"You look like death warmed over," Brooke groaned as she opened the door.
"I feel like it too," said Michael. He shifted his weight as his backpack rested uncomfortably on one shoulder. "Can I stay here for a few days?"
Brooke looked puzzled. "Uh… Always. My sister's here today but she's pretty chill. You'll like her. What's wrong, Mike?"
She stepped to the side to let him in. He slung the bag off his shoulder and onto the couch. A heavy set girl with straight brown hair came from the kitchen and sat next to him. She extended a hand wordlessly and Michael shook it.
"I'm Jenna," she said. "Brooke's sister."
"I'm Michael; friend of hers."
Stiffly, Michael made light conversation with her. He made more of an effort to draw her out and listen than talk. He wasn't feeling keen to share. He learned as much as he could about the girl; searching her brown eyes for clues of her character. He wondered if she was the older or younger sibling but didn't bother asking. It didn't really matter.
Jenna was rather different from Brooke. She was naturally reserved but warm and personable. Michael decided pretty quickly he liked her.
After her sister left, Brooke's husky came rushing toward him from the hallway and jumped into Michael's lap. He sighed as the blue eyed creature licked the last salty remains of earlier tears from his face.
In his reluctance to speak he listened to the chatter of a hushed commercial on TV. He gazed toward the ceiling and watched a dusty fan blade spinning. Brooke didn't like the quiet too much so the fan and TV were on to create white noise. It eased his mind.
"Me and Jeremy are fighting," he muttered.
"Oh shit," Brooke said. "That's… fuck. I don't know what to say. What happened?"
"Well, I was bitch-ass drunk last night."
"This I knew." She smiled softly. "We had the world's best time though. You're pretty fucking cute when you're drunk though."
"Yeah. Well… I kissed him."
Her eyes went wide. "Whoa. Was it bad or something?"
He shook his head. "He kissed me back. Hard."
"Like… chaste hard or tongue-down-your-throat hard?"
He smiled at her lack of boundaries. The girl had no filter and he loved her for it.
"So what's wrong? He doesn't feel the same?" she asked.
"No, the problem is, he does," Michael sighed.
"Oh. So I guess it's complicated?"
"Yeah. He wants a relationship, and I… erm..."
"Complicated?" she asked softly.
Brooke braced herself and lifted herself up to sit on the counter. Her legs swayed through the air affably. To no surprise her socks didn't match.
"Yeah," he breathed as they fell into a moment of silence. He worked his fingers through soft black fur. The dog licked his fingers and draped its paw over his arm. It sensed his emotions and matched his morose demeanor.
She slid off the counter and sat beside him.
"Sounds like whatever is holding you back… you need to let it go, Michael."
She rested her head against his shoulder. Sandwiched between her and the dog, he eased into his seat.
"So I've been told," he said.
"He loves you," Brooke said. "Don't let that go to waste. Not for anything."
"Okay," he sighed into her soft, blonde hair. "I don't know what to do though."
"I know you've got walls. We can all see it. But I promise you it's worth letting them down for him."
"You really think so?"
She hummed. "I know. Why the hell do you think I'm single? Trust issues, dumbass."
Three days passed slowly, all in a single blur. He slept on the couch with the dog curled next to his chest, drove to work with Brooke, and chatted about everything that didn't matter. It was easy, peaceful… and sad. He spent most of his time trying not to think about his life. Trying not to rot in the endless guilt of what he had and hadn't done.
It wasn't long before Michael discovered Brooke had nightmares. Horrible, scream-inducing nightmares. Late into his third night on her couch, the stagnant silence was torn to shreds by a piercing cry that shook Michael from his sleep. It sent him rushing with a burst of adrenaline into Brooke's room.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Beads of shining sweat clung to her flesh. With skin like a ghost she had her arms wrapped around a pillow. White flesh all but glowed in the darkened room. Her fingers strained into the fabric as though she were clinging to life itself.
"It's okay," he shushed. "What happened?"
"Bad dreams," she sighed. She drew her knees up around her chin. "I don't have them all the time, but they're awful when I do. It feels too real."
"I've had them too," he said. "I get it."
He sat on the bed next to her and leaned into her so she could tuck her head under his chin.
"It's over," he said. "I'm right here."
"Yeah," she said distantly.
She sighed against him.
"It's gonna be alright."
"I know," she breathed.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Definitely not," she groaned.
Her hair tickled his face as he nodded. Even soaked in cold sweat she still smelled like soap and warmth.
"Michael?" she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Don't leave me alone."
"Okay," he whispered.
He shifted his weight to lie on the bed, and let her ease close to him.
"I'm right here," he reassured.
"You're my best friend, you know," she said, wrapping an arm around his chest.
"And you're mine."
"Nah," she sighed. "Jeremy is your best friend."
"No," he chuckled. "Jeremy is like… my soulmate. My companion through life. Huge difference."
"Oh hush, drama queen."
It was peaceful resting against her for the night. He wondered what plagued her mind so deep into her dreams that she returned to reality with a scream like that. He imagined her guardian angel in heaven aching to see her tormented with them. It was a feeling he knew too well.
As he drifted back to sleep, settled into the warmth of her smaller body against his larger one, he mused on the concept. She may not have been his responsibility but he still had the means to protect her. Caring for someone when you didn't have to was a privilege in its own right.
