Chapter 36 #2
I tried to push the button to end the call but the screen was wet and my fingers weren’t working and I was crying harder now but—
“Just hang on. Alright? I’ll be there so fast. Just wait for me.”
Wait for me.
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
I tucked my legs up to my chest as I laid on my side, sobbing into the thin carpet. The shitty carpet in my shitty hallway in my shitty trailer. My shitty fucking life.
My stupid, pointless, embarrassing life.
I wasn’t sure why I’d ever thought I could make it out of this hell I’d been born into. I couldn’t. Only Anthony got to do that. Not me. I thought I was doing well because I had my own place, I was in college, I was working, but that wasn’t the whole truth.
I lived in a mobile home I could only afford because I didn’t have to fucking pay for anything other than the lot fee and utilities.
I would’ve failed all my classes had Micah not taken pity on me.
I was working at the most run-down, poorly-rated gas station in all of existence.
That thought only made me cry harder, though, because Eric didn’t deserve my judgment. The gas station was fine.
The sound of a key turning in the lock of my front door some minutes later made me roll over. I didn’t know when Micah got a key, but that didn’t matter. I was grateful for it.
He stepped inside, then instantly knelt and pulled me into his arms, tucking my head against his chest without asking a single question. My whole body was shaking and weak as I sobbed, choking on air, my chest freezing every time I tried to inhale.
“I’m here,” Micah murmured with his lips pressed to the top of my head.
“Fix it, please,” I cried. I needed him to use his aspect again, to steal all the bad emotions that overwhelmed me from my brain like he’d done when I ran from Mason’s apartment. “Take it away.”
“I can’t take this from you.”
I blinked, some terrible new emotion swelling inside of me: a tidal wave of anger.
“What?! You can’t or you won’t?!” I pushed away from him, feeling even more exposed and humiliated than before. Why would he deny me now, when I needed him so badly?
“I’m so sorry, baby girl.”
“If you were sorry, you would help me!” I screamed, crawling backwards, heat wrapping around my throat. “You’re not fucking sorry! Why did you even come here! You just want to see me like this! You probably like it!”
“That’s not even remotely true.”
“That’s how it feels! Why would you come here and refuse to help me?”
“I’m not refusing to help you. I’m just not doing what you want me to do.”
“Yeah,” I bit out. “Exactly.”
I was starting to regret calling him at all. Maybe it would’ve been easier to deal with this on my own, with no one to witness me as a sobbing mess on my floor. I’d never been so embarrassed, never felt so disgusting.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I think I want help, but maybe I don’t deserve it. Micah probably knows that.
The inside of me is rotted, and he can see all of it.
I pushed backwards with my heels into the bathroom, more nausea becoming heavy and insistent in my gut, more heat crawling up my throat. Micah followed me in.
“No,” I said, stomach churning. “No. Get out.”
I tried to shove him towards the door, but he didn’t budge. Urgency bled into my actions, and I was frantically pushing him now, feeling the vomit in my stomach.
“Get the fuck out, Micah,” I ordered through gritted teeth, tears blurring my vision.
This is not about to happen twice.
It cannot fucking happen twice.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please just listen to me for once!”
He finally relented, stepping out of the bathroom barely far enough for me to get the door closed. I slammed it shut and crawled to the toilet, yanking up the lid just in time for stomach acid to come up my throat.
I crouched over the bowl, spit hanging from my lips, tears dripping down my cheeks, an empty sort of relief claiming my body. I was sweating all over, my t-shirt sticking to my slick back, and my legs were shaking now.
For one more minute, I sat there over the toilet, staring at nothing, tasting acid at the back of my throat, spitting into the water, feeling as disgustingly broken as I’d ever felt.
Humiliation and regret still burned hot in my cheeks.
My brain was quiet, but not because of Micah.
I’d just tired myself out enough with all the crying and yelling and sickness that I could no longer form actual thoughts.
I got up in a daze and flushed the toilet, brushed my teeth as best as I could, and opened the door, swaying on my feet. Micah was still standing directly outside it, his head down and his face tormented.
“You know I don’t care about that,” he said, his voice quiet.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to see me like that.” I forced the words out, hiccuping a bit, gripping the doorknob to stay upright. “I don’t like being this way. It’s fucking embarrassing.”
“It’s embarrassing? No the fuck it’s not.”
“Oh, what would you know about it? Huh? Nothing. You’re perfect.” I tried to push past him towards my bedroom, my vision smearing with tears, sobs stabbing my ribs, but he stopped me in the dark hallway.
“I’m not perfect.”
“Yes, you—”
“I know more than you think I do.” He shook his head.
“You always say shit like that, and I don’t know what you mean. You know more about me than I think you do?”
“No,” he answered, his expression strained. “I understand how you’re feeling. More than you expect.”
His eyes held mine and for an instant, there was a flicker of something vulnerable in them. It was gone just as soon as it came, but it’d been there.
I looked away quickly, feeling nauseous all over again.
Bad things happen in Heaven, too.
Did something bad happen to you?
There had to be more he wasn’t telling me. I was certain of that. But what? I didn’t like thinking about it. I wanted to know, but at the same time it was going to destroy me. The concept of someone hurting Micah that bad made me feel like dying.
“Do you need to pack anything to stay at my house tonight?”
I swiped under my eyes to catch the fresh tears sliding off my lashes. “I’ll get a bag.”
“Just sit on your bed, and I’ll get whatever you need. Alright?”
“Okay,” I whispered, padding over to my messy bed and slumping my body down, beyond exhausted. I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a million years. Or maybe never wake up. If I never woke up, I would never feel like this again.
“I’m going to take care of you, Masters. Always.” Micah looked at me, brushing strands of hair off my wet cheek. “No matter what happens, you’re going to be okay because I’m going to make sure of it. Do you trust me?”
My lower lip was wobbling.
I want to, and I think I do. I do trust you, even when I shouldn’t.
Should I trust you now? Or am I being desperate and naive if I do?
I just nodded.
“That’s good,” he murmured.