The weekend ended up being a total bust. Going out on Friday was good, but once he was back in his apartment, surrounded with silence, the excitement soon turned to nausea.

On Friday, he had nightmares. Filled with memories of smoky bars and shady clubs. He experienced the unsettling experience where he thought he had woken up but he hadn't. In his dreams he'd pry open his eyes to find himself in a strangers bed with a banging headache, it seemed real until some impossible factor gave it away - like his father's corpse on the strangers bedroom floor.

Michael looked terrible on Saturday morning. He felt it, too. He managed to stumble his way to the kitchen to make coffee, but soon retreated back to his bedroom, slipping beneath his covers again. The coffee sat on the bedside table, forgotten.

He forgot to eat dinner. He tried to watch TV, but sat motionless in front of the screen while a football game flashed light into the dimly lit room. Pressed ignore every one of four times Gabriel tried to call him. Then proceeded to ignore the texts from Dean and Garth.

The nightmares returned Saturday night. He forced a bowl of cereal down his throat Sunday morning, only to throw it up fifteen minutes later.

He tried to convince himself he'd caught a bug or something, high schools were breeding grounds for the flu or common cold.

Sunday afternoon rolled around, so did Gabriel, pounding on Michael's apartment door, demanding he goes around to his mother's for another Sunday Dinner. Michael was close to slamming the door in Gabriel's face, but he told his mother he would come over more often.

Which is why he manned up and sat through yet another dinner with his Mom, brother and step-sister. This time he could hardly touch the food. When he pushed a piece of pie away from himself with only a bite or two taken, his mother eyed him suspiciously. Michael pretended not to notice.

Monday afternoon, Michael had tactfully avoided Dean and Garth, he found the tiny task of talking too much work. He also avoided Samantha out of pure necessity.

Michael couldn't even lie to himself anymore (which is saying quite a bit) - it would appear he had a crush on his coworker. This was problem for a number of reasons. One, Michael didn't do crushes. Crushes either lead to heartbreak or relationships, both equally terrifying. Two, teachers are not supposed to date each other, it is very frowned upon. And three, she was smart and beautiful and kind and could do a whole lot better than the damaged affections of Michael.

With all this rattling around in his head, Michael was pleased that his final class of the day were doing a test. This meant they were quiet, it also meant he didn't have to talk. He just had to pace the aisles, bleary-eyed and pale from the weekends trauma. If anyone noticed, they didn't say a word.

Michael passed Becky Rosen, eyeing the long paragraphs he was scribbling down, despite the fact the section was titled "short answer". He shook his head a little, glancing at the clock as he moved on. There were ten minutes of this period left, then Michael fully intended to haul his ass home, melt into his couch and avoid the world for a further eighteen hours.

Michael stopped walking when he got to Ben's desk, watching him furiously write down answers that would undoubtedly get him the highest mark in class. But he wasn't looking at the paper.

Ben's blazer was sitting on the back of his chair and he had rolled his shirt sleeves up. Though it only revealed a few inches of his forearm, Michael could see a few marks showing beneath fabric.

He froze. He was standing a few feet behind Ben, who hadn't seemed to notice him because he scratched his arm which only pulled his shirt sleeve up more.

There were bruises on Ben's arm. Perfectly mimicking the grip of a large hand. The colours wrapped around Ben's arm, looking painful and sore. Ben pulled the sleeve down and Michael swallowed thickly, the room shifted and Michael made his way to his desk, suddenly feeling like he was falling.

He didn't know what to do. His first thought was to call Ben into the hall and ask him what happened, but something stopped him from doing so. A cold fear crept up his back, shaking a little bit, he averted his eyes to his desk, not daring to make eye contact with Ben when he handed his paper in.

A little while after the last bell, Michael found himself almost running to the guidance counsellor's office at the other side of school, the thoughts of getting home had fallen out of his head. Luckily, the waiting room was empty and Michael poked his head around the side of the door.

"Hey, Hannah," his voice was shaky and uncertain, "Got a second?"

Hannah looked up, surprised to see Michael peeking in her door. He couldn't blame her, they'd spoken a couple of times at staff meetings but that was it. It was at this point Michael has realised he'd never actually been in her office before.

Hannah quickly covered up her surprise with a welcoming smile.

"Sure, Michael, come in." She said cheerfully, clearing some papers from her desk. Michael hesitated for a second, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He sat down in the chair opposite her.

"What can I do for you?" She leaned on the desk, arms crossed. Michael took a breath, trying to tame the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped. He pressed a hand to his forearm and squeezed, reassuring himself that there were no bruises on him.

"Um," Michael started, completely unsure of how to finish, "I was wondering... I mean I have a question. A hypothetical one."

Hannah looked confused, but her eyes were encouraging, in that signature high school counsellor way. "Okay, go ahead."

Michael nodded. "Alright. So say...say hypothetically I noticed something. Something that might give me the idea that one of my students was having a pretty rough time. It's none of my business - but should I talk to them about it anyway?"

Hannah frowned as she thought about Michael's barely coherent question, but she was used to mumbling since she was surrounded by teenagers. "It depends what you mean by "rough time". There are some things - like bullying - that we can't take action on unless the child comes to us first. I don't like it, but it's the system. Do you think one of your students is getting bullied?"

Michael thought about the bruises on Ben's arm and quickly shook his head.

"No, no."

"Then what is it?" Hannah's brow creased in concern.

Michael shrugged, "I don't know." He fell quiet for a minute, that cold sweat breaking out again. "What if I, hypothetically, got the kid to come talk to you? Would that help?"

Hannah nodded. "It couldn't hurt, I'm always happy to help."

"So if the kid told you they were having trouble at home, you could help him?" Michael pressed and Hannah took a breath, thinking it over.

"It depends on what kind of trouble. If the child's parents are going through separation or divorce, then we'd usually refer them to a family counselling session. Although, if we feel the students home environment isn't safe, we'll take other measures."

Michael swallowed thickly, his vision blurring slightly around the edges. "Other measures?"

"Well, we'd have to call Child Protection Services; follow out a proper investigation of their home. If there's a reason for them to be removed, they'd more than likely be rehomed."

"Rehomed?" Michael repeated. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"They'd be placed with their next of kin. Aunt, Uncle or maybe a Grandparent. If that's not possible, they're more than likely to be placed in foster care."

Michael nodded, although he knew all of this anyway. He just had to hear it from someone else. The verbal confirmation made him feel like he wasn't there at all, just hanging on a ledge, in danger of losing his grip completely.

"Michael," Hannah said quietly, "Do you think one of your students is having some trouble?"

A part of Michael wanted to say yes, but that was the same part of him that drooled over pie, the part of him that grinned at the hum of his car engine, the part that leaned into his mothers touch. But a larger, more dominant part of Michael - the part that refused to sleep without a nightmare, the part that he loathed - shook his head.

"No." He heard himself say. "No, I was just wondering...thanks, Hannah."

With that, Michael pushed himself out of his chair and walked quickly out of the room. Hannah just stared at him, her mouth slightly agape, worry pinching at the corners of her eyes.