A Mikey oneshot. Based on a real-life experience with a slight variation. Hoping for at least 3 reviews... :)
"Michael James Way, answer me, do you hear me? I'm tired of this!"
"So am I! For once, I wish you would listen like you always say you would!" I screamed at my mother, storming out of the living room. I ran towards the front door, but stopped cold with my hand on the doorknob when my mother's icy voice spoke with an eerie calm.
"Where do you think you're going? You can't just run off every time you don't agree with me."
I hesitated, but only for a moment, before steeling my shaking voice and defiantly answering, "Try and stop me." I wrenched open the heavy door, my shocked and furious mother frozen behind me as I bolted out into the rain.
As soon as the house was out of sight, I slowed my pace to a walk. I wandered through the streets of the small, nearly deserted town that I called home, the light rain hiding my tears and welcoming me into it's cold embrace.
Sometime between point A and point B, I agreed to a destination and started towards my hiding place. The trails. A place that would certainly be deserted in this weather, for the river would swell.
As I walked, I began thinking through my haze of anger and tears. 'What's the point of staying here?' I thought, kicking a rock. My mind was strangely clear. 'Im gonna do it. When I get to the creek. I'll jump in, right into death's waiting arms.'
I had considered suicide before, but never seriously contemplated actually doing it. Now, I was sure it was the right choice.
I meandered down the streets, going slow, taking one last look at the town that had always been my home. I stopped to pet the old husky that Ray had nicknamed Dogmeat all those years ago, a smile on my face. I was going to miss that boy.
I broke out of my thoughts after hearing the not-so-distant rumble of an approaching car. I swallowed hard, with no qualms about what I was about to do. Why wait until the trails? I would step in front of the car. It would be quick, and if would be easy.
My feet left the curb as if by their own accord. I slowly, painfully slowly, started walking towards the right-hand lane. I stopped, right on the line dividing the two lanes, waiting for the car to get closer., and glanced into the window of the house across the lane.
A young boy with black hair was sitting on his bed, sobbing, his head bent low over a picture. He was about thirteen, and looked familiar in a way that I couldn't comprehend. He glanced up as his door clicked open, and a younger boy entered, sitting down beside him. The younger of the two looked about ten, and must have been the older boy's brother. My heart was torn in two by how much the younger boy reminded me of myself- timid, glasses slipping down his nose, straight brown hair.
The black haired boy clutched his brother like a lifeline, his whole body racked with sobs. The younger boy stroked his brother's hair, cradling him, holding him. I just then noticed the bruises on the older boy's face, the cuts on his arms. The picture that the boy had been crying on escaped his grasp, fluttering down to the floor. It was a picture of a thirteen-year-old Frank.
I blinked, and the boys were gone. The house was empty. I reeled backwards, far away from the oncoming car, and slumped against a tree in a random stranger's yard. I remembered everything about that day.
The boys were Gerard and I. He had been crying over Frankie, whom he loved, and who had pushed him away. We later found out that Frank truly loved him, but at the time, Gee was heartbroken. I had comforted him then, as I did when he became addicted to the alcohol and the cutting.
Gerard needed me, not the other way around like I'd always thought. He always had. I couldn't go through with this, for his sake. As if on cue, I heard a worried voice behind me.
"Mikes?" It was Gerard.
I immediately spun around and locked my arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder.
"Shh, Mikey. It's alright. She's not mad anymore."
I smiled, glad that he didn't know why I was really crying. "I love you, Gee-Gee, you know that?" He smiled at my use of hid childhood nickname.
"I love you too, Mikes. Now come on, let's get you home."