relapsed and kept it secret to avoid the shame of it being found out. He loved his aunt, really, he did but he needed to do this himself. And God he needed a fag. Ignoring the hurt look on Amélia’s face and her protestations he grasped the damn radiator and pulled himself up on shaky legs. Fuck, his legs were both numb and aching simultaneously. They had other plans apparently and gave out. He all but fell had Amélia not been there to catch him. It was stupid to have tried but he wanted to get out of the bathroom, have some attempt at tending to his arms and to get a smoke.
Staring down at his legs he finally noticed the bloodstains on his pyjamas. And they had been his favourites as well. One of the only things of Cally’s he had and they were ruined now. This seemed to be the thing that pushed him over the edge and he, to his annoyance was crying. He leaned into Amélia and she let him. Of course she let him. She was so soft and loving and he was, he didn’t know what he was. She didn’t seem to mind that he had snapped at her or tried to leave and had nearly fallen on top of her, she just let him cry into her. Nothing like his mother, if Amélia was soft and kind his mother was hard and frosty. She would never have done this. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to I didn’t mean-” he breaks off still crying utterly ashamed of himself.
“Shh shh no, no don’t be sorry darling, no you have nothing to be sorry for. No don’t even think of being sorry love. Shh you’re ok, you’re ok, you did nothing wrong.” She pulled him closer, being careful of his arms. “You just cry as long as you need to, ok my darling? You’re not in any trouble.” Michael pulls away to wipe his eyes on his shirt “I’m still sorry. You don’t have to put up with me. Just fuck off.”
He wipes his eyes again and sniffs loudly, clearly embarrassed at having cried. Amélia grabs a roll of tissue paper and hands it to him. “Don’t use your shirt to do that love, it’ll feel awful stuck to you. And I’m not ‘putting up with you’, you deserve to have someone to listen to or cry to alright? And I’m not fucking off either as much as you might want me to. I’m making sure you’re ok and safe. So, I won’t be leaving you till I’m certain of that, are we clear?” her tone was firm and brooks no argument but she clearly cares about him.
An elderly cat, missing a chunk of ear slinks into the bathroom, headbutts Michael in the back softly and goes to sit on Amélia’s lap. “Tomás shoo! Shoo! It’s not time for food now. Oh, you foolish cat, can’t you see I’m busy?” Tomás persists and stays in her lap purring contently. Michael reaches out and scratches his head softly, ignoring the look from Amélia at his arm. Tomás to his credit pushes his head into Michael’s hand. Just as suddenly as he arrived Tomás jumps off of Amélia’s lap and goes to the door as if to leave. He doesn’t, but sits and meows at the two petulantly.
“I know you want food, you greedy bastard but I’m busy at the moment making sure Mikey doesn’t die of sepsis first. You don’t want him to die do you, or maybe you do and you’re just an evil evil cat. Are you evil?? Or just greedy?? Hmm?” she chastises gently. I’ll get you food once Mikey is ok or will you simply pass away from starvation? Tomás, dissatisfied pads away and leaves the two alone again. “Mikey, can I finish your arms or do you want to do it? I’m fine with either option but if they need stitches, you’ll have to let me do those. Is that ok?” Michael nods tiredly, feeling utterly exhausted. “I don’t care. Do what you want.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Int- Bathroom, Night – Michael
Amélia was talking to him, about what? He didn’t know. He had promptly let the ever-lingering dissociation cloud his mind fully again and let her clean his arms and do whatever she had needed to. Now she was talking to him, asking him a question, something about “It’ll be over soon, they’ll heal quicker.” He didn’t really care; he just wanted it over and done with. His parts had drained him of what little energy he had and he was fucking exhausted from shit he couldn’t fucking remember. He drifted in his mind again, it was less taxing and he felt freer, would it probably cause a migraine later? Yeah. Did he care much right now, as Amélia unpacked the smaller kit she had brought with her earlier and opened a small package inside to reveal a curved needle and something metal resembling scissors?
Oh.
Oh no. That wasn’t good.
Still, he couldn’t find it in himself in him to protest or tell her that he would need extra stitches. Just hoped she would remember. It hurt, of course it hurt but it seemed to be magnified by ten every time the damn needle went through his skin and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was exhausted or if it was the usual pain affecting him worse. He didn’t know if he cared either, just silently wished it was over quickly. Finally, the last cut that Amélia had decided needed stitches was done, thread tied off and cut and she was packing away the metal scissor thing. He looked down at his arms, the blood had been cleaned off and they looked less, garish and offensive. Whatever antiseptic she had used – which had smelled foul and chemically – had stained the cuts and surrounding skin yellow which usually would have made him laugh but he was just too fucking exhausted to try.
Amélia was talking again, he assumed she had been the entire time to reassure him he was alright but he had been too dissociated to fully comprehend it. This time, he tried paying attention. It felt rude to just blatantly ignore her but he couldn’t really control that. “-done that, but I’m not sure how the stitches will hold. I need to bandage it now, you’re not allergic to adhesives, are you? We’re nearly finished now!” she emphasized the nearly in an attempt to, he didn’t know what. Cheer him up with the knowledge that his arms weren’t totally turned to minced meat? Still, he was glad she was doing this. Michael shook his head. He wasn’t allergic, at least not to his knowledge
~~~~~~~~~~
Int- Living Room/Kitchen, 1am - Michael
Amélia was bustling around the kitchen making two mugs of hot chocolate adding marshmallows to one and a slug of Baileys into the other. Picking the mugs up she pads over to the kitchen door and into the living room where she places the mugs down on the coffee table littered with magazines, books, an old coffee mug and what appeared to be a chewed-up cat toy. Sighing, she gingerly picks up the cat toy and tosses it in the general direction of Tomás’ litter box. She grabs the telly remote and finally sits on the couch waiting for Michael to finish smoking. He at least had the sense to bring the ashtray out with him.
The cold of the night air was soothing in a way. It reminded him of the estate and his friends when would stay out as late as they could with him. This was before they knew he was trans of course. That seemed to have ruined a lot of things. He missed them, fuck he missed them nearly every day. Leaning against the balcony he blew out smoke and took a final drag of his fag before stubbing it out. It helped take an edge off him but he was still exhausted and the pain in his arms had dulled to an ache. It burned if he hit them off something or leaned on his cane but what could he do. The usual pain was sharp and biting, it felt like it was bordering a flare up. He’d ask Amélia if she had anything he could take. Walking back into her apartment slowly leaving the ashtray outside he closed the sliding door shut but didn’t bother locking it. He’d be out later again most likely.
“You alright Mikey?” Amélia looked up from her phone, she hadn’t put anything on the TV yet. “Did you lock the door or what? Any ideas on what to watch?” she continued, slightly distracted having put her phone down and turning her attention to the TV where she was scrolling through shitty movies on Netflix. Sitting down heavily he leaned his cane against the side of the couch and picked up a hot chocolate. “Wrong one darling, that’s mine. Yours has the marshmallows. I doubt you’d appreciate a Baileys hot chocolate” she said with a slight laugh. Sighing he put it down and picked the second drink up, taking a long sip from it. “Bit late for a drink, no?” he questioned leaning back into the couch. This was their routine when neither could sleep or he had an; incident.
“You’re one to talk, going out for a smoke at this time. Hmm? You’ll destroy your lungs Mikey.” She poked his side lightly with the remote then threw it onto his lap. “Go on and pick something to watch then, I can’t find anything good. And not Sing Street again.” She picks up her mug, not drinking from it just letting the heat seep into her hands. “What’s wrong with Sing Street? It’s a great movie.”
“I cannot listen to Duran Duran or Conor pining over that girl, Rachel or whatever her name is again”
“I thought you loved me!” Michael exclaims, feigning upset “And her name’s Raphina not Rachel for fucks sake, and you just have an unfair bias against Duran Duran.” Regardless of Amélia’s dislike of his favourite movie he picked up the remote and to her dismay he puts Sing Street on. Again.
“Michael, I swear to God above you are not picking what we watch next time.” She didn’t really mind; she knew it would cheer him up some bit and that’s what matter more to her then having to endure Duran Durans awful music. Anyway, Amélia was going to make him sit through the Lion King if this happened again. She loved her nephew dearly but God, he worried her to no end. Not to mention his damn nicotine addiction. She had long since given up on trying to get him to quit. He had managed to stop smoking every day, which was better than the multiple times a day that had been the previous years he had stayed here. Of course it wasn’t Michael’s fault entirely. Her prick of a brother – could she even call him a brother? – had ruined him and his other children. Especially Callum, God rest his soul. Callum. His anniversary was soon. How could she have forgotten? She had meant to ask Michael about it.
“Mikey, dear.” Tentative, and clearly carefully broaching a subject he might not want to talk about. Michael immediately had his guard up again, head snapping to face her as he paused the movie just as Conor and Raphina were about to kiss. “Yeah?” he tried keeping his voice as level as possible which was, not an easy task. “You remember how last year you weren’t living with Axel and I? And how you –” She’s cut off by Michael, his voice trembling slightly sounding as if he was either on the verge of tears again or was laced with anger. “Are you going to ask about what happened earlier that- caused this” he indicated to his right arm which was now wrapped in bandages. “Because I don’t know why, how or what happened to cause it. Ok? I’m sorry I’m fucking crazy because Roberto saw a child and thought “punching bag” but unfortunately or fortunately, I don’t know what part turned my arms to minced meat.” His voice was full of barely concealed anger and Amélia had noticed how his hand had shaken when he had pointed to his arm.
“No Michael, I wasn’t going to ask that. I was going to ask if you had thought about Callum. And his anniversary. I wasn’t at all going to ask if you knew who had done that because you clearly didn’t want to talk about it and had no recollection of the fucking mess I walked into.” She regretted saying the last part as soon as it had left her mouth.
“Oh.” Michael’s voice is suddenly devoid of any emotion at all, and he is no longer full of that angry bristling energy. He just looked drained and empty as if the mere mention of his brother sucked the life out of him.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m exhausted and I know you are as well but I needed to ask you if you had thought about it and if you felt up to going. I know it’s hard and especially this year, being so far from him and I miss Call-”
“Don’t say his name. Please.” His voice was still empty, still emotionless, as if it would make him forget the pain and grief that fucking ruled his every waking moment. At least it felt that way. “I want to go, but I didn’t know if you were going to. You didn’t go last year or the year before last. Can I unpause the movie or do you want to continue staring at a still screen of a fifteen-year old’s first attempt at kissing.” With the last sentence he tried, he tried to inject something into his voice so his aunt wouldn’t think he was about to cry again. Which he probably was. Fuck.
“Yeah. I mean it when I said I was sorry by the way.” The movie continues, and Conor kisses Raphina and promptly ruins it by mentioning her current boyfriend. Amélia stares somewhat blankly at the screen, trying to think of what to say to the teen beside her. It didn’t matter. She knew he knew she was sorry and she had been stupid to mention Callum. At least she had an answer though. The weight beside her shifted as Michael stood up, leaning on his cane, wincing as he did so. He mumbled something she didn’t quite hear. “Pardon?” she turned the volume of the TV down slightly. “Getting meds, shit hurts.” His voice cracked slightly and she could tell he was crying.
“Sit down, I’ll get them. You should have told me earlier.” She moves to stand up but Michael moves off with a limp. “Don’t bother. I want to do it myself. I need to piss anyways.” She doesn’t argue and sits back down, watching as he limped off. Pausing the movie again, the second time in ten minutes she yawned and picked up her phone to check the time. 02:17am, 19th of February. A week till Callum’s anniversary. She had a message from Axel.
> How’re you getting on mo ghrá? Is Michael alright? 02:03am
< I’m fine, don’t worry ❤️. Mikey I’m less sure. We were alright up till ten minutes ago and I made the mistake of asking about ykw and he’s gone off now to cry I’m certain. 02:17am
> Good <3. 02:18am
> Oh dear, he’s not going to do anything is he? 02:18am
< No thank God, not again. Are you going to be back home any time soon or will this be a similar situation to the last? I think he misses you more than I do 😞 02:19am
> Can’t tell you, can I a stóirín? Unless you want me back home in a box. I’ll have to get going soon, tá mé i ngrá leat <33 02:22am
< Love you too darling, stay safe ❤️❤️ 02:23
Turning off her phone, she picked up her mug of hot chocolate and stood up. It had long since gone cold and she had only been able to get halfway through it before feeling guilty about it. She walked out of the living room with the intent to make a cup of tea and to finally feed Tomás, the greedy bastard. Michael was sitting at the table on his phone, sniffing quietly with a glass of water in front of him. “Are you alright?” she poses the question as innocuously as possible knowing damn well he wasn’t but she wasn’t going to push him to be honest after having upset him earlier. She moves to the sink to empty and wash her mug and boil the kettle. “Cup of tea? Or is the water ok”
“Water is fine, thanks.” He doesn’t look up, pointedly ignoring her and the first question. Amélia moves to where Tomás’ food was stored, stooping to open the cupboard and reaching for the small plastic scoop. “I’ve fed him already.” Michael had taken his eyes from his phone and nodded to Tomás who was at his bowl eating like he hadn’t seen food for 3 weeks. “Gave him some cheese too. He nearly pissed himself when he saw me with it.” And with that he goes back to ignoring her and talking to whoever it was he was texting. Probably bitching to Samir. “Alright, thanks” the kettle flicks and she turns back to get milk and make her tea. “Don’t stay up too late. Love you Mikey” as she goes to leave, she scratches Tomás on the head affectionately “I won’t. Goodnight.” Still ignoring her, but softening up.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ext- Balcony/Kitchen, 02:47am – Michael (and The Watcher)
Michael-Isabela is smoking again, of course he is. The Watcher just, Watches him bemusedly. The Watcher never did understand why he continued to smoke, they were long away from their abuser and he could cause them no bodily harm. It was The Watchers purpose to Watch the alternate of that man they had formed. But sometimes, just sometimes for The Watchers amusement, or rather bewilderment, The Watcher liked to Watch the outside world from a safe distance where nobody would see The Watcher bar a certain alternate – the one the other alternates called “Lǐ hào yáng” – This was what The Watcher was doing now, Watching Micheal-Isabela smoke in the freezing night. The Watcher enjoyed the view even if it was just the other apartment complexes’ bare trees and street lights glowing a soft orange that The Watcher felt compelled to stare at. It was fascinating how the lights worked.
He inhaled and held it for a second, savouring the nicotine that gave him that sweetish rush, shortly after he exhaled and continued. He didn’t really know what brought him out again, the lights had caught his attention, the soft glow how comforting in a way. The pain meds were finally doing something and he felt less like amputating his legs. He could think clearer now, now that agony and the leftover washy panic from another part and his own anger had dissipated mostly and honestly, he felt shit. He’d been a fucking prick to Amélia and she had been so patient and understanding with him, and her being gentle dealing with him had made him want to cry. Partly because it had hurt and partly because nobody had been like that to him before when he had relapsed. It was unfamiliar and it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, he did he just didn’t know how to show it.
Michael-Isabela’s emotions were fascinating to The Watcher. Of course, The Watcher didn’t want Michael-Isabella to be upset, but The Watcher liked the echo of the feelings. It made The Watcher enjoy Watching the outside world more. The Watcher found it strange how Michael-Isabela’s mood changed so quickly. Pushing closer from the bare edges of co consciousness, The Watcher wanted to- The Watcher didn’t get to finish The Watchers thoughts before The Watcher realized Michael-Isabela knew The Watcher was there. Granted he didn’t know it was The Watcher but The Watcher knew that Michael-Isabela knew some other alternate was there Watching with him. The Watcher edges back to The Watcher’s original place in the Inner World slowly and leaves.
The feeling of another part being in front was gone as soon as he had noticed it and Michael just brushed it off, finished his fag and stared at the same view he had stared at hundreds of times previously. Nothing new, just the same old blocks of flats and bare trees lit by the street lamps, someone’s bike was left outside leaning against a wall. Michael wondered if it was locked. Whoever had left it out had been pretty fucking stupid to. The night air was bitingly cold and he was shivering slightly, he had realised. He missed Axel. The man was good company when he couldn’t sleep and even with his disdain of Michaels habits, had bummed a fag off him once or twice. “I don’t smoke. Not anymore” that had been one of the first things Axel had said to him when they had first met. He had offered the older man a fag and the bastard made him waste a perfectly good one by scaring him and making him drop it in the cat’s bowl of water.
He wondered what Axel was doing now. Probably some SAS bullshit mission killing kids in Afghanistan. Or he was scaring the shit out of guys Michael’s age who had foolishly tried joining up or something. He didn’t really care just wanted the company of someone who wasn’t Amélia. Samir had long since passed out asleep and he didn’t want to bother him. A growl in his stomach brought him back from his thoughts, he hadn’t fucking eaten since God knows when. He rose slowly from the faded pink plastic chair, grasped his cane making sure the fag butts were fully stubbed out and limped to the sliding door he had left ajar. He needed to remember to lock the fucking door this time he noted, slid it open as quietly as one could and stepped in from the cold.
He was tired and even though he had had a fag it hadn’t really helped with shit. There was milk he reckoned, there was always milk. He could make cereal. Or that weird muesli shit Axel ate. With added protein because of-fucking-course there was protein in it. How the fuck do you get muesli with added protein in it. He had locked the door and was now staring into the fridge willing something to present itself to him to eat. Amélia’s safe foods, he knew better then to touch those, 3 cartons of milk – he took the opened one –, bread, there was fuck all and he didn’t feel like a cheese sandwich. Closing the fridge, milk in hand he moved to the cupboard where his food was hoping none of his parts had taken the shit he had bought for himself. The milk was heavy and Michael left it on the counter behind him. Peering into the cupboard once more to see what was in there, he saw several packets of noodles, a random thing of pineapple juice - pineapple juice?? Who the fuck bought that -, rice, Inés’ stupid Mr Kipling cakes and Dr. Pepper Olivia had bought. Nothing he really wanted. His damn crisps weren’t there. “Cunts’ve eaten my bloody crisps.”
Closing the cupboard door, he turned to the counter with his milk on it. Had he eaten his crisps and forgotten about it? There were olives in the fridge and he usually wouldn’t turn his nose up at that. Did he really want to trigger Inés to front and have to deal with stars chatter? No. Not at this time of night he didn’t. The milk would do; he could eat in the morning. He pulled out a stool and sat heavily, relieving some pressure off his hips and opening the carton. How many times had he done this, had a breakdown and stayed up drinking. It didn’t matter, it never mattered, in an hour none of this would matter. He contemplated getting up to get a glass but that meant walking and he couldn’t have been arsed to so taking a swig of the milk straight from the carton it was. He reckoned Amélia was asleep, it was late.
He didn’t actually know what time it was. Pulling out his phone, half expecting a text from Samir even though he knew he was asleep, it read 03:17. Fuck. He was going to be murdered by Arthur if that prick came into front. He didn’t really want to go back to his room. It meant passing the bathroom and he was more than certain there was blood on the floor. He didn’t remember Amélia cleaning anything off the floor but then again, he didn’t remember anything before he had been pushed to front for some unknown reason. Taking another swig of milk, he mindlessly unlocked his phone to check the unread texts he had. Sadie had apparently thought that telling him how he had taken a road sign with Rowan was a good idea at two in the morning. It wasn’t that interesting. He’d reply in the morning. Or afternoon. Axel had texted him. A rush of joy at the sight of the notification, he opened WhatsApp – could the man not use anything else – and was disappointed. So, he knew then. Great.
He didn’t care; it didn’t mat- yes it did. It did fucking matter. His favourite person knew he had relapsed and all he could feel was a disgusting mix of guilt and shame. Axel must hate him now; he was fucking useless and a fuckup and- and- and he was shaking so badly that he had dropped his phone and it had fallen with a loud thump and a cracking noise that let him know the screen had cracked on the floor. He cursed quietly and hoped it wouldn’t wake up his aunt. The cat, he didn’t much care about. Michael slid off the stool slowly, it still hurt to move even with his meds, and bent down to see how bad he had broken his phone. A soft “mmrp” let him know Tomás was, in fact woken up by his stupidity.
The screen protector was cracked and he was able to peel the corners off where it had previously fell and shattered more. Tomás padded over curious and curled himself around Michael’s legs where he was crouched. Pocketing his phone, he picked the cat up, ignoring or forgetting the milk grasped his cane and walked out of the kitchen turning the light off as he left. He was sleeping in the living room tonight. With the cat.
~~~~~~~~~~
Int – Living room, 08:59am – Inés and Michael
His head fucking pounds, that headache never went away last night, he knew it wouldn’t. Another part was in front with him. If it was Arthur he was going to fuck right off and let him deal with whatever bullshit was going to happen today. He was vaguely aware of a mass lying on his stomach, Tomás was still asleep the lucky fucker. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anymore there was no point trying. He attempted to sit up, ignoring the ache all over – especially his arms. – and the sleeping mass of fur that he knew wouldn’t stir unless he was prodded for a good 10 seconds to check the time, that cat was dead to the world. The light that was coming in from the sliding door was blinding him and he shielded his eyes. He still didn’t know who was lurking with him. Where his phone had gone was a mystery-
“Miguel, neustros brazos.” Oh. Oh, now he knew what part was in front with him. Fucking Inés. “Fuck off. I didn’t do that.” He lifted Tomás off of him and left him on the couch, still asleep. He longed to be like that damn cat, dead to the world asleep. “¿Qué he pasado?” Inés wasn’t going to leave it, it seemed. “I don’t know. Some part fucked around. I don’t really want to know who.” Fuck he was tired and the little sleep he had gotten hadn’t helped. He still didn’t know where his phone was. “Ahí, mirad en el piso” she pointed to under the coffee table to where his phone was. “Thanks.” He stooped down and picked it up, checking the time as he got back up. 09:02am, around 6 hours of sleep. Good enough. He still hadn’t fully read Axel’s text. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Better let Inés deal with it if shine was here with him. And he was taking this opportunity to eat her cake.
Looking for his cane, Inés once again let him know it was on the floor having somehow ended up half under the couch, he hobbled to the kitchen praying Amélia was still asleep – it was a Wednesday sure, but he was pretty sure she hadn’t any shifts today – to find the fucking milk left open on the counter. “Fuck, the milk.” He picked up the carton, praying it hadn’t magically gone off overnight and gave it a tentative sniff. It seemed fine and it was relatively cold. “¡Perro, no lo bebas!” Her voice seemed louder for some reason. “I’m eating your cake then, and I wasn’t going to fucking drink it.”
Pouring some milk into Tomás’ bowl and pouring the rest down the sink he threw the empty carton in the bin and went rummaging for Inés’ cake. Was cake the best thing for breakfast? No not really but he didn’t give a shit and was pretty sure the pink haired woman with him in front didn’t care either. Why star of all people was here he didn’t know. Probably because of last night. He hated this damn disorder so fucking much. No matter, he got the cake from the cupboard and God he was hungry. Inés was better company than Arthur at least, she didn’t patronise him for everything he did and star had a sense of humour. “¡oye! No todo coño.” or not. “I wasn’t going to take all of it Jesus Christ, Inés” if she wanted her food so much star should just front fully and take it. Or stop eating his food.
Cake in hand he tidied it away, shut the cupboard door with his hip, wincing and finally went to read Axel’s message from last night. He had a missed call from his mother as well. He ignored it; she wasn’t going to ruin his day further. And he could call her any time and she would be her same old manipulative self. Yeah, they were trying to improve their relationship but when his mother repeatedly tried gaslighting him into coming home where he’d most certainly be killed then her needs were less important right now. Why even call at 6am. That was plain stupid.
Inés was peering over his shoulder to see what the message said.
> Hey Michael, Amélia-
Of course she told him. Of fucking course. He took a bite of the slice of cake in his hand and continued reading.
> Amélia told me you got upset over something, Callum’s anniversary I think and I just wanted to know if you were alright. I don’t know the specifics and I don’t want to unless you’re willing to share so no pressure! 😅 Remember, healing is never linear and one bump in the road isn’t the be all and end all, I’m glad you’re safe and I know this message is sent late on your side of the world so reply whenever you can. I’ll hopefully be back soon with the help of God so we can chat then. Slán agus beannacht Dé leat mo chara! 👍02:43am
Fuck. That fucking man. He could feel Inés pushing him out of main front, his grip on now was slipping and the feeling of her and the near urgency of shine’s actions was stronger. His ears were ringing and he was dissociating, Axel’s message wasn’t upsetting, she had no reason to do what she was doing, he was angry at her but even now with how quickly star had taken front and dissociation had clouded his mind the bite of it was fading and he felt like he was watching himself in third person, it was funny. It was funny, yeah. Inés was gonna enjoy the excruciating pain. So funny, wasn’t it. His hands were shaking again. Not his hands, he didn’t know whose hands they were, all he felt was the fog and a distant rage. Fog, and, something. Just fog now and he was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~
It had been surprisingly easy to force herself into front, Miguel could be a piss head over it later. She skimmed over the message, it seemed fine, he was just asking how they were and she could understand all of it, bar the Irish. Miguel could understand some of it star reckoned. Well, he was gone for now and she was well fucking aware of everything – or lack thereof – he had done. Such as sleep a decent amount. Which of course he hadn’t. And shines cake was not going to be their breakfast either.
She pocketed their phone; she’d reply later and went to get some actual food and their meds. The cat was still asleep or he was when Miguel had been in main. She made a mental checklist; star’d make breakfast, take their meds, shower and watch a show with Tomás. If they were able to shower that was, shine didn’t know if the bandages on her arms could get wet and didn’t want to risk it. Star could ask Amé; she did need to apologise to her for what Miguel said, what he said she didn’t know but an apology was needed apparently.
Rifling around in the fridge, there was colder unopened milk and she felt like cereal for breakfast, if they had it. Hopefully they did. She placed it on the counter and looked for where star remembered there was cereal and lo and behold, there was! Shitty choices, Axel’s muesli – eugh – rice krispies and frosted flakes. She was pretty sure Chester had coco pops somewhere and he wouldn’t mind if anyone ate them, that was if they were there. Fuck, she’d just eat after showering. And shine had to ask Amé if she could get their arms wet. Ignoring the pain in her hip from Miguel closing a cupboard with it and the usual ache as best as she could star walked – or hobbled – out of the kitchen to Amé’s room.
“Amélia.” A whisper into the darkened room. “Amélia.”
“Eh? Michael what do you want.” Rustling and the click of a bedside lamp turning on. “It’s too fucking early to wake me up.” She sat up squinting at the form in the doorway. “Puedo mojar estos o nada” Inés held up an arm indicating to the bandages. She looked rather confused at the question “¿Eh Inés? ¿Qué? Claro, solo se cuidadoso cuando terminéis, y si necesitaos ayuda para cambiaos solo dime, ahora vete a la mierda tía.” Shine leans against the doorframe, satisfied with Amélia’s answer “De acuerdo, gracias, y lo siento por anoche, no debimos de haberte tratados si tío. Miguel se iba a disculpar, pero eh, el tío no está aquí.” Yawning, Amélia nods and rubs her eyes tiredly. “Tranquila tía, conozco bien ese tipo de amor, ahora largaos y dejadme dormir.” Turning off the lamp on her locker she rolls over to go back to sleep. “Gracias.” Inés moved out of the doorway and shut the door quietly behind herself going to look in their room for clothes that weren’t bloodstained. She hoped the blood would wash out; another thing added to her mental list.
~~~~~~~~~~
Int – Living Room, 11:37am, Michael
(FAGGOT BOY IS BACK HELL YEAH!!! 😎)
He was on the couch holding the TV remote. Again? Had he left the kitchen? He must have had but he had no memory of anything after Inés had forced him out of front. Well, she was gone now. Clearly star had been productive, his hair was damp, he was no longer wearing pyjamas or his binder – he’d forgotten to take if off yesterday and his ribs were paying for it – and she had eaten, there was an empty bowl on the coffee table. Apparently, cake wasn’t a suitable breakfast. He had no idea what she had exactly done but he was glad he didn’t have to do it.
Tomás was unsurprisingly asleep beside him. Hopefully he wasn’t dead, that would be a nightmare to deal with. Michael picked him up and shook the lump of fur lightly till he showed some sign of life with a sleepy “mmrpp” and an airborne stretch. “You are so lucky that you didn’t die or we’d both be dead.” Tomás wriggled out of his grip and jumped to the floor meowing petulantly at Michael. “You can’t want food again can you, you greedy lump?” his cane was leaning against the couch – thank God – he grasped it and tapped the cat lightly to get him to move on. “If Inés has fed you already, I’m not doing it again alright you massive baby?” picking the bowl up he followed the cat out to the kitchen.
There was still food in that fuckers bowl. Looking down at the cat exasperatedly he turned round and went to the sink to wash his bowl ignoring Tomás’ attempts to get his attention for more food. The sound of the door opening, Tomás purring and Amélia picking him up. “Ey, qué tal Inés?” Michael turned to face her bowl and towel in hand, drying the dish. “Wrong! Not her. Your cat wants more food, the fat bastard.” He was still, annoyed? ashamed? guilty? guilty. He still felt guilty towards her for last night due to his behaviour and to what she had said about Cally. Even if she hadn’t meant it. The bowl was well dry now, but that didn’t matter, he needed to do something so he wouldn’t snap at her again, so running the motions of drying that damn bowl over and over again would do.
“Everything ok Mikey?” God, she sounded so concerned for him, too bad he didn’t return the feeling. “Just, tired.” A tight-lipped lie but in a way, it was true, when was he not tired? “Are you sure?” oh God could she stop fucking questioning him. He was fine. He was always fine. “Yes! Oh my God Amélia I’m fine.” He whirled around face burning in annoyance could she just shut up asking about him. He slammed the bowl down on the draining board hard, too hard and it cracked. “Michael! Calm down. What the fuck is wrong with you today.” Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at the cracked bowl fearfully, tensing up half expecting to be hit for the action. Nothing happened. Silence apart from his quiet sniffing and Tomás’ perplexed meow at the stillness. He had fucked up, he had fucked up bad, she was so fucking mad at him now wasn’t she, she was. She was going to hit him; she was going to hit him-
Warm hands on his shoulders, he froze certain she was about to repeat what Roberto had all those years ago. Nothing of that sort, she just moved him to the side firmly but gently and took the tea towel from his grip, placing it on the draining board. “Michael. Get a grip. I’m not him. I won’t lay a finger on you.” She picks up the bowl inspecting it before opening the bin and throwing it in. “What the fuck is wrong with you today. You were fine this morning and now I can’t breathe around you.” A shaky breath and roughly wiped tears staining his shirt, one of Cally’s. “Nothing’s up. Never is. I told you I’m fine.” Quiet measured words, all the emotion drained out of them. Wringing his hands he looks at the door eager to leave, to get to his room. “Bullshit Michael. I know you’re not fine, look at you. Is it because of last night? Because of what I said about Callum? And his anniversary.” The last part was flat and empty, the loss of her nephew hurt just as much now as when she had first found out. Something flashed in Michael’s eyes at the mention of his brother, guilt? It hadn’t been his fault.
“Yes. And-” he cuts off swallowing thickly, tears springing to his eyes again, once more wiped away fiercely in a futile attempt to appear fine. “And I’m sorry for being a prick last night. I didn’t mean to piss you off. I’m so sorry Amélia, really, I am.” He wipes his eyes again, tears flowing freely now. “I’m sorry for breaking that bowl I didn’t mean to, it was a genuine accident. I’ll- I’ll buy you another one I genuinely didn’t mean it.” God why couldn’t he fucking stop crying this was so stupid, he was crying over a fucking broken bowl. A bowl.
“Michael, Mikey shh it’s ok, you’re ok. Mikey look at me, it’s just a bowl it doesn’t matter.” She hugs him letting him cry into her, rocking slightly. “It’s just a bowl Mikey, ok? You’re not in trouble.” Michael pulls away, wiping his eyes on his shirt again. Amélia roots around her dressing gown pocket for a tissue, handing it to him “You’ll ruin your t-shirt Mikey, don’t do that. I mean it what I said about the bowl, it doesn’t-” she’s interrupted suddenly by her phone ringing in her pocket – Axel – “Aye joder” she answers it, mouthing to Michael that she’d be back in a minute and walks out to the hallway closing the kitchen door as she goes. Michael to his credit wipes his nose on the tissue this time and crouches down to Tomás who had padded over during the commotion, scratching his head softly as the cat purrs smugly, enjoying the attention he was getting. “You fat fuck. Good boy Tomi. I’m sorry for being such a fuckup. Tomi, I miss him so much, it’s not fucking fair.” He buries his face into Tomás’ fur letting out a small sob. Why couldn’t he just get over himself for fucks sake, it was just a bowl and Amélia said it hadn’t mattered. He knew it didn’t but the old terror was fresh in his mind from living in Roberto’s house where a mistake like that meant more than just an annoyed telling off.
The door reopens and Amelia walks in phone in hand. “Mikey? Are you still here?” he stays crouched, petting Tomás. “Yeah.” The reply was somewhat muffled by the cat in his face but she could just deal with it. “Are you... ok?” She’s beside him again. Fucks sake, not even his aunt could trust him to be left alone for five minutes. Great. “No.” he stays clutching the cat shaped lump that was Tomás ignoring her. “Well, I have news.” A groan as she crouches beside him, poking his side gently. “Are you going to look up? Or is Tomi gonna hear the news instead of you?” he huffs and looks up begrudgingly “What news. Has he died?” A confused look from Amélia “Has who died? Roberto? No unfortunately. No, I have different news.” He face plants into Tomás again dramatically “Oh for fucks sake. What then”
“Axel just told me he’ll be back home by next week. So he’s going to be here for-” she breaks off, looking at the back of her nephew’s head “Just say it. I don’t care.” He did care and it still felt like he was being stabbed at the mere mention of Cally’s name. Amélia breathes out as if to reassure herself “Axel said he would be coming home next week and he’s going to be back in time for your brother's anniversary. If you want him to come that is.” Michael lifts his head from the now sleeping cat and just nods at her. “Alright. Alright Mikey.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Ext – graveyard, 14:02, 25th February, Michael and Olivia
“Michael. Hey Michael, wake up. We’re here now.” A hand on his shoulder shaking him gently, Axel. Fuck he thought he had been driving. Had they stopped somewhere? He hadn’t a fucking clue, – he could feel Olivia’s annoyance at him cursing – his head was still cloudy with sleep and the ever-present dissociation. Olivia was in her words “keeping an eye on him”. It wasn’t that he didn’t want here there, he was glad of the company but it was irritating at the same time, for fucks sake he could handle seeing that prick on his own. Blinking blearily, he pauses the music he had fallen asleep to, some random bullshit. “What time is it” he mumbled sleepily stretching and cracking his shoulders with a pop before settling back into the seat. God he was fucking tired, he needed a drink. Maybe he did need Olivia here with him. “Just gone two o’clock, we’re not late don’t worry, Lucía gave Amé the times.”
The rattling crunch of gravel under the car tyres and Michael wishes he was anywhere else but the graveyard his brother was buried. His mother’s car was parked across from the rows of headstones. Fuck, he missed her. He missed his mother and Anh and little Teddy so fucking badly. He pushed the feeling down, he might miss them with all his being but he was never going back to that house, to the torment of Roberto. Amélia’s car comes to a stop, next to Lucía’s thank God. He yawns again, still wishing he was at home and unbuckles his belt. “Mikey dear, are you alright? You look pale, you’re not feeling sick, are you?” in all honesty he felt like utter shit but he was never going to admit it. Olivia scoffed from where she was, he ignored it. Fuck her being worried right now he could deal with seeing Roberto, he could deal with it-
He was angry. He hadn’t gotten to talk to Cally and it was freezing cold outside and the sky was darkening in a way that made it seem like rain was coming. Delightful. They were standing outside Amélia’s car, his sister was running up to him. He hadn’t seen her since- fuck he didn’t want to think about that. “JIE JIE!!!!! I MISSED YOU SO SO MUCH!!” she barrelled straight into him squeezing him into a hug tight enough he swore he felt his ribs crack. “Fuckk- Anh.” ignoring the bearlike grip she had on him he hugged back, he missed her as much as he did and he was not going to cry this time. She pulled away beaming at him, she was missing a tooth he noted. “Jie Jie!!! Guess what!!!” her smile was infectious; God he had missed this. “What happened? Did you get a new dog after Cheddar?” She giggled “NOOO JIE JIE! Dad doesn’t want another dog he said which is so sad. That’s not what I want you to guess though. Try again!!” Gravel crunching behind him, Axel’s footsteps, he had stayed behind to talk to his mother for some reason. “Ummm I don’t know you tell me why don’t you?” his knees were screaming at him. “I got a hundred percent in a maths test! Are you proud of me??”
He needed to leave; he needed to fucking go before he cried. Olivia was better at this but of course she had fucked off by this time. “I’m so so proud of you Anh that’s unbelievable! What did Mum and Rober- Dad say?” she wheeled around him pulling on his hand. “Mum said it was good and Dad just said to keep it like that so I don’t know. Are you coming home again Izzy??” That last word felt like a punch to the gut. Axel was behind him now. “Hii!! I know you!!” Anh let go of his hand and half ran to Axel, he was half glad to have a break as much as he loved Anh she was exhausting especially at this time. He leaned on the cane he had brought, his fucking knees and hips burned. Where the fuck had he left his phone, he needed to fucking talk to someone who wasn’t going to make him want to drink himself to death in this damn graveyard. Why had Olivia fucked off, he needed to not be here right now, he shouldn’t have fucking come here. He-
Olivia was tired, so tired. She hated what she did and she hated that she was useless at it. Michael had wanted to talk to their brother and she had taken front instead and she felt so bad about it. It wasn’t like she could control it she had felt his apprehension and fear at meeting their father and it had been like second nature to take over. Their father hadn’t spoken at them at all during the entire thing, just a glare that told her all she needed to know about where they stood with him. Their mother on the other hand had tried to talk to them, as if this one day could make up for the years of manipulation at home and the spam calling after they had left. Olivia had tried ignoring her and eventually she left them alone. She didn’t understand Mandarin anyways so it made no difference.
Anh had gotten so big and was still the same bubbly happy girl she had been when they had left. And Teddy, oh little baby Teddy was walking now; she had nearly cried when she had seen him. Her last memory of her siblings was when she had had to hand Teddy who had been wailing his head off to Anh who had barely been nine at the time. Michael had the same memories but she felt it more than he did. She hoped he had seen their siblings again before they left. He didn’t say it but they all knew he missed them horribly.
Today was not a good day for anyone in their system, Michael had been upset again, Arthur was pissed off at some new alter that he had told The Watcher to keep away from front, she just wanted to sleep but had been dragged here and Inés was pissed off at The Spiral for existing too close to star. She was glad she wasn’t at the graveyard anymore, the car was warm and she could listen to her music and not have force herself to interact with people. Michael’s music was so loud and she hated shouting and loudness. Their father’s house had been loud, full of terror and she hadn’t been a proper alter yet, just a bunch of fragments. If her old house had been loud and unsafe Amélia’s apartment was the opposite. She couldn’t wait to go home and sleep somewhere more comfortable than the car but she could deal with occasional bumps for now.