Ch. 18
And then Michael wrote, Why are you so sad? Did we do something to upset you?
"No. It's nothing.", I sighed, and put my head back down on the table.
Oh…well, we'll just…go watch T.V. then, or something., Michael wrote, and went off with Jason. Soon after, I heard the click of a T.V. remote, as if someone was hitting someone else with the remote for some reason. I groaned, and did my best to ignore it.
But I was sad for some reason.
So the day went by very slowly, like this: Michael and Jason were now apparently "playfully" fighting over the T.V. remote, taking care not to dump an unconscious Freddy onto the floor from off the couch.
Finally, it was nighttime again, and after everybody who was here and awake (Freddy, who had woken up, had disappeared as he always did once nighttime rolled around after he griped for a few minutes about random things), had eaten dinner, which consisted of steaks again, I went and took a bath and went to bed.
Now I cried again, but this time, I didn't know what I cried for.
I had a hard time getting to sleep. My digital clock read 12:00 A.M. exactly when I heard Michael and Jason go to bed in their individual rooms. I sighed then, wondering how I would ever get to sleep.
But then the doorknob rattled, and I sat up.
I recognized the silhouette of the person on sight: It was Jason.
He walked over to me with his slow, rambling walk, the classic walk of zombies, except that Jason didn't have his arms up, of course.
Once at the bed, he looked at the covers, then at me, then at the covers again, then at me again, and then finally he turned around and promptly sat down on the edge of the bed.
I looked at him and how his eyes sparkled in the dark, and suddenly the door rattled and Michael came in.
The two talked in their silent way, and Jason left with a final glance at me. I whimpered once, feeling much safer with Jason than with Michael, but Jason reluctantly ignored me, and Michael stood there.
After a few seconds, I asked, "What do you want?"
In response, he'd sat down on the bed, just as Jason had.
We responded to each other's closeness: he stiffened slightly, and I felt a need to get closer to him.
I hesitantly reached out and briefly touched his hand. He jerked away and thrashed his head for a second. Then he calmed down and glared at me while standing up.
Then I held out my arms for him, something I hadn't done for anyone ever before this, and beckoned him to come to me like a child asking for its toy.
Reluctantly, he obliged, and sat down on the bed again. I barely touched his hand, tracing the patterns of the burns. He didn't jerk away now, but his hand clenched into a fist.
"What did you come in here for, Michael, if not for me?", I whispered.
He didn't look at me; he just sat there.
Then I moved to stroke his hair, that fake, yet strikingly dull orange hair, and he whipped around and grabbed my shoulder and slammed me away from him into the wall. I gave a cry of pain, and snarled angrily.
I now had a harsher, much more evil sounding voice, I was so angry.
"Come; let me rip your miserable head off."
He only glared at me, ignoring my words, and shook me gently to get me out of that angry spell I was in.
I broke out of it, and froze at his closeness.
His fingers accidently touched my hair, and I shivered.
He cocked his head slightly, and stroked my hair lightly with his fingertips.
I poked his shoulder to give him the hint to back off; I wasn't sure what to make of this.
Eventually I yawned, and fell asleep, thanking Michael for helping me to do so. Jason came in and replaced Michael; he stayed by my side, his golden eyes searching for any sign of fear on me.
But this time, as I fell asleep, I wasn't the only one having a nightmare.