Bit of a later update than usual. I've been a bit sick lately so I haven't had much energy to write so I just decided to upload a chapter I already had done. There may be a Valentine's Day update next week, probably on Wednesday or Thursday. I've seen stories of Michael's torture on here before, but I wanted to put a little spin on it myself.
Just a few more steps, Michael thought hazily as he trudged his way up the stairs, vaguely aware of the blood pouring from him with every movement he made. A couple hours ago, he thought he would have met his end at the meat grinder he'd been slowly sent towards. In hindsight, he realized he hadn't considered what would happen to him if he did escape.
He audibly sighed in relief when he reached the top of the staircase, regretting it instantly as his ribs screamed in pain. His vision started to blacken around the edges as he stumbled towards his bedroom. It seemed like an eternity before he finally reached the door. Blinking back the darkness, he reached for the doorknob, failing to recognize that his hands were slick with his own blood. Cursing in frustration, he tried to open it with no success.
He turned around and leaned against the door with a sigh. Apparently, he'd meet his end because of a goddamn door. He slid onto the floor, his legs finally giving out from underneath him. He pressed his hand against the stab wound on his stomach, biting back a cry of pain.
It was a pathetic way to die, he knew. Nobody would even find him for a few days, minimum. Nobody would really even care that he was dead, anyways, he thought with a bitter chuckle. Michael didn't even try to fight his eyes from shutting as he descended into unconsciousness.
The papers felt like a weight in her hand as she walked towards the front door. Amanda bit her lip nervously, realizing the irony of the situation. The first time she'd see her husband in months was to give him divorce papers. She wasn't even entirely sure he was home; his car wasn't in the driveway but the front lights were on. In all honesty, she kind of hoped that he wouldn't be home.
It wasn't as if she even really wanted a divorce. She had wanted their marriage to work so badly, but after everything that had happened, it seemed impossible. He doesn't love you anymore, get over it, a tiny voice in her head said. Getting the papers had been more of a pride thing than anything. Maybe he'd change his mind and say that he wanted to try to make things work...
To her surprise, the door opened without even needing to be unlocked. It's fine, he always forgets to lock it, she tried to shake off her nervousness as she stepped inside.
Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the amount of blood covering the floor. "Michael?" she called out hesitantly, voice shaking. Only silence answered her. Her gaze ran along the bloodstains that went all of the way up the stairs. Without thinking, she ran up the stairs, following what she realized was a trail of blood. Finally, she saw the beaten, broken form of her husband.
Amanda immediately dropped the papers as she rushed over to him. "Michael!" she exclaimed as she dropped down to her knees. He was propped against the door, clothes soaked in red, face pale and lifeless. Her trembling fingers found the side of his neck. The feeling she got when she felt a weak pulse couldn't compare to any other moment of happiness she had before in her life. "Michael, please wake up," her voice was desperate as she shook one of his shoulders,
The only response she got was a strangled groan. She held his head up with one of her hands, tilting it up so she could see him up close. Horror filled her as she saw the dark bruises covering his cheeks and jaw, the blood pouring out of the many cuts on his face. A pool of blood grew below him and she suspected that it wasn't from the cuts. Tears filled her eyes at the sight. "Oh, God...what happened to you?"
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, "You need to get up...we need to stop this bleeding." His features twisted into a grimace as he started to stir. "There you go...open those eyes," she said soothingly.
Michael's eyelids slowly fluttered open. He jolted in surprise when he realized that it was her. "...'Manda? Wha- what're you doing here?" he murmured, looking up at her with bloodshot eyes. His gaze shifted from her to the divorce papers beside her, expression shifting from confusion to pure sadness. "Fuck…" he whispered as he threw his head back against the door, voice cracking.
Amanda wiped away her tears. "We can talk about that later, okay? Let's just get you cleaned up first," she said, offering him her hand. He only made it about halfway to his feet before he collapsed, a pained cry coming from his lips. "I'm so sorry, Michael-" she started, staring at him writhing in agony on the floor. His hand was pressed against his stomach, blood flowing from between his fingers.
"No, it's fine," he breathed out, still trying to get his legs under him. "Jus' not as young as I used to be."
Eventually, she managed to get him up, struggling against his weight. "Michael, I can't get you into the bathroom by myself. Just stand up for a couple of minutes," she pleaded breathlessly.
He nodded, a determined look crossing his beaten face. A sigh of relief escaped her when he leaned against the wall and stood up straighter. She opened their bedroom door, acutely aware of the dried blood covering the doorknob. A pang of guilt ran through her when she noticed him staring longingly at their wedding picture on the floor, surrounded by the broken glass of the frame. They wordlessly moved through the bedroom and the closet and finally into their bathroom.
Michael immediately sat down on the toilet and put his head in his hands, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. "Goddamn…" he muttered as he clutched his head.
"I'm guessing going to the hospital is out of the question?" Amanda asked while pulling out the first aid kid.
He shook his head. "You know we can't do that," his voice was raspy and she couldn't help but think about how she had never heard him sound so helpless before.
She sighed. It was worth a shot. "I'll be right back," she said, starting to go towards the door.
"Wait...where are you going?" he asked in a panicked tone, moving to get up.
"Sit back down, I'm just gonna go get you something to drink," she reassured him.
He looked at her in suspicion for a moment before relaxing a bit. A little bit of her heart broke at that look. After all, what reason did he have to trust her anymore? She had already left him once.
She quickly walked out of the room and down the stairs, careful to avoid the bloodstains. Her eyes widened when she saw how messy the rest of the house was. The kitchen and living room were littered with empty beer and whiskey bottles, junk food scattered everywhere.
Trying to ignore that, she opened the fridge, pushing aside all of alcohol before successfully finding a bottle of water.
Before long, she was back, smirking as she handed it to him. "See? I told you I'd be right back."
A semblance of his usual cocky smirk formed on his face at the comment. He slowly got up and walked over to the sink while taking a swig. He spat out the water into the sink, the liquid dark red from the cuts in his mouth. The process repeated until most of the blood was gone. Michael swiftly drank the rest, looking slightly better by the time he finished. "So now what?" he asked.
She frowned down at his red clothes, at the still-bleeding cuts on his body. "We need to take care of that bleeding. You can lift your arms, right?"
"I guess we'll see…" he muttered in a thoughtful tone. He managed to lift them until they were straight out in front of him. "Uh, I think that's 'bout it," he said, voice strained with effort.
"That's fine," she said soothingly and started working to pull his tank top off of his head. After a few minutes of struggling, she finally managed to get it off.
Amanda's jaw fell open when she saw his injuries. Multiple stab wounds ran along his body and fist-sized bruises covered his torso. The deepest gash was on his stomach and was still pouring blood. "What happened?!" she asked angrily.
"A fight," he mumbled weakly, staring at the floor.
"I'm not an idiot, Michael," she said harshly, tears of frustration running down her face. "You don't get stabbed over five times in 'a fight'! God...your ribs are probably broken, too, and you won't let me take you to the hospital! You're not invincible, you know!"
"I know. I'll be fine, Amanda, you know that I've been through worse." He sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair. "Look, I got into an argument and then some assholes came and jumped me. That's it."
"I don't think that that's the whole story, but I guess that's all you're gonna tell me," she admitted sadly, wiping away her tears before starting to clean out the wound. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep as she had thought, despite all of the bleeding. She carefully bandaged it before working on the smaller cuts. After that, she gently wrapped them around his ribs, wincing when she heard his sharp intake of breath as she tightened it. "I'm sorry…"
"Don't be...it's just kinda sore," he said, smiling at her reassuringly. "You're doing great."
Finally, she moved onto his face, cautiously putting bandages on the larger cuts and cleaning out the smaller ones. "Okay, that's that," she muttered, putting the first aid kit away.
Michael sighed in relief and tiredness and got up as if to go back into the bedroom before she stood in front of him. "Wha-?" he started.
"We're not done yet. I want you to take a shower," Amanda said.
"Can't I just do that tomorrow?" he asked, voice almost pleading.
"Michael, you're still covered in blood. You'll feel a lot better after you do it, anyways."
"Okay…" he agreed, staggering to the shower. He almost fell, having to use the sink to steady himself.
"Shit…" she muttered under her breath as she walked over to him. "You sure you can do this?"
"Yeah...jus' give me a second," he nodded, blinking heavily, still not making any more movement.
Exasperated, she undid his belt, his eyebrows shooting up at her sudden action. Wordlessly, she tugged at his zipper and stared up at him expectantly. "Am I gonna have to do all the work?" she asked teasingly.
Finally, he got the hint and kicked off his shoes before undoing the zipper of his pants. She had to steady him as he nearly fell over at the action of taking off his pants.
He can't do this by himself, she realized. Either she'd let him fall asleep in his own blood and risk his injuries getting infected…or she had to put aside all of her conflicting emotions towards her husband and get in with him. "Fuck it…" she said as she turned around and pulled her own shirt off.
"Uh…" Michael stuttered from behind her.
"I'm getting in with you since you can't stand by yourself for a minute, let alone ten," she informed him while she undid her bra.
"Oh, we haven't done that in a long time…" he said quietly.
Instead of making some snarky comment about why they hadn't done that in a long time, she just continued undressing. By the time that she had finished, Michael was done and leaning over sink, half-asleep again.
A blush spread up her cheeks when she saw him turn his head and stare at her, eyes filled with something between sadness and longing. She had to resist the urge to cross her arms over her chest as she walked over to the shower and turned the water on.
Michael barely even checked the water before stepping in, mumbling about all of his aching injuries. His tall frame was hunched beneath the warm downpour of water, almost looking smaller than usual.
She got in after him, shivering at the temperature change. The shower was big but with Michael leaning heavily against the wall and her having to make sure that he didn't fall asleep or collapse again, it seemed tiny. Since he couldn't move without causing himself further pain, she grabbed the soap and rubbed it into a washcloth, setting about to remove the dried blood stuck to his skin.
It was a task that was easier said than done. She had to avoid his bandaged wounds, had to try to not scrub too hard at the cuts and bruises that adorned his body. It was difficult to not wonder about what had happened to him, what had happened to them to end up here, in their shower with him almost beaten to death and her with divorce papers waiting outside the bedroom.
Dark pink water slowly went down the drain, getting lighter the more she cleaned him up. When she turned him around to get his face, he looked considerably more alert and awake, hands resting on her waist for support. Amanda gently wiped the blood away from his jaw and cheeks, not able to meet his piercing gaze.
A frown crossed her face when she looked up at his hair, still matted and dirty. She grabbed the shampoo and scrubbed it into his hair, slowly feeling his hair soften between her hands as the blood rinsed out. Even after she had finished, her fingers lingered there.
Michael's hand shook as he reached over and brushed the wet locks of hair from her face. "Amanda…" he murmured and moved closer to her, lips practically touching hers.
"Y-yeah…?" she said shakily, voice nearly a whisper.
"I wanna say thanks. Y'know, for savin' me," he smiled at her almost hesitantly.
"You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad that you're okay," she smiled back.
He leaned in further and I really should stop him... but she just wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in, for God's sake.
The kiss was soft and slow and everything she'd imagined it'd be like on the days where she'd been too sad to be angry at him. Things weren't okay and this didn't erase all of their problems, but they were together and he was actually wanting this.
Michael broke away first, only because his breathing had started getting painful. "I know you said I didn't have to thank you, but…" he started with a crooked smirk.
"You are the corniest man," Amanda laughed.
He chuckled and pulled her close to his chest. "I'm sorry…" he whispered into her ear sadly, voice almost inaudible over the sound of the shower.
"I know, darling," she murmured, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have just left when things got bad. Maybe if I'd been here before this happened-"
Water dripped off of his face as he shook his head. "I'm glad you weren't. I dunno what I'd have done if something happened to you or the kids instead of me."
She just nodded, knowing how much he'd blame himself if her or the kids got hurt. "Well, I think that's about it," she said, reaching over and turning the water off. She got out and quickly tossed him a towel. "Go get dressed and get in bed, I'll be there in a bit."
"You sure you don't need my help drying off or anything?" he grinned at her flirtatiously as he ran a towel through his hair.
"If anything, you need the help. Just go do it, smartass," she demanded teasingly.
"Fine…" he drawled out lazily, drying himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist and walking back into the bedroom.
A small smirk crossed her face as she watched him leave. At least that cocky attitude was still there. She quickly dried herself off and looked in the mirror, frowning at her ruined makeup. Sighing, she wiped it off and tied her damp hair back into a messy bun.
As soon as she went back into the closet, it struck her just how little clothes she had left there after she had left. "You can just wear one of my old shirts," Michael called out from the bed.
She nodded and stepped out of his line of sight before letting the towel wrapped around her fall, giggling at his long sigh. She found one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers and put them on. The shirt hung off of her like a tent but it was soft and had his distinctive smell of smoke and aftershave.
"Looks better on you than on me," he commented when she walked into the room. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, when he asked, "Amanda...can you stay?"
She stared at him in shock as she got under the covers. "You think I was gonna leave you here alone after what had happened to you?"
He shrugged with no response. "I guess you want me to sign these, huh?" he asked, staring at the divorce papers he'd taken from where she had dropped them.
"No," she said, taking them from his hands and promptly throwing them in the trash. "Not at all." Carefully, she took his cheeks in her hands and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, chapped and still tasting of blood against her own soft ones.
"Why'd you…?" he started in confusion.
"It was stupid," she admitted. "I wasn't thinking straight when I got those. I tried to convince myself that I hated you for everything that happened...but I never could hate you, Michael. Believe me, I wish I could," she laughed under her breath.
Michael nodded. "I wouldn't blame you if you did..." he said quietly.
"I know," she whispered.
He pressed his nose into the top of her head, sighing. "So... what happens now?" he mumbled into her hair.
"Now we think about things," her voice shook slightly, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.
Bruised but strong arms gently wrapped around her midsection. "Like what?" he asked in a low voice.
"Where we go from here," she said simply.
"Come back home," he pleaded tiredly. "I had some time to think about a lot of things when this thing happened. And when you found me… I just knew that I couldn't let you leave again."
"I want that, Michael…" Amanda agreed. "I want to give our relationship another try. Let's face it: you and I are stuck with each other. It's been that way for a long time and that's not gonna change anytime soon."
"Yeah, it won't" he smiled slightly. "I love you, you know that, right?"
"I do…" she murmured. Her hand slowly wandered over to his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath his shirt and all of the bandages wrapped around him. It was the only thing that could reassure her that he was okay, battered and tortured but alive. She hated to think about what would have happened if she hadn't found him, hated to think about how he felt while lying there alone and helpless for who knows how long. It would take a while for them to even be somewhat like they used to be, but they'd get there. "I love you, too."