Chapter Text
Cold water never seemed to wake Michael O’Shaunessy up.
The boy stood barefoot on the freezing tile of the embassy, his own weight torturing him as cold stung his soles in augment to the chill coming from a nearby open window. It was early, no later than 6 A.M, and Michael was hunched over the sink of his bathroom. He figured an early rise could propose a more productive start to his day, something that he was having a difficult time with ever since he’d stepped off that cable car.
He hated thinking of that cable car.
Face soaked with water, he blinked to view his reflection. The lights were completely off. What was he trying to do? Michael’s grip tightened against the sides of the sink, imagining shattering the porcelain thing apart like a delicate vase. But he knew he couldn’t do that even if he tried. He was much too tired.
Too weak, too helpless.
Michael’s vision blurred as he was fixed on a darkened silhouette he wasn’t even sure belonged to him. He couldn’t recognize himself some days. Even when the sun hit his scruffy brown hair just right, even amongst the colorful hum-buzzing Christmas lights, even when he especially wanted to. Droplets clouded Michael’s eyelashes until he forced himself to halt the spiral he’d already gotten himself sucked into. He let out a shaky breath as he finally ducked his head to face the drain. Pathetic.
It was far too cold in the bathroom anyways. Yet as much as he loathed it Michael still found himself making his way to the windowsill and gripping its thin edges. The way his hair ruffled in the wind reminded him of the harsh, whipping winds of high altitude. Where he’d saved Professor Goldsmit. That was the whole point of his being, wasn’t it? It was all for the greater good. He was a good person; a hero even. So why didn’t he feel like he was? Why was he plagued with seemingly pointless guilt? There may have been something wrong with him, But he couldn’t bear acknowledging that. Instead he kept letting his body burn with the harsh, painfully nostalgic cold. Maybe there was some comfort in the pain.
And Michael took any form of comfort he could get.
With a final, more conclusive exhale, Michael gave up. The pain’s refuge wore off, as all good things usually do. He was stupid to think waking up early would do anything. Now all he cared about was rest. And nevertheless, he turned his back on the waning moonlight and closed the door behind him.
Michael’s footsteps strung heavy on the wooded floors. They felt newly polished and clean, yet old as in unused. The boy wondered if it was only a matter of time until freshly dusted cobwebs reappeared as if the O’Shaunessys never set foot in the embassy. He had heard remarks about starting anew in the United States. Yet, deep down, he was conflicted. One part of him secretly wanted to stay. Michael couldn’t recognize his feelings almost all the time, like why he wanted to stay in the place that abused him.
Any right-minded person would’ve been pleading to be out by now, he told himself. Anyone normal. Maybe you just aren’t normal.
He hated that. He hated himself. As he stepped foot into his room Michael immediately shut the door behind him and collapsed into his bed. His face burned in anger and resent. He felt his already dampened eyes swell with tears but he didn’t care — he’d already messed up everything in his life, what was a tear-soaked pillow’s significance? He broke into an array of pained, quiet sobs with his face buried in shame. He tried to be quiet, tried to muster up anything that would calm him but pushing himself just made him cry louder. Stupid. What a stupid little boy.
Michael choked on his own breath, attempting to at least steady himself. He pulled his blanket over his eyes and rubbed them sodden. He hiccuped. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and slim tears managed their way out of his eyes — making him whimper in defeat. He was too far gone to care about himself anymore. All he could focus on was the stabbing pains in his head and the strings of hateful words he’d made himself believe screaming in his ears. He lay limp in his bed. Cold, helpless, and numb.
Michael’s mind cleared eventually. Not the usual void of thought, but maybe a face looking back at him. It was cramped and stuffy, maybe in an attic. The musk of old books wafted in the air. And a familiar voice enthusiastically talking to him. Familial. Friendly. Safe.
Simon.
The one I sacrificed.
The one Michael sacrificed for his own benefit. He could’ve done something to stop Fritz. He could’ve done something to stop the science team. But just he had to use Simon — Who never belittled him, who helped him. And Michael decided to kill him.
I killed Simon, didn’t I?
Yes. Of course he did. How didn’t he realize sooner? He was just oblivious. Stupid again.
I could never have the courage to stop Fritz and the science team.
All outcomes result in Michael’s cruel, selfish killing. Who would’ve guessed? But it’s not like he feels no shame.
No. No, I don’t. That’s why I don’t want to leave. Because I’m cruel and selfish and I don’t feel bad.
Just contemptible.
I’m a monster.
A real monster this time. Michael stared down at his hands once more. The shaking was violent. But he didn’t feel pity for himself anymore, just pure disgust. He never gave himself much thought, but after this realization, he couldn’t withstand looking at his hands anymore. In Michael’s mind, they were soaked with blood. He didn’t want to think any longer. Thinking was painful. So, without thought, Michael gripped the loose skin on his forearms and pinched it as hard as he could. He stayed in this piercing, uncomfortable placement until he finally released. The area was white from lack of blood, yet Michael simply furrowed his brow and tucked his arms into his chest — clasping his hands onto his shoulders.
As he held himself, Michael’s thoughts blurred. More dry, pointless tears dotted his sheets as he buried his face into the salty mess. He deserved to be miserable — he knew he did. He was deserving of hugging himself to sleep pathetically for an extra 30 minutes. Everything was quiet then.
Maybe things could just stay quiet forever.