Zoey's eyes snapped open as a loud, crashing noise echoed from outside her room. Her state of relaxation immediately became a state of panic, as she sat up and fumbled out of bed, still in her pyjamas. It sounded like someone was breaking into the apartment.
Her heart rate spiked as she swung open her door, only to find that the loud noise had come from the bathroom. The main door was left open, Mike's shoes were kicked off in the middle of the entrance, and the shower sounded like it was on full blast. Zoey blinked twice to make sure she wasn't dreaming and rushed over to the bathroom door.
"Mike?" She called out worriedly. She placed her hand softly on the door handle, but didn't turn it, assuming it was locked. Was he always Vito in the shower? His shirt was off, right? She wasn't sure who to be calling.
Well, Zoey was right about one thing. His shirt was off. Mal had ripped off his shirt, and the usual bluer colour was now soaked in red, which drenched half of it into a muddied dark purple. He had been using it as a rag for his wound while running home. Speaking of, how the hell did he know where his home was? Hopefully, this was Mike's home, and not some random ladies. Maybe that's why a woman's voice was calling him. Because he was in the wrong apartment. No wait- he used a key. Right.
Mal couldn't remember much. He could barley remember anything since the last time he was in control. When was that? At least the adrenaline sent him sprinting to a place with a shower. His memories would probably come back to him slowly. His train of thoughts were interrupted once more by the warm water horribly stinging his body. He almost wanted to cry, but he didn't dare to even let his eyes water. He wasn't a bitch, or else he might as well be Mike.
The stream of water running down the drain was tinted red from his blood. He sat in the middle of the shower wincing, his eyebrows furrowing harder as the voice from the hallway called his alter ego again and again. Calling for Mike. It pissed him off.
"For the love of-" Before Mal could even yell at whoever the girl was, his breath hitched from pain. Mal's voice went deep and quiet. "Fuuuuck." It felt like the gash was splitting open even more. He shouldn't have moved his shoulder.
Zoey's eyes widened when she heard the response, and the noise that followed. She finally pulled down the handle, perplexed for a moment when it actually opened. Mike didn't even bother to lock the door.
Her eyes were too nervous to look at the shower, but the drips of blood on the bathroom floor scared her enough to let them dart up. Mike was facing down, biting on his lip as hard as he could, with blood pouring out of his shoulder. His pants were getting wet from kneeling in the bloody shower, but he couldn't care less. He let his face hang in the water, all of his wet hair hovering down over his eyes.
"Oh my god- Mike! What happened?" Zoey didn't really expect an explanation, but that was all that trembled out of her mouth. She ran to him, passing by his horribly bloody shirt, and began shaking at the sight. Mike didn't even respond, let alone look up. Zoey was almost hyperventilating as she began running out the door.
"I'll call the hospital!" She yelled to him, her eyes shining from held back tears. A breathy, loud shout stopped her in her tracks.
"HEY! Don't call the hospital! Or I swear to fucking god, I'll-" Mal shut his eyes tightly as a sharp pain shot through his head. All the blood loss was getting him ruined. He finally crawled out of the shower, not bothering to try to turn it off, as he attempted on reaching the clean towel on the hanger from the floor.
"B-But you need-"
"I said, Don't!" Mal accidently let a muffled cry of pain slip through his lips as he reached out harder for the towel. Zoey stared at him in horror for a moment before she rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a medical kit. By the time she got back, Mal's vision was too blurry to see anything. He fell on his stomach before Zoey turned him over. She was right next to him, but her voice sounded so far away. His chest was puffing up and down as his eyes slowly closed. He fought it as hard as he could, but all he could see were more blurs of red, before everything went black.
…
Opening his heavy eyelids slowly, Mal groaned. His body ached. He didn't even have the strength to move. He remembered the feeling of crawling on the bathroom floor. It was like he was a fucking toddler. And then… he passed out?
He laid there, still and almost lifeless, remembering what happened. The fight with some dumb jack ass at school, the run to this apartment- an apartment he's never seen before. And someone calling to him, watching him… when he was weak. Mal looked over to his shoulder, which he realized was protected tightly with streaks of white. He was still in soaked jeans, which somehow made him cringe more than the bandages. He was also on some sort of bed. Well, it was a bed, but in Mal's opinion, it was lacking in style.
Mal turned his head a bit more to look around the small room. Mike's trophies, certificates, laptop, and all his other garbage was out on the table as usual. So this must be their new place. He attempted to sit up, but struggled to do so. It took him a moment before he finally managed it on his own. He suddenly felt burning anger rising up inside him.
Why did it feel like he was passed out for so long? Not just since the shower scene, but since the last time he was in the body. He's never felt that before. Why couldn't he remember anything that happened? How long was he out for? Mal let his frustration get the best of him, as he used his arm that was still in good condition to snatch his pillow and whip it at the door. The door that was left slightly open. Damn, he thought. That stupid girl was probably still here.
Mal let himself fall back on the bed only to have his head smacked against something hard. He frowned and reached for whatever he was on, only to lift it up and stare at it. It was some crappy notebook. He rolled his eyes and flipped through it. Mike's handwriting was thin and kind of shaky. All he wrote about were feelings. What a waste of time. Who makes him write this shit, Sophie? Why would he do it when she's not looking? He stopped at a specific page that stuck out to him.
"No- don't do this! No one will ever cross you with me in charge, heh- I'm a part of you!"
"Yup. A part of me, that I don't need anymore. Goodbye Mal."
Memories came flooding back. He closed his eyes as he remembered everything that happened. He recalled all the others, pushing the reset button, trying to get rid of him. Was that why his memory felt so damn foggy? Those stupid fuckers, thinking they could stop him. No one could.
But why was this written down? Mike was probably mocking him, thinking he won.
Fuck Mike.
Mal opened his eyes and threw the notebook at the door, which obviously made a louder sound than the pillow. He heard subtle sounds of footsteps making their way to the door, which made him sigh from disappointment. How did he already forget the girl was here? Mal was too used to living alone.
Zoey's voice could be heard as she knocked on the door softly. "Mike? Are you awake?" She mumbled.
Mal rolled his eyes. No, I threw something in my sleep. Of course I'm fucking awake.
When she stepped through the door, his eyes widened. It felt like another tidal wave of memories were crashing back into his mind. He'd seen this girl before. Not just in the bathroom earlier. He remembered moments of her jumping, running, holding his hands- were they on a boat in one of them? What the hell was he doing with her for so long?
"Mike," She asked again, picking up the notebook and pillow. She set the notebook on his table and hugged the pillow to herself as she waited for a response. "Are you… feeling alright?"
Mal cleared his throat a bit, attempting to sound like Mike. But, to be honest, he really didn't have the energy. His instinct was to put up his hair, but he put his hand back down when he remembered it was still wet and heavy. "I'm fine." He mumbled. His voice sounded disembodied. It felt exhausting to come back in control after being so repressed, only to get a slash to the damn shoulder.
Zoey sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to put her hand behind his neck. "Keep the pillow, you need rest." Mal cringed for a moment at her hand coming closer to him, before nervously smiling and lifting his neck up himself. She put the pillow behind him, and let his head rest on it before pressing the back of her palm on his forehead. Mal tried to hide his irritation.
"Are you sure you're alright?" She questioned again, raising a brow. Mal looked back at his shoulder, ignoring her repetitive nonsense. "So, what, did you patch me up by yourself?" He tried to rotate his shoulder a bit, but the bandages were on pretty tightly.
"Don't do that," she mumbled, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. She looked down at it for a while. Mal wanted to cuss her off for trying to tell him what he could do, but he bit his tongue to stop himself. "And of course I did. It's a good thing I'm studying nursing. Or I would have had to call the hospital, even if you didn't want me to." Zoey looked back up at him. "How… did you get that cut? What happened?" The tone in her voice made Mal notice how red and puffy her eyes were. She must have been crying.
Aren't I the one who got hurt? What was she crying for? Witnessing it? Oh, poor thing.
"Some, uhh… stuff, went down. A punk thought he could mess with me. But I got away from the guy who did it, so, that's all that's important." Why was Mike's voice so high? Holding the range was annoying.
Zoey frowned. "That's all your going to tell me?"
Mal didn't respond.
Sighing, Zoey kissed his forehead, which caused Mal's eyes to widen. He didn't even have time to react, let alone say anything, before she walked out of the room.
"What the hell…?" He muttered. Letting someone else stitch him up was already disgusting. Now, she thinks she can just press her lips on him? Mal shivered from discomfort. He glared at the door which she left only half closed behind her. At least now he knew for sure, that was Mike's girlfriend. What was her name again? He couldn't put his finger on it.
A few minutes later, Mal reached over to grab his phone which was left on the bed. He didn't see it until now, the girl must have left it for him. He couldn't think of what the passcode could be, but remembered he could swipe his fingerprint to get in. His head still felt a bit fuzzy.
The first thing he did was head to Mike's gallery, which, surely enough, had a folder titled 'Zoey 3'. It made him want to puke. Hopefully someone put a gun to his head and forced him to write something that stupid and cheesy. The gallery was, as expected, full of the red haired girl. Pictures of them going to school, eating together, snuggling on the sofa, and even brushing their teeth and laughing.
Holy crap. Don't they get sick of each other?
Mal's head perked up a bit when Zoey walked back in the room, holding a bowl of soup with steam flowing out on top of it. Mal tried to keep a smile on his face, talking before she could. "I'm not hungry." Zoey sat next to him anyways. "Come on now, Mike. You really need to eat. Your body is weak. You've been passed out for quite a while." Putting his phone next to him, Mal sat up, pretending like he wasn't struggling to do so. He leaned forward to take the bowl, but Zoey gently pushed his hand down.
"It's hot, I'll help you." She smiled at him before bringing the spoon up to her lips and blowing on it. Mal's eye twitched from annoyance. "Oh, Zoey, aha, you don't have to… really." He emphasized the last word as best he could.
She didn't reply. From what Mal remembered of her, and what he saw on his phone, Zoey was a lot cheerier than calm. Maybe she was shaken from the blood? Heh, probably lived her entire life with mommy and daddy coddling her, barley seeing a speck of it. She'll probably remember this day as some scary nightmare. The thought made Mal chuckle. For him, it was the day he was finally back in business.
Zoey lifted the spoon to his lips, which caught his attention and caused him to raise a brow. She wasn't serious, right? What the hell did she take him for? A fucking child? Maybe Mike was, but Mal wasn't. He stared blankly at her, waiting for her equanimity to wear off, but it didn't. She sat there patiently waiting for him to drink up. Mal sighed and closed his eyes, about to take a sip of it, before he looked back at her.
"Wait. Where did you get this from?"
Zoey blinked a bit from confusion, finally showing some expression. "What do you mean? I made it for you."
Mal eyed her with suspicion. Zoey stared at him, waiting for an explanation, until she looked back down at the bowl. Does he really think…?
It too her a moment before she took the first sip of the soup, feeling the thick and tasty liquid soothe her throat as she drank it. "Mmmm," she grinned, looking up at her boyfriend. "Tastes great. Full of vegetables, cream, and not a single ounce of poison. How refreshing!" Zoey refilled the spoon, blew on it again, and put it up to Mal's lips.
Once more, Mal reached his healthy arm out again to take the spoon. Zoey didn't let go of it. "Nu – uh. Open wide." He did his best to keep his composure, taking a deep breath in and letting it out through his nose. Maybe he could think of her as a servant in his layer or something. That was the only way to make him feel okay with this moment.
Mal hated everything about this moment.
He closed his eyes once more, and let Zoey spoon feed him his first sip. It dripped down his chin a bit, and he made sure to wipe it himself before she could even think of doing it for him. When Zoey was finished blowing on his second bite, Mal's expression dropped. Again, she didn't let him take the spoon. "Don't be so hard to work with, Mike. You need to drink up!"
Zoey watched him take a moment before he reluctantly took another sip of the soup.
Of course it was Mal. After the crazy video she saw of the fight, it had to be. And at this rate, working with him was going to be a long way to go.