CHAPTER 15

Trigger warning… self harm

"Samantha! Hurry up! You're going to be late for school!"

Sam sighed as she sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling. It was her first day back at school after an extremely lengthy and unfair 3 week suspension because of the school fight. Like seriously, how dumb were the school? They had suspended her for nearly a month for doing nothing more than defending herself from the person trying to kill her! Where was the logic in that? If she hadn't defended herself and fought back, she would also be in a wheelchair, or worse. However, despite her parents' complaints and fury, the school had stood firm on their no-violence policy that she had supposedly broken. But in her eyes, all it was was the school trying to assure the parents of the students at the school that those involved in the school fight were being punished. Robby had been thrown in juvie. Tory had been expelled. Sam and Hawk had been suspended. And Miguel…

Sam put her head in her hands as she thought about Miguel, and their last exchange. They had both traded vicious verbal blows at each other and at the time, Sam had believed that Miguel had been in the wrong for wanting to rejoin Cobra Kai without considering his perspective. Although she would never approve of Cobra Kai or think that they were the good side in the Valley, going after Miguel while he was in the hospital about the decision was a bit of a low blow given everything he was going through. She had lashed out at Miguel's ex and Miguel's friends and defended the Miyagi-Dos when Miguel hated Miyagi-Do most and that had probably done nothing but fuel his desire to retire to Cobra Kai. All she wanted was to help open Miguel's eyes about how bad Cobra Kai really were but if anything, she had made things worse. And now, he had vanished from the Valley without a trace and she couldn't contact him. Nobody had seen Miguel in almost a week, nor heard from him. She had gone by his house and he wasn't there, and she had heard from Aisha, who had heard on the Cobra Kai group chat, that Hawk had gone by his house and he wasn't there.

Sam pulled out her phone and opened her Instagram Direct Messaging Chat with Miguel…

(September 2nd, 2019) Sam: Hey. I'm rlly sorry about what I said in the hospital. Can we talk?

(September 3rd, 2019) Sam: Miguel, please. Just 5 minutes

(September 5th, 2019) Sam: Hey, r u ok? U haven't responded to any of my messages?

(September 8th, 2019) Sam: I heard u left town? Where are u?

(September 10th, 2019) Sam: Look Miguel u don't have to forgive me but pls just send a word so I know you're ok. No one's heard from u in ages and we're worried

She sighed as she read through the screen. It was the 12th now with still no response and at this rate, she knew she probably wouldn't be getting one. That didn't stop her from sending one last message before she got up and left for school…

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When Miguel was a child, he read a lot of stories about what it was like in heaven, but more specifically in hell. He read stories that said that hell was non-existent, merely a place where people not good enough on Earth to get into heaven straight away were tested until they passed and were allowed in. A gateway location, so to speak. He had read stories that hell was nothing but a continuous torture chamber where demons ladled lava straight down sinners' throat, and pulled out fingernails and teeth before making the body parts magically reappear, only to have them pulled out again. But there was one version of hell that Miguel had read about that had caught his eye most. It was the version of hell where each individual sinner had their own hell loop. Each person's hell loop was customised to include all their biggest nightmares, in their nightmare situation, with their least favourite people.

That is how Miguel felt like right now. Each day was an identical series of events from hell with no way to stop them. Every day, he had to wake up, unable to walk or move around normally, go to extremely boring classes, go to useless physical therapy that wasn't helping Miguel make any progress in recovery and live in a house with strangers that he really didn't care to get to know. How could he truly get to know them? They didn't even know who he was. There was no way he was telling them how he really got injured (with Clive and Cynthia's permission, he told the other kids that he was in a car accident) and by hiding something so massive about himself, he knew that there was no way he could truly become friends with them. He had basically withdrawn himself from most of society at this point too, not really texting any of his friends from back home, and barely texting his family for that matter. All he wanted to do was let the days pass as quickly as possible, as each day was causing him more and more pain. But it wasn't pain in his heart. It was that throbbing pain in his chest that he had felt ever since he had woken up from his coma. The feeling of his heart being relentlessly squeezed by a metal fist, causing the feeling of scalding lava being pumped through his body.

That evening, Miguel got home from school and physical therapy and he sat in the common room, doing some schoolwork, when the door suddenly swung open and the whole house came into the room. Clive, Cynthia, Eugene, Mary, Darla and George all walked/wheelchaired into the room together and they smiled widely at Miguel as they saw him.

"Miguel! How was your day today?" Clive asked.

"Not too bad, and yourself?" Miguel murmured, tiredly.

"Good! Really good." He replied as the group all sat down in a circle in the center of the room, and Clive pulled out a deck of cards. "So… can we deal you into the game?"

"Excuse me?" Miguel asked, confused.

"Our nightly game of Crazy Eights. It's a House 10 tradition. Every night at 7, we meet here and play and just chat." Mary explained.

"Oh, right." Miguel mumbled.

"So can we deal you in?" Darla asked, excitedly. The youngest of the group, she was by far the most affectionate and was the one who was trying the hardest to include Miguel in all of their house activities. They all were, to be honest. They all were trying desperately to get him involved by he always pushed back and stayed isolated. Even George, his roommate, probably hadn't heard him utter more than 20 words in the past 5 days.

As expected, Miguel shook his head.

"Nah, um… maybe next time." Miguel murmured, before rolling out of the room and to his own room. Mary and George (the two older students), as well as Clive and Cynthia, exchanged worried looks. Miguel was such a troubled mystery that no one had been able to crack yet, and they were worried that if none of them managed to get through to him before it was too late… well, bad things could happen.

Cynthia and Clive were about to stand up, but George stopped them.

"Look, I got this." He said, before leaving his room and going into his own, where Miguel was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey." Miguel grunted.

"Hey." George nodded at him, before giving him a look that was clearly prompting, begging Miguel to talk. To explain why he had spoken so little about anything since he arrived. To explain why he wasn't getting involved with any activities. To try and open up and reveal the enigma that he was to all of them.

Miguel, however, didn't say anything and George nodded his head slowly.

"Look, dude, I get it." George said. "You've been screwed over way too many times. You don't trust anyone, let alone people you just met. But right now, for the next little while, these people are the only people you are really going to see. And good thing too, because they actually care about you, and want you to get better, even if they don't know you well yet."

"I can take care of myself." Miguel stated. George sighed. He knew that Miguel was clearly a pretty stubborn person.

"I'm not doubting, nor questioning that. But it can't hurt to have people around you that care about you, especially right now. And Clive and Cynthia do. Give these people a chance."

"I don't need parents to play make believe with." Miguel snapped. George rolled his eyes and glared at him, quickly losing his patience.

"You know, it would be really easy for the outside world to feel bad for you. A boy in a car accident who lost the ability to walk. Everyone starts feeling bad and pitying you. And I know how that pity feels. It makes you want to put your fist through a wall. But here, we don't do that. We all know how it feels. I was in a bad hockey fall. Mary and Eugene were also in car accidents. Darla fell off her balcony. But we don't let that shit get to us. We band together, and it makes us stronger. If you band with us, I guarantee you that your stay here will be a lot easier, and you will recover faster."

Miguel scowled at him, rage bubbling up inside him. A combination of the anger and frustration he was feeling about the situation once again exploded inside of him and he erupted, however this time in an oddly calm fashion.

"Yeah, and how's that working out for you? Still in a wheelchair after 2 months. So forgive me for not 100% buying into your house's kumbaya strategy."

George scowled daggers at him.
"You're a real dick, you know?" He snapped. Miguel rolled his eyes, glaring at him.

"Fuck you too, man." Miguel grumbled. George sighed before shaking his head, defeated.

"You know what? I'm done trying to help you. Suit yourself. If you want to wallow in your pitiful hole of misery, go right ahead."

George left the room moments later and Miguel closed his eyes and sat back, his head hitting the pillow beneath him. At that moment, the internal pain he was feeling had reached a new level of agony he hadn't felt before. His eyes began to water and he could feel bile rising at the back of his throat. The weight on his chest was beginning to feel like an elephant was sitting on him, crushing him into a pancake. His temples were pounding at the volume of not just a bass drum, but a whole orchestra. The pain quickly became too much for him. He needed to do something to ease the pain, even if only for a moment.

Before he knew it, he had rolled into the bathroom behind him at top speed, slamming shut and locking the door firmly behind him. He made sure there was no way anyone from the common room could get in, before making a beeline for the sink. He tore through his toiletries bag and eventually found a set of razors and pulled one out, holding it against his left upper arm. He didn't want to kill himself at that moment, but what he did want - what he needed - was a temporary relief from the emotional agony he was feeling. Even if only for a moment, he needed to divert the pain from his chest to his arm as he knew that the latter would hurt him a lot less. So, with a trembling hand, Miguel pressed the razor against his arm and slowly made a gash across his skin…