Behind Those Dark Eyes Prt. 7: Back To Hatred
A few weeks pass, and Michael has gone back to ignoring me. It's like one day, he cares, the next, he couldn't care less. It is causing me to become highly confused- and hurt. I thought the emotionless would have felt. And the hurt healed. But no, apparently everything is back to normal- not normal, far from it.
The weather has gotten considerably colder, and my calendar is out of date. It's for 4 years ago. But, I have forgotten what the day was anyways so what does it matter? I don't pay attention to that anyways.
So, I decide to find out why day it is. Michael, who is staring at the wall(why the heck does he do that? What is he...obsessed with walls? Gee wiz...), now has his his head towards me, seeming to notice me looking for a scarf to cover my mouth. My eyes don't matter. Nobody will pay attention if I just lurk around in the shadows. Plus, I...we...need food. So, I'll steal some from the store. I may have money, but I'm saving that for more dire needs. I finally find my grey scarf, put on my only leather jacket, and head out. But as soon as my hand makes contact on the silver handle on the door, a strong hand lands on my shoulder. Turning around, I see Michael, his eerie and pale white mask staring down at me with the pitch black eyeholes. "What?" I ask, looking him straight in the eyes...if only I could see them. He lets go of my shoulder, rushing to the small sticky notepad I kept on my desk.. He flipped to an open page, and picked up an unsharpened pencil, jotting down something. He hands it to me, and I take it.
'Where do you think you're going?'
Well then. "I'm going outside. What's it to you?"
'Where?'
"Outside!"
'Where outside?!'
"YOU KNOW WHAT?! WHY DO YOU CARE? Besides? What the heck will you do to me anyways?"
Bad choice. In a swift movement, I am pinned up against the wall, both hands above my head, locked by an iron grip. The other gripping my waist tightly, holding me against the wall. His mask, literally centimeters from my face. Angry, I stick out my tongue, which wasn't smart, because I basically licked the mouth on his mask…idiot. Michael's expression was priceless though, I have to say. Seeing the slit eyes widen, his pupils become small, and his baby blues sparkling with embarrassment. But, I feel a blush creep up on my cheeks. He lets me go, and backs away quickly. He growls angrily.
I grumble, not caring what he does next. I open my door, slam it behind me, and lock it. Basically locking a serial killer in my room, and locking a serial killer out of my room. I head down the stairs, my basement door wide open. Breathing heavily, mumbled whispers of voiced ringing through my head each time I pass it, I kick it shut. Opening the door sent a cool rush of air onto my eyes causing them to water. Blinking a few times, wasting about 2 seconds for my escape, I panic, quickly running across the street out into the forest. Breathing heavily, and shivering, I carry an empty backpack, which is slung over my back. I need a better jacket, clothes, blankets, and food. I can do this.
-
I sulk back to my home with only a few dings and bruises. Got into a small skirmish while exiting, losing both my scarf and jacket. Nearly freezing and bloody, I scuff my boots across the ground. I sure hope Michael didn't try to break out of my room. Now I'm stuck with short sleeves and a heavy back pack and a few bags. I open my door, to a nearly destroyed family room. What. The. Hell. Happened. Here?! "MICHAEL?!" I nearly scream, and I see his pale white mask from just down the hallway, but it also has crimson blood spattered across its emotionless stare. "What happened in here?!" I yell, and Michael holds up his knife, which also contained a bloody paint. He had gashes in his arms, and there was blood all over the walls. Approaching his tall and bloody figure, I reach out to lightly touch his wounds. I decide to take a more kinder path. "Okay, Michael...what happened..." I ask, and he expresses that he was very angry. I don't understand what could've caused him to do this..or even have this reaction at all in general. That's when I ran upstairs. Afraid to find out what my room looked like. Gulping, I see the door is still intact, just the handle was off. My room was perfectly fine. Everything downstairs wasn't. Good thing I got some medical kits for Michael. I turn, to see him in the doorway. "Michael...!"
I yell in surprise, and he does his cue head tilt. I sigh, and continue into my room, observing everything. I walk over to my desk, and see that my journal was opened. Eyes widening, I quickly snatch up my journal, and quickly glance over the page he was reading. It was about my dad- a few days after what had happened to me- describing everything. Is that what triggered his anger? Why would it have? He…he didn't care about me. He always looked annoyed. Sighing once more, I shut it, and place it on my desk. Time to help Michael. Take my mind off of things. I tap him on the shoulder, as he seemed to be staring at the ground in…shame? I shrug it off, and signal for him to sit down on the bed. Running downstairs as fast as my legs could take me, I pick up my backpack and bags, and run right back upstairs…because I don't trust Michael. I place all bags on the floor, and observe his wounds as I take out the medical kit and medicine. As soon as he sees it, he goes completely berserk. By berserk, I mean, eyes widening, flinging himself off the bed, and then clinging to the door- wow. WOW. Michael…acting like this is…wow. Emotion-filled…I walk over to him, and stare him in the eyes with a gentle stare, and his- fearful?!- gaze, returning back at me. I sigh, and hold up the wrap and alcohol. He hesitantly holds out his arms, and I rub the medicine on his arms, and he doesn't even flinch. I wrap up his arms next, lightly, yet tight. I use my fake smile as an excuse for a real one. "See, that wasn't too bad, was it?" I ask with a calmer tone, which I'm not used to.
This man- he- he is confused in my eyes. Just- very, very, confused. And…my heart goes out to him for a reason I cannot even comprehend. He stares at me, and goes over to the stickynotes on my desk next to my journal, and writes something down. He turns and holds it out to me, and I read it.
'I need to vent. I'll be back.'
I read it over and over. "I need to 'vent'"…well, then. He looks at me, and then leaves, knife in hand. I decide to unbag everything.
Few moments after Michael had left, I had already unbagged, and eaten something small. I turn to my desk, hoping my journal would be there, but- it isn't. Where is it? It was right there! On my desk! I even put it there! Shaking my head, thinking Michael took it, I sit down on my bed, and decide to get some sleep- after all, it is 12:46PM. I close my burning eyes, it sure has been a chaotic day. Maybe Michael will return sometime later. Surely he will be back in the morning.