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Mike awoke when the sun was changing colors, the captivating shades of magenta and orange and yellow dulled by his curtain. Still, the room was at least bright enough to shock him from his sleep, but the sudden waking was likely because of the dream itself.
It was another nightmare of falling, dark waters and sharp rocks waiting to catch him. Wind whistling past his ears, the shouts of his friends behind him, and the hopelessness and acceptance of the inevitable. But that wasn’t the nightmare, not to him at least. Sure, he wasn’t fond of heights anymore, but the fall felt almost calming, when he closed his eyes.
The nightmare was the sudden force slowing his descent. The water stops approaching him, the wind stops blowing past his ears, his friends mouth is agape, and he isn’t going to die. A girl, who he’d met in the rain, had blood leaking down her nose, and a determined look on her face. She was in his sister's dress, but it was dirty and hard to identify from far away.
He’d be lifted up, placed on solid, safe ground. He’d be embraced by his friends, and he should feel relief. He should, but he doesn’t. He feels angry, that he was so close, just to be torn away. He told himself, back when it happened, that he had no choice, that he didn’t want it, that he was glad, but those were just words. Curiosity plagued his mind, and he noticed how easy it would be.
It would be so easy to slip behind, to let a demogorgon tear his flesh off his body, to let demodog rip his head off, to let the Mind Flayer reach close enough to drag him away and impale him, to open his mind to the clenches of Vecna. It would be so easy to frame it as an accident, to simply die and let others mourn.
He knew he couldn’t do that, though. He couldn’t do that while everyone still loved him, while everyone still cared enough to feel pain when he disappeared. He wouldn’t leave when he was still loved.
He adjusted himself in his bed, sitting up and cursing under his breath simply because he didn’t like mornings. His eyes scanned the room. His vision was slightly blurry; he had noticed his deteriorating eyesight recently, and it reminded him of his father. That was a living nightmare, he thought. Reluctantly, he shifted a bit in bed, opening the curtain and allowing the morning sunlight to shine through the window. It looked like painting, something Will could paint, no doubt.
Falling back into a sitting position, he scanned the room again, passing over the numerous childish posters on his wall. He was glad that most of them were salvaged from the wreckage that the demogorgon caused. He did have to replace some of his furniture, though, and a lot of his clothes were torn. He was irritated by that, but he didn’t complain.
He swallowed sharply as his gaze passed his desk. Love poems to the girl he met in the rain sat on his desk, because he felt so much love, but he didn’t know to who and he had nobody to give it to. He was supposed to give it to her, it was his obligation to, and he couldn’t anymore. He wrote it down, just to put it somewhere outside of his head, yet he kept them facing down, because looking at it made him feel sick. The pieces of paper, which were plain white on the back, almost looked multicolored with the way the light hit it. It was probably the first time he hadn’t looked at them in disgust.
He was glad that some of his thoughts remained in his head. If they escaped, he’d be despised. When he thinks of her, he feels guilt, but he also feels jealousy.
He wishes he could feel death the way El got too, but she saved him the day he could’ve experienced it. Mike feels like shit for thinking of death at all, for thinking of leaving everyone behind, because he loves all the people around him. Despite it all, his love for his fantasies of death somehow outreach all of them, and he hates himself for that.
He wouldn’t kill himself. Not yet. He’d wait until he wasn’t needed anymore, until all his friends could live on without him. But now, his family, his friends, everyone needed him. The least he could do to repay every wrong thing he’d done in his life was to stay for a little bit longer.
It was almost relieving, watching El’s face disappear forever. It felt like a punch in the gut, but also a warm hug. It made everything feel less complicated. Life felt simpler when he looked up and saw her gone. Everything gone. He feels that too often for his own good, and it chokes him alive when the thought crosses his mind.
It was like she was an ode to living. As long as she was there, he’d stay alive. He’d be safe, and alive, but she was gone now. She was gone, and he didn’t want to live anymore. He never did, if he thought about it.
Mike didn’t believe in a god, or a religion. He didn’t think that a deity who preaches good would let all this happen to his peers. He did think there was heaven, or at least he wanted there to be. If there was an alternate dimension under Hawkins, who’s to say there isn’t another one, far away, with a bright sun and music and happiness? Mike didn’t want to go to heaven, he didn’t deserve it, but imagining her there felt like an apology of some sorts. The thought of her living on, without the burden of him, being able to really live, was enough. He didn’t want to think of the alternative, that she truly disappeared. That her thoughts and feelings and memories and secrets were unreachable, that she never got to see what life could be.
She smiled like she lived fully, though, and that’s what confused him. How could she feel so happy, enough to smile from cheek to cheek after barely living, yet he’d been privileged his entire life and he couldn’t bear to smile some days? He didn’t know, and he wouldn’t ask, so he simply stared at the photo of her on his nightstand, feeling every emotion but the right kind of love.
That confused him too. When life became simpler, when she disappeared, it felt like the love disappeared too. He still mourned her, the same way Dustin and Lucas did. The same way Will and Jonathan did, but not the way that he should’ve. He only noticed now that the love really did feel like obligation, not love. Not the right kind of love, not the one she deserved.
He didn’t like to linger on that thought for too long either. He didn’t like lingering on thoughts at all, because in the end he always realizes something he’d later wish to forget. He appreciates that his mind was a sort of prison; a cage, with a piece of cloth draped over it.
He was less than happy that it was a Thursday, since that meant going to school, and being forced to interact with people. He barely had the energy, and he tried to keep his brain from spacing out mid-class, but it was clear he was struggling more than before. His mom luckily didn’t get on his ass about his lower grades, since she understood. Now that she knew about the upside down, they figured it wasn’t as much of a risk to inform her about the girlfriend Mike had been hiding for years. She understood. His father, on the other hand, didn’t care either. He’d be happy about that, except for the fact that he didn’t care about anything. He gave Mike a spare, weak pat on the back when Mike told him that his girlfriend died. Mike promised to never try and confide in him again.
He found himself simply skipping school sometimes, which was something his middle school self wouldn’t have dreamed of. It was just unbearable, to be stuck in that building, pretending that everything was normal, that he’d moved on, that he understood what he was feeling, that anything made sense. It was bullshit. He knew he’d be dragged out of bed at some point, so he figured he’d get up on his own so he could slip out of the house and leave a note behind. His mom didn’t like when he left with only a note, and she liked it even less when he skipped, and he felt bad for making her worry. Still, he preferred that to trying to fake sick.
He crawled unceremoniously out of bed, trying to ignore the way his vision swam after he stood up too quickly. He was a bit cold, and he wanted to return to the warmth of the bed, but he’d rather flee the house first, then find warmth, so he could guarantee an escape from the torture that was education.
He slipped on one of the few spare sweaters that he owned, since despite April being spring, it was still a little chilly outside, and he’d rather go with one than not. He put on a pair of dark jeans, and he figured that was enough. It wasn’t like he was planning on meeting up with anyone.
He grabbed a pen and paper from his desk, scribbling down a shitty excuse about taking a walk that he knew he’d be reprimanded for later, before slipping out of his bedroom. He hoped that his mother hadn’t also chosen the early morning route, because if she had, his plans would fail. Luckily, though, she wasn’t anywhere downstairs, and he was able to make it down without anyone noticing.
He should grab something to eat, he thought, but he let the thought pass. He didn’t want to risk being in the house any longer. He wasn’t that hungry anyways. He left the note on the counter by the fridge, so that his mom was guaranteed to see it when she made breakfast. To compensate for his rule-breaking, he added a small frowny face.
Slipping out of the house, he scanned the grass for his toppled over bike. It was lying in the slightly overgrown grass. He almost felt a little bad for the state that he left the bike in, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as much as he wanted to.
He bent over, hauling the bike upright, dusting off the seat which was covered in dirt and grass. He was lucky that it hadn’t rained overnight. He walked the bike over to the street, climbing on as easily as he had done for nearly all his life, and he pedaled into a random direction.
He was biking on his own, which should’ve seemed melancholy, but he was nearly glad. It was sometimes nice, to have someone's voice override the many in his head, but it meant actually trying in social interactions, which dispelled too much energy. It was obviously easier with his best friends, but that didn’t make it good.
He didn’t quite know where he was going, and he didn’t have a plan for the day. All of this was a bit spontaneous, but he knew he’d implode if he had to sit in a classroom for an unreasonable amount of hours, or have to sit at a table with his friends as they spared him concerned glances, which just reminded him of how everything wasn’t okay but he couldn’t ask for help because he’d already taken so much from his peers.
Being alone meant that he could pretend he was okay. Or maybe, he could wallow in self-pity without worrying about how he looked, so he wouldn’t concern anyone else.
He realized how zoned out he was, he’d biked far into town. The streets were notably empty, since people weren’t as fond of going out after`hell opened up beneath their feet. The fissures leading into the upside down had closed, and they removed the plates since there was nothing to conceal, but the dirt still stood up, and the grass faded where the gates used to be. It was a painful memory of a place that was gone. It felt right that it was gone, it should’ve never existed in the first place, but after constantly being aware of its presence during the most important years of his life, it wasn’t hard to feel like something was missing.
Buildings were still in shambles, despite the government's frequent attempts of fixing the town up before the news found it, but that didn’t work. Hawkins, a town where absolutely nothing fun happened, turned into a nightmarish conspiracy theory overnight. Mike couldn’t believe he was involved in this, that for the rest of his life he’d be fervently watched by the government, that he’d be tortured by keeping it a secret.
Eventually, he got bored of the scenery, and slightly anxious of how someone could spot him and call the school, so he turned to the woods, biking into the blooming trees.
The sky had turned blue, and he blinked harshly every time the sunlight shined directly through the leaves and into his eyes. His legs began to feel a bit strained, since biking on dirt, rocks, and mud was a bit more taxing than regular pavement. He had no idea where he was, but he knew he’d be able to find his way home one way or the other. That was a problem for future him, which was a thought he found to be recurring a lot more often than before. He was always regarded as reckless.
Before he knew it, he found a clearing. He almost sighed of relief, but he was also upset that the change in scenery snapped him out of his thoughts. Although, it took less than a second for an uncomfortable feeling to settle in his stomach. Maybe dreams really were visions, because he found himself standing at Sattler’s Quarry.
He let his bike slip from his half perched leg, collapsing to the dirt. He really needed to take better care of it, but he felt like he was being hypnotized.
He inched towards the ledge in small steps, whispering to himself that he wasn’t going to do anything, he just wanted to see the view. He just wanted to feel the breeze. He just wanted to feel exhilarated. But every time, the thought circled back around to the fact; He just wanted to die.
Nobody was there. His sister was off at college, Holly and the party were at school, his father was still recovering, his mother was in the hospital with him. He could jump into the black, deathly waters beneath him. He’d be gone, without a truthful note or a heartfelt letter (those of which he was notoriously bad at writing), and they’d search for him because they’d believe he was alive, because nothing in this town was normal and him disappearing just felt like another trick. Then, they’d find his body later, and they’d know it wasn’t anyone's fault but his own.
The thought was as disgusting as it was desirable. He didn’t want to go out with a bang, rather a whisper. Something that wouldn’t hurt a person’s ear, but be barely hearable. He wouldn’t do it, he knew that, because the people around him weren’t ready. He wanted his death to be a whisper in their ears, not a shout, not a wave of guilt and sadness and anger, not like how it was with El. He didn’t want them to feel what he felt constantly.
The wind blew a bit harder, and he wondered if it could blow hard enough to knock him off. That would be the easiest way, letting the responsibility fall to unfortunate circumstances rather than himself. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to fantasize about escaping responsibility, the weight of something pushing him down, suffocating him. He never wanted to be responsible again, but he knew he had to, even in death, so he shook the thought out of his head.
To soothe the nerves, and to keep himself from walking off the edge impulsively, he sat down. He knew the dirt would get on the clothes, and he didn’t like the way the rocky surface poked at his body, but he sat regardless, shifting around until finding himself in a somewhat comfortable position.
He wasn’t crying, or heaving, or doing anything. He felt a scary sense of calm, which was what worried him. No normal person would sit at the edge of a cliff, think about death, and then be calm. Not anyone he knew, at least. He knew he wasn’t normal, but it scared him that it was so obvious. So upfront. So real.
Now that he really thought about it, he realized that he didn’t want to die like El. She died in front of all her friends, in a whirlwind of destruction, of screaming winds and screaming sirens and screaming people, and everything was so loud and overwhelming. Mike preferred this. Alone, quiet, comforting. One day, he’d come back here to do it. Even if he was halfway across the world, he’d come back here to die. That’s all he wanted, really.
He took a deep breath. He couldn’t wait for the future, because he knew he wouldn’t make it to thirty. Maybe not even twenty-five. Wherever death would take him, he figured it would be better. If it was nothing, he wouldn’t have to feel. He wouldn’t have to choke on inexplicable emotions every second of every day. If it was heaven, he’d be able to experience the afterlife peacefully, happily, without responsibility. If it was hell, at least he’d be able to say that he was getting what he had deserved for a long time.
Being so caught up in his thoughts of death and afterlife blocked out the subtle noise of everything around him. The brush of the breeze on the leaves that scratch gently against each other, the buzzing of random insects, living in a world so different from his. It also blocked out the less subtle noise of another person breathing, panting even, the drop of a bike, and hurried footsteps.
“What the fuck, Mike.”
He heard that, the wobbly yet firm voice startling him from his thoughts. He flinched before whipped around, to see who had somehow found him.
Dustin stood before him, in a shaken state. His eyes were sharp and tinted red, and water pooled at the bottom, his hand quacked at his sides, and he looked furious. Mike shrunk a little, feeling a lot less calm and a lot more panicked.
What made everything easy was the ability to pretend. To let his friends and family think that he’d moved on just like them, that he was doing okay, but the image of him sitting above the quarry would be enough to deter anyone. Even worse, Dustin knew what happened here, when Will went missing. He saw Mike walk off the edge, fall to his presumed death before being saved. Dustin had tried to talk to him about it, but he always avoided the question. He couldn’t avoid it now, when the only choices he had was being confronted or jumping off.
Despite knowing that there wasn’t any reasonable way out of this situation, he still made an attempt to deflect.
“I— I wasn’t going to do anything. I was just… I was—”
“Please don’t do this with me,” Dustin cut in, swallowing thickly. Mike tried to ignore the pain in the other boy’s voice, but that didn’t stop a voice of his own deep down telling him that he’d fucked everythig up again.
“Dustin—”
“Don’t make me go through this again,” he said, quieter. The firmness in his voice had vanished, replaced by desperation and vulnerability. Dustin rarely spoke like that, usually opting for a more assertive voice, but that assertiveness had shifted into something softer. Mike could feel tears brimming in his eyes, because at least real dead people had the grace of not being able to hear someone pleading for their life. Mike, who only felt like he was dead and rotting, still had to be torn apart by caring words, and that was torturous.
Mike scooted away from the edge, his back meeting a larger stone behind him. He heard Dustin release a sigh of relief, and he tried to ignore the guilt creeping up his throat like bile. Why would he even consider thinking about it, after everyone his friends lost? Why would he sit on the ledge and imagine his selfish desires at a time like this? He was disgusting.
A question lingered in his mind of how Dustin was able to find him, if he himself was supposed to be at school. Sure, his friends may have been worried if he didn’t show up, but he didn’t think they’d go out of their ways to look for him. He could’ve just been sick.
“How did you know I was here?” he questioned, wincing at how unnecessarily sharp his voice was. He was used to snapping or getting angry at people when the attention was shifted to him. It made him feel uncomfortable, and it was a lot easier to be angry than vulnerable. Still, he didn’t want to make Dustin feel worse.
Dustin wiped his eyes, shuffling over and seating himself onto the painfully uncomfortable rock beside Mike. “I was going to give you your birthday gift early, but when I biked to your house I saw you going in the other direction. I called out but you didn’t hear me, ” he explained.
That confused Mike even more..
“Birthday…?”
Dustin gave him a confused look. “It’s April 7th?”
Mike furrowed his eyebrows, trying to process what Dustin was saying. He was sure that it was practically just February, or something near then. But then he realized, the slightly warmer weather, the leaves growing greener, the bugs, the small excited looks his friends gave him that he didn’t understand or reciprocate.
“Huh,” he exhaled, gripping the fabric of his jeans a bit tighter.
He didn’t think that time could move so fast. The days after El died, every moment hurt, and every hour felt like they dragged on for years. He’d count every second in his head. He’d know when it had been five hours since she died, then twelve, then twenty-five. When he lost track, it was the first time it snowed. He looked up at the bleary white sky. It didn’t snow in November, but it was snowing at that moment, and he realized that life was still moving. Everything was still moving, without him. He’d stopped completely, not at a slow pace, but stopped, and life was running away from him. Looking at the clock now scared him, and calendars terrified him, because it had gone from one day, to one month, to five months, yet it still felt the same.
Dustin continued to stare at him in confusion, growing more surprised by the moment. “You forgot?”
Mike knew why he was confused. Back when he was younger, he’d make a big deal out of his parties. Using his birthday privileges, he’d usually be able to beg his mother for more hours for the party to play DnD, and that, along with the food, was all that really mattered. That joy had faded, and even now, Mike would kill for one of his mom’s cookies or a long DnD game that wasn’t full of reminders of his trauma.
“Every day just feels the same, I guess,” he shrugged, brushing it off. “It’s not worth celebrating anyways.”
Dustin almost flinched at his words, exhaling sharply and shaking his head. “Not worth celebrating?”
Mike shrugged again. He wasn’t lying, every day blended together, he didn’t understand how this one was any different, and regardless, he didn’t believe he was anything worth celebrating. He was just… Mike.
“What is going on with you?” Dustin questioned.
Mike had no idea how to answer that. Maybe he was depressed? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t try to reach out for help, and after running in loops in his own head, it was hard to identify if the feelings he felt were real or made up. The only thing he did know was that he wanted them to go away, forever.
“I don’t know,” he responded exasperatedly, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I just want to…y’know.”
He nodded towards the edge, pressing his lips together in discomfort. It took everything in his being to not revert to his default angry state, to make everyone mad at him so he could leap off the edge sooner.
He knew that Dustin already understood the implication of what he wanted, since there wasn’t much other reason for him to be seated at the edge of the cliff, but maybe the spoken word was a bit more debilitating, because his shoulders seemed to rise in tension and what Mike could identify as fear. That didn’t make much sense to him, since he couldn’t imagine a world without him to be scary.
“God…” the other boy breathed, rubbing his face with his hands. “You need help.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Mike spat involuntarily, before wincing and shaking his head. “Sorry.”
Dustin cleared his throat, nodding. It had usually never been this awkward between them, even in hard times when they relied on each other. Mike figured it was because he wasn’t as much of an open book. Sure, his face showed lots of his shallower emotions, but when it came to stuff like this, it never left his own mind. Meanwhile, Dustin was also very expressive. He let people know how he felt, he told them what he wanted to do and what he wanted them to do, even when he was struggling. Mike admired that part of him, the firmness in his identity, the righteousness. Mike could act confident, but in all honesty, he had no idea what the hell he was doing.
“You do that a lot,” Dustin pointed out. It was probably easy to psychoanalyze him from the outside, at least. He did and said lots of angry, impulsive things, and then he’d avoid responsibility for as long as possible until it got in the way of something else. He could at least credit himself this time for apologizing immediately, even though it was over something small.
“I know,” Mike sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. “I’m trying to get better at that.”
“I did that too,” Dustin empathized, knocking Mike’s shoulder with his own. “Back when Eddie… yeah.”
Mike shook his head. Dustin was allowed to be angry, his friend had died in his arms. Sure, Mike had lost El, but it wasn’t like the anger issues were a new problem. He’d always felt like this.
“That’s different. I’ve always been angry. I don’t know how to stop it,” Mike denied. It wasn’t any sort of difficulty to recall the numerous times, even before the upside down, where he would just zone out and let himself say whatever he wanted, because thinking about his words was harder.
Even during the easier times, like when he played DnD with Lucas and Will, or when he was rollerskating with El, or when they went trick or treating with Max. He’d say or do something wrong, and he’d let it escalate because it was easier than admitting it was wrong. He knew that he was wrong, and he had known that his entire life, yet he still did it. He still wanted to do it.
“Hey, you’ll figure it out,” Dustin attempted to reassure, but Mike didn’t believe a word he said.
Progression for other people probably came easy, but Mike could only see how he was now ending in how he wanted it to end. He hated himself, sure, but if other people hated him, then he could die without being needed. Still, even if he tried, he knew he’d barely change. It was hard to stop feeling the way he’s felt his entire life.
Mike rolled his eyes, letting out a bitter laugh. “I’m not smart enough for that”
“Come on, you’re one of the smartest people I know,” Dustin replied incredulously. Mike knew he was smart, and definitely more intelligent than the other people in his grade, but that didn’t mean that he was smart in other ways. His emotional intelligence was practically equivalent to zero, so scoring an A on a harder assignment didn’t make him feel any smarter.
“You’re smarter than me, valedictorian,” Mike mocked and Dustin snorted. He didn’t expect the mood to lighten so quickly, considering how he’d been thinking of killing himself a few mere minutes earlier, and it had been a while since he let himself feel this casual, but he appreciated it.
“I’m also smarter than Lucas and Will,” Dustin argued, nudging Mike’s shoulder again. “Are they stupid?”
“What, no!” Mike blurted indubitably, before realizing the hypocrisy. He groaned as Dustin smiled smugly at him.
“So neither are you, dude,” he remarked arrogantly, patting Mike on the back.
“Fine,” Mike relented, fighting the urge to roll his eyes again.
A sudden gust of wind sent Mike’s hair flying in his face reminding him of where he was. He squinted, now noticing how much longer his hair had gotten since the beginning of the year. He must’ve forgotten to take care of it, like Dustin had the year prior. Although, Dustin had cut his hair shorter, courtesy of his mom who’d been complaining about the length for months. Looking away from the other boy and towards the edge, he saw the blue sky. It seemed brighter than before, more hopeful. Mike wanted to be up there, away from all his problems. He thought it was interesting, how if he jumped, he wouldn't fall into the blue of the sky, he’d fall into the black of the water. Maybe that meant something, but Mike wasn’t particularly philosophical.
A leaf somehow managed to fly directly in his face, sliding down slowly in a cartoonish fashion. The two boys made eye contact, before cackling hysterically. Nothing was really that funny, but in the moment, it was the most hilarious thing in the world.
It took a few moments for their giggles to die down into slightly heavy breathing. Mike, feeling the sun glaring a bit warmly on his face, realized it had to be nearly noon by then. He felt a bit guilty, now, for leaving everyone at school. Especially on his birthday, too. They probably wanted to see him. He wondered what excuse he could use to avoid worrying them, if that would even happen. He knew Dustin would swear to secrecy, but they had all sworn to not lying, so there was too much contradiction.
“Sorry for making you skip,” Mike apologized.
“It was my choice. I’m still on path for valedictorian,” Dustin stated, also mocking the world valedictorian as Mike had before.
“Of course you are.”
Both of them smiled, and Mike let his head fall back onto the rock behind him. Silence engulfed them, like a warm blanket. Mike loved Halloween and Christmas, and he adored sweaters, but that didn’t change how much he liked warmth. Being able to bike down the street without his hands twitching in his gloves, being able to really feel the sun glowing on his skin, felt like heaven itself. He hoped whatever heaven was like was warm, and also had tons of sweaters. It was a bit of a contradicting thought, but he wanted it regardless.
The sun, which was as clear as day despite his worsening vision, reminded him of heaven, though, along with the calm blue of the sky. He’d seen the ocean a handful of times, on vacation, but he didn’t always go, and it had been a long time. He’d loved that blue too. The sky felt freeing, and the ocean felt real, deep He realized, his small admiration for the ocean didn’t equate to how he felt about the quarry. The waters down there felt like portals to hell. If he jumped, he’d look up, or close his eyes and dream of the ocean.
“I know it’s stupid to say this, but please don’t kill yourself,” he heard Dustin plead. The humorous tone had slipped out of his voice, unfortunately reminding Mike of what had sparked this interaction in the first place.
“I’ll try not to,” he tried to joke, but Dustin didn’t seem amused, his face scrunching up in dissatisfaction at the unsure words.
“No. You won’t do it,” he insisted, and Mike nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.
He still wanted to leap over the edge. Let the hellish waters swallow him whole, like they should’ve years ago. He believed that’s what he deserved, and he wanted to argue that nobody knew better than himself, but he knew that wasn’t true. All of his friends could probably understand him better than he understood himself, even if they all saw someone who he didn’t feel like. They always described him as a hero, a leader, the heart. That wasn’t what he felt like, but that’s how they saw him. He didn’t know if that was who he really was, or if he was right.
What he deserves isn’t always what he wants though, and he still thinks it’d be so much easier to just give in. To join El wherever she’d gone, or to disappear completely. He couldn’t imagine a future where he wouldn’t feel like jumping into the heavens too early, or even loving himself enough to want to stay on Earth a little longer. But he figured, if Dustin could have hope for him to “figure it out”, even if that wasn’t what he was really talking about, he could have hope for himself too. Even if the hope meant nothing to him, he could still have it. Maybe one day, he’d appreciate living.
They sat there for what must’ve been another hour, surprisingly. They occasionally engaged in a conversation, but most of that time was spent sitting, feeling the breeze, and living. Maybe Dustin thought that this would be a good way to teach him to want this. Mike must’ve been progressing, since he felt different then in the morning, but he didn’t let himself get too ahead of himself.
Eventually, they had to go home. Mike got hassled by his mom, then threatened to be grounded, and then hugged tightly as if he’d done nothing wrong. His mom was always good at reading him, so she must’ve somehow noticed the odd sadness flowing beneath his skin. How she was always able to read him so well, he didn’t quite know, but it probably was a mom thing.
He later learned, from his walkie, that Dustin also got hassled, until he faked a cough and his mom went crazy. He complained about being absolutely full of gross home remedies, but he preferred that to being grounded. He was also glad that his mom didn’t question what he was doing outside feeling sick instead of in school or at home, because he didn’t have a lie for that.
Then more people joined them on the walkie, all of them questioning Mike for not being at school, and they vouched to do something the Saturday coming up. They had to move the date down because Dustin knew his mom wouldn’t release him for at least another day.
For the first time in a while, Mike found himself laughing and joking with everyone. He wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, and a part of him still didn’t want to try, but he’d let himself laugh, and smile, and live.