Anyone perfect must be lying
Anything easy has its cost
Anyone plain can be lovely
Anyone loved can be lost
--from Falling For the First Time by The Barenaked Ladies
Micah wheeled clumsily into his room, ashamed to see that he was already crying. What was it she had said?
("I don't care anymore.")
Gabe hadn't meant that. Had she?
"I'm such an idiot," he croaked, throat feeling dry and scratchy. "It wasn't her fault, and I knew it wasn't her fault, but I didn't care..." He pushed the wheelchair close to the bed, but was too far away to get in. Micah sat back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. His anger had gotten the better of him.
(Here's where Gabe's supposed to comfort me.)
But there was no one there to comfort him.
(And you know whose fault that is?)
He felt a sob well up in his throat and didn't even bother to force it down. And there he sat: a pale young man in a wheelchair, sobbing into his hands in an empty room at night with no way to get into bed and no one to tell him it was all going to be all right.
Edith came in half an hour later.
"Micah, could you tell me what happened? Gabe's locked herself in her room and she won't come out." She bustled towards the bed and paused, glancing at Micah's tearstained face. "Honey... what happened?"
"We had a fight," he said hoarsely as he rubbed at his eyes. They felt puffy and sore.
"You and Gabe?" Edith frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But you two were so happy--"
"Not anymore," Micah muttered, and that only brought on another dry sob. She leaned forward and gave him a slight hug.
"It'll turn out okay. I'm sure of it. Gabe's not one to hold a grudge." Edith pulled away and smiled. "I bet if you sleep on it, it'll look different in the morning."
(I bet.)
Micah rubbed again at his eyes.
"I guess." Sleep was really the last thing on his mind, but at least it would be a relief from reality gone bad.
"There's a good boy," she crooned, and hooked her hands under his arms. In a swift movement, Edith swung him from the chair to the bed. Her hands quickly tugged the blankets up to his chin and tucked him in securely. "Sleep well, dear." She smiled and turned towards the door.
"I'm sure I will," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. Edith started to tug the knob, then stopped.
"Micah," she said slowly, "If you want, I can talk to Gabe for you."
(yes yes talk to her please)
"I'd like that." Micah offered a weak, tearstained smile. The chubby woman nodded her head in cheerful assent.
"All right. Sweet dreams, then -- and no more crying." Edith turned and pulled the door closed behind her, leaving the room dark as a cave and feeling much, much emptier.
He shook his head sadly. It was so hard to tell who to trust, who was loyal to He Who Walks Behind The Rows.
"You disappoint me," he murmured to Danny. "Now you must be treated just like the others." Danny threw down the scythe with a scowl.
"Screw you, Micah!" His face twisted into a disgusted sneer. "Screw you! I don't care anymore!" He frowned a little.
(That's not what Danny is supposed to say...)
Danny's face kept twisting and writhing, and it wasn't a mere changing of expression. The face itself was changing. It wasn't Danny's face anymore; it was Gabe's.
"Every night while you slept!" she cried, a shriek of anguish and hurt. "I told you I loved you, Micah! EVERY NIGHT!" He stumbled away, all thoughts of He Who Walks Behind The Rows gone. Gabe's face was all he saw -- she was crying, sobbing, and her tears ran red streams down her face. Not tears. Blood.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, but the words were a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry, I didn't know, I was jealous--" Gabe's bleeding eyes flashed. It took a moment to realize that it wasn't just a gleam of anger. Her eyes had changed color; they were green now. Gabe's face, Jeremiah's eyes.
"Jealousy!" she choked, a mirthless laugh escaping. "Jealousy, envy, the Green-Eyed Monster!" Gabe staggered towards him while Jeremiah's eyes bled endlessly. He stumbled a few more steps backward.
"I-- I was jealous because--"
"Say it, why don't you!" She glared at him in hatred, green eyes still spouting scarlet tears. "Say it if you can, you little coward!" He felt his back hit something solid. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his fear -- the stalks of corn had been bound together to form a wall. He was trapped.
"Gabe-- Gabe, please, don't--"
"Say it!" She fumbled towards him, hands reaching and clawing. Gabe's eyes bled relentlessly. He could feel the tears splattering on his shirt. "Say it, you spineless little shit!"
"I-- I--" A strangled sob cut off his words. He tried again. "I--" Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.
"Say it! I said it, I said it every night, you can say it just once! SAY IT!" He broke down into helpless sobs. It would be impossible to say it now.
"I love you, Gabe! I really do!" Somehow, he managed -- through all the blubbering and normal salty tears, he forced the words to his lips. "I love you!" Gabe paused, her grip becoming a little more gentle.
"That's all I wanted to hear," she said softly, then grinned. It was a nasty grin, merciless and ugly. Her face shifted again. Now Gabe was Jeremiah, eyes still bleeding terribly. "Kiss me, beautiful," Jeremiah hissed.
Micah screamed.
It echoed oddly in the empty room. It sounded as if there were ten Micahs, all screaming in terror, all clawing at the sheets in a desperate attempt to escape the nightmare. He curled into a ball as best he could, sobbing in fright.
(she was bleeding from her eyes)
He could still feel Jeremiah's hot breath on his face, the cruel words in his ears.
(and they weren't even her eyes)
His back ached and his brow burned, but he stayed in his fetal position and continued to sob. Micah waited for the comforting arms to fold around him, for the soothing voice at his ear and the gentle fingers in his hair. Nothing happened.
(there's no one to help you because you drove her away)
It felt much too long -- really only a few minutes -- before Edith hurried in and calmed him down.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Micah nodded shakily and took the glass offered to him.
"Fine," he said softly, taking a drink. He cringed almost immediately -- it was warm 7-up.
(ages ago)
Edith smiled and smoothed his hair.
"I'm going to help you to your chair. Then I have to leave for work." She transferred him quickly, making sure not to spill any of the warm soda.
"Work?" Micah blinked in surprise as a thought occurred to him. "Gabe's already left, hasn't she?" Edith nodded sadly.
"Yes, dear. I'm sorry. I know you wanted to talk to her." She patted his hand gently and turned him around, wheeling him out into the living room. He didn't object. "You can have breakfast if you want. I'll call a little before lunch and make sure you're okay."
"I'll be fine," he murmured.
(no you won't you're in horrible condition)
"That's what I thought," Edith said cheerfully. "You have to start staying home alone sooner or later." She smiled, leaving him in front of the television, and bustled towards the door. "Like I said, I'll be sure to call."
" 'Kay. I'll keep the phone by me." Micah wheeled to where the cordless hung on the wall. He had to stretch a little, but he managed to grab it. Edith grinned at this.
"Good! You're doing very well already." She snatched her keys and headed out the door. "I'll talk to you later, Micah."
"Sure thing," he murmured, and tucked the phone beside him securely.
The house felt very empty. Micah wheeled slowly down the hall, feeling more alone than ever before. It nearly choked him, the horrible smothering silence, and he needed some way to get rid of it. He passed the door to Gabe's room. There was a pause before Micah felt his hands reverse the direction of the wheels, slowly moving backwards. He swallowed, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself into the room.
(oh god)
With another painful swallow, he wheeled farther into the room.
It smelled like her.
The room was as silent as the rest of the house, but Gabe's scent nearly hovered in the air. Her warm, comfortable smell -- what he breathed in when he had his face pressed into her shirt. Micah clamped his hands over his mouth to stop a sob from escaping. He hadn't realized how much he missed her, but the sudden flood of familiarity...
(oh god it smells like her)
Micah wheeled towards the computer desk, some morbid feeling pressing him on. He didn't know if more of her things would help or hurt, but he had to find out. Her pictures were still plastered all over the desk, but something looked different. Some had been ripped off and new ones put in their place.
(she got rid of all traces of me)
But that wasn't the case. He looked at the photos, eyes trailing slowly over them: there was Gabe, 3 years old, ice cream smeared on her face; a man and woman, smiling cheerfully as they stood before a fountain; a group of girls at a high school lunch table, Gabe among them; and then--
(I don't understand)
There he was. A few pictures in succession: Micah sulking in the hospital bed; Micah poking boredly at his dinner; Gabe and Micah outside his new home. He frowned and let his gaze move over the newspaper clipping -- "Local nurse killed in bizarre religious ceremony" -- and to the last picture.
(what the hell)
It was another picture of himself, but in this one he was sleeping. He squinted at the photo. Micah remembered the shirt he was wearing in the picture and realized something. It had been taken very recently.
(She took it about three days ago--)
He shook his head in disbelief.
(--got it developed--)
It didn't make sense.
(--so she had to have put it up today.)
Micah frowned, not understanding.
"But she was so mad at me," he whispered, and let his gaze fall to the trashcan. "Why isn't my picture in there?" And then he squinted. There was a picture in there. It was years old; Gabe was probably eleven or twelve. She had an arm around the shoulder of a boy the same age. A boy with brown hair and green eyes.
(Jeremiah?)
It was hard to tell anything else, however, because the photo had been crumpled and ripped in half.
"I don't understand," Micah said softly, pressing a palm to his brow.
(She threw away Jeremiah's picture and kept all of mine.)
It hit him like a splash of cold water.
"It means she still loves me," he whispered, and let out a little sob of relief. He had never felt anything so completely encouraging. There was still hope -- Gabe might still forgive him.
"Does she?" The voice was sudden and close. Micah whirled to see the only person he expected to see.
"What do you want?" he growled. Jeremiah smiled thinly.
"Ironically, the same thing as you." He walked slowly towards Micah, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Hm. And we both know that she can only pick one."
(son of a bitch he kissed her)
"Get out of this house," Micah spat, wheeling towards him. Jeremiah just grinned and shook his head slowly.
"That worked once. No more."
(he kissed her he had his hands on her)
"She's really a very good kisser, you know," Jeremiah mused. "A real peach." White-hot anger flared through Micah.
"I'll kill you," he snarled, and gave the wheels a shove. He realized how weak that must've looked, a cripple launching himself at a perfectly healthy young man, but anger was in control now. Unfortunately, so was Jeremiah. The boy stuck out a foot and gave the chair a good hard kick. Micah flew backwards. His chair did a crazy circle before it spun slowly to a stop, facing away from Jeremiah. An arm suddenly flew around him from behind, the crook of an elbow being pressed against his neck.
"You know," Jeremiah hissed into Micah's ear, pulling a little harder, "in the Old Testament, Jeremiah and Micah were both prophets." He gave another yank; Micah gasped in surprise and pain. "I should think a prophet would've seen this coming."
"Let... me..." Micah made an odd choking noise, fingers clawing at Jeremiah's arm. "I... can't..."
"And a child shall lead them," sneered Jeremiah.
(I'm going to die)
His vision was swimming. No more air could be forced into his mouth, and his lungs were craving oxygen.
(I'm going to die and Gabe will never know)
Micah gasped like a fish out of water and dug his nails into Jeremiah's arm.
(she'll never know I love her)
"Gabe--" he choked, then did the only thing he could think of. While Jeremiah chuckled darkly, Micah wriggled out of his grip just enough to make contact with the skin of his arm. With all the power he had left, he opened his mouth and clamped his teeth down on the soft flesh.
(this is for Gabe you son of a bitch)
Jeremiah howled and released him, clutching his injured arm. Micah gasped for breath and wheeled away. The chair hit the wall with a dull thud, so he swiveled quickly and headed for the door. Jeremiah was blocking it, however -- fingers wrapped over the wound and a dark smirk on his face.
"Oh, no," he panted, and Micah noticed that there was a trickle of blood escaping Jeremiah's protective hand. "I'm not finished with you yet, boy. Not by a long shot."