The next morning, Michael purposefully arrived at his class seconds before the first bell. This way, he didn't have to face Dean, Garth or Samantha before he had the chance to actually wake up. It would be best to get a few hours of class on his back first, so he could warm up to talking to people and being in public.
It wasn't that easy to do. He looked like crap; he knew it, his students knew it too, he'd catch more than a few of them casting him sidelong glances. The reflection in the staff bathroom mirror wasn't too great either. It revealed dark circles under his eyes and his face looked a little pale. Michael looked away.
During his free period, he sat at his desk, slowly going through the attendance lists of his first couple of classes, checking off the kids who hadn't been there. He didn't blame them, he considered the possibility that they were out of school for the same reasons he was. Then his mind flashed to Ben and the bruises that covered his arms. For a minute, Michael had to fight the urge to throw up.
Luckily his thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. He frowned to himself. The knock was too calm to be Garth, and too soft to be Dean. It might have been Principal Mills, seeking a better explanation for his absence. Michael opened the door, the polite smile on his face slipping.
Samantha Riggs was stood outside his door, a coffee in each hand. Michael looked at her, surprise and shame colouring his face.
Samantha's smile was timid. "You weren't in the teacher's lounge this morning. I figured you could use some coffee."
Michael knew, in the back of his mind, that he should be mad at her for telling Gabriel. But he could smell the coffee, and Samantha looked disgustingly beautiful in her dress and her coat, while her dark hair was drizzled with October rain, Michael felt the anger leak out of him.
"Yeah, coffee sounds great." He said, his voice was still rasped and worn. He stepped back and gestured for Samantha to come in. When she moved past him, Michael breathed in the faint smell of apples and cinnamon, his stomach melted pathetically.
Michael sat behind his desk at the front of the room, Samantha took a seat on a desk opposite him.
"So," Michael accepted one of the drinks from her, "Is this some kind of peace offering?"
Samantha looked at Michael and smiled sheepishly. "I know I said I wouldn't tell anyone and I did, I just want you to know I'm really sorry."
Suddenly, Michael realised he wasn't that angry anymore. The woman looked so apologetic, and Michael knew Gabriel would find out one way or another.
"Don't worry about it. If you were gonna tell anyone, I'm glad it was my brother."
Samantha stared at the lid on her cup. "I thought he'd be a better choice than Dean."
Michael laughed softly, feeling his muscles relax as he did. "You got that right."
Michael took a sip of coffee, letting the warm liquid pool in his stomach, relaxing him even more. He closed his eyes and sighed. Samantha looked up at him.
"I wasn't sure how you take your coffee." Samantha said, her voice still remorseful. "But I kinda guessed you prefer it with cream and sugar."
Michael opened his eyes, surprising himself when a small smile twitched at his lips. "Yeah, that's right, thanks. The coffee from the teachers lounge is like drinking tar sometimes."
Samantha smiled at him, watching Michael's shoulders relax she finally thought she was forgiven. Although, her voice was still curious when she asked, "Are you feeling any better?"
Michael's first instinct was to brush her off with sarcasm or a witty insult, but he didn't.
"Not really." He admitted. "But I'll get there. Thanks again, I mean it."
Samantha inspected Michael's face, a small smile pulling at her lips. Michael remembered when the smiles he saw from Samantha were forced out of her, but now her face was soft and open. It forced a sense of calm over Michael that he hadn't felt in a long time.
"You're welcome, Michael." Samantha said. The two sipped at their coffees in silence, Michael realised that this silence was more comfortable than usual.
"Oh, I nearly forgot - I have something for you." Samantha set her coffee down and reached into her handbag. She pulled out a book and Michael stiffened slightly, half expecting it to be titled something like Panic Attacks for Dummies.
"I found this little book store in Dallas." She explained, placing the book on the desk and sliding it forward. "I thought you would appreciate it more than I do."
Michael's eyes widened when they landed on the cover, he put his coffee down before picking the book up carefully. The edges on the cover were a little bit frayed and the spine was cracked, but it only made him like it more. He ran his fingers over the original cover art and a small smile pulled at his lips.
"You have a first edition of The Outsiders?" Michael asked, Samantha smiled at him.
"You do now." She replied. "Like I said, you'll appreciate more than I would. All I do is hoard stuff."
Michael laughed quietly, a bemused feeling in his chest. "I can't take this from you, Sammy."
"You can." Samantha insisted. "Consider it a gift. I have too many books anyway."
Michael looked at Samantha, but her eyes were certain. He wasn't sure if it was the coffee, or the book in his hand, or the woman in front of him, but Michael had this warm feeling rush over him.
Later that night, Michael never bothered to switch on a football game he wouldn't watch, he settled on the couch and opened the book.
"Masters is handing back your Great Gatsby exams, if you wanna bitch about your grade see me after class." Michael rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt and turned to the board, removing the writing from his previous class. "Moving on."
He grabbed a piece of chalk and scrawled the words The Outsiders on the board. When he turned around, Becky Rosen's hand was pointed at the ceiling.
"What is it, Becky?"
"The syllabus says we're supposed to be reading A Catcher in the Rye next."
"Where the hell did you get a class syllabus?" Michael frowned, a few students chuckled.
"It's on your school webpage."
"My what?" Michael shook his head, before addressing the class again, "Change of plans, anyway. We're reading The Outsiders instead."
"Why?" Becky asked.
"Because I said so." Michael wiped the chalk off his hands and walked to the box sitting behind his desk. "Plus, this book is badass American fiction. Which is what this class is about."
He lifted the box onto his desk and opened it. "Ben, help me hand these out."
Ben looked a little startled by being addressed directly, but did as he was told. Michael handed him a pile of books, offering a reassuring smile with it.
When Michael climbed into the driver's seat of his car after school, he realised he hadn't felt nearly as tired as he did this morning. It was strange, but he wasn't going to dwell on it. Maybe his panic attack was just a bump in the road, and he'd be okay after all.
He turned the key in the ignition and smiled when his car purred to life. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed for his apartment, he spotted Samantha walking down the street in the opposite direction.
For a minute, he contemplated stopping and offering her a ride home, wherever home was. But when he looked closer, he saw that Samantha seemed to be talking on her cellphone, a huge smile on her face. So Michael decided to leave well enough alone.
With swirling disappointment, Michael thought about how Samantha could've been talking to a significant other. As far as he knew, Samantha wasn't married, but that didn't mean she wasn't seeing anyone.
That shouldn't have bummed Michael out as much as it did, but the smile was so bright and wide. Only someone special would've caused it.
When he got to his apartment, his good mood had faded slightly. He knew if he answered to his couch's soothing calls, he wouldn't get up until tomorrow. And as tempting as that was, it would probably just bring on another low-point.
That's when he remembered he still had the boxes of his father's things in the trunk of his car. He thought he should probably rummage through them, try and find anything worth keeping. But the mere thought of that brought the feeling of nausea up from the pit of his stomach.
Grabbing his keys off the table, he got into his car again and drove to his mom's.
"Michael," Susan didn't bother to hide her surprise when she opened the door. "Hey, honey, what's wrong?"
"Nothin'," Michael said, slightly ashamed that he visited so little that it alarmed his mother when he did. "I've got those boxes of Dad's in my car..."
"Oh." Susan's face softened, and she leaned against the doorframe. "I thought you wanted to go through them?"
"No." Michael said, his jaw flexing. "I mean, it's cool. I don't really have room for more stuff. Do you think I could keep them here?"
Susan searched her son's face for a moment, her brows knitting together. "Sure, there's room in the garage...I'll go open the door for you."
The boxes felt heavier than they probably were. So he made it a quick job, picking them up roughly before dumping them in a corner of his mothers darkened garage. Even though his father had moved out when Michael was a kid, it was still littered with his tools and auto parts. It smelled like dust and grease and old beer bottles.
Michael's hair stood on end by the time he was done. He closed the door and retreated back into the house, shuddering slightly, as if trying to shake the smell off of him. He leaned down to smell his jacket, but there was nothing.
He found his mother sitting at the dining table, sifting through a pile of photographs from her latest customer. Michael spotted a couple on a dark green lawn, a ridiculously chubby baby in the woman's arms.
"I just put them in the back corner beside his tools." He said, gesturing over his shoulder to the garage. "I'll go through them when I clear some space..."
Susan looked up, a sad smile on her face. "Take your time, they're not bothering anyone here."
Michael swallowed and his throat felt tight. He just nodded. Susan was still watching him, placing the picture on the table.
"Michael..." She said, her eyes narrowing with worry, "You don't look too good. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I had a few bad nights, it's catching up on me."
Susan pursed her lips, but her eyes were still worried. She didn't buy a single word, Michael could tell.
"Stay for dinner tonight. I'll make one of your favourites."
As she said it, Michael's stomach twitched with interest. But he sighed and shook his head.
"Nah, I got some papers to grade."
"Are you sure you're eating enough? I know you get very busy, sometimes you don't remember."
"I don't forget to eat, mom." Michael insisted, hoping she would drop it. He felt like a twelve-year old. "I'll grab some take out on the way home, pack in the cholesterol. Promise."
Susan smiled tightly and nodded, though her eyes were still light with worry.
"They from your latest job?" Michael asked, moving away from the subject. Susan looked down at the photos and nodded.
"Yeah," Her eyes met with Michael's again, "They turned out pretty well, in my opinion."
She picked up a picture and held it out to Michael. It showed the man of the couple holding the baby on his shoulders, a wide smile on his face.
"They look great, Mom." Michael smiled at her.
"Of course, it helps when you have a picture-perfect couple and a chubby baby as your models." She laughed quietly and put the picture back down.
"Yeah. It kinda looks like a Home Depot ad. It's great." Michael agreed, admiring the pictures on the table.
"I always imagined you and Gabriel with families like this." Susan said softly, a few fingers running over the glossy texture. Michael swallowed thickly.
"You could still be a Grandma. Kali isn't one to give up."
"She's a fighter." Susan agreed fondly. "But it's not just the baby. It's being happy, finding your other half; sappy things like that...it's what every mom wants, I suppose."
Michael tried to sneer but it came across as more of a grimace, "Hate to disappoint you, Mom, but I don't think I want that kind of life."
"You do, I can tell." Susan shrugged. If anyone else had said it Michael would've lunged at their throat, he didn't like being read or studied. But, as it was, he couldn't look his mother in the eye.
"I'm not cut out for it." He surprised himself when he spoke, his voice was rough and low. Maybe it was the attack on Monday, or that he swore he could still smell the oil from the garage, or how his mom was looking at him. He couldn't stop it. "Can you imagine me living anywhere but the shitty apartment I live in now? Really? Because I can't."
Susan tilted her head. "Why not?"
"Because that's not me. That's Gabriel's gig. He can have the new house, the beautiful wife and that...white-picket life. That fits him. Just like it fits you - you two are alike. I'm too much like-"
"Michael, don't you dare say you are like your father." Susan cut in firmly, Michael winced. He hated the tone. "I loved the man for a reason, but he's more flaw than virtue. I see nothing of that in you."
Michael let out a shaky breath. "Well, I do." He stared at his hands, not daring to meet his mother's piercing stare. This was a bad idea, he was now regretting not staying at home with his couch.
Susan didn't like this response at all. She stood up abruptly, collected her photos into a scattered pile and turned her back on him. Michael looked up, watching her uncharacteristically sharp and aggressive movements.
"I wasn't going to talk to you about this tonight," Her back was still facing him as she shoved the pictures into a folder. "But I think you should move back home."
Michael's face went blank. "What, why?"
Susan put the folder in her bag before finally straightening up. "I've been think about it for a long time. And after what Gabriel told me..."
"What did Gabriel tell you?"
"That you had an attack at school a few days ago. That your apartment looks like no one has been in it for weeks." Susan counted the reasons off her fingers. "It doesn't matter what he told me, I can see it for myself. You've lost weight, you're pale; you can barely keep a conversation going for longer than ten minutes."
Michael leaned back, as if each thing his mother said was a physical blow. "You're blowing this way out of proportion. Sure, I'm going through a rough patch but that does not mean I have to move back home. I'm not a teenager."
"I didn't say you were." Susan shot back, not missing a beat. "But I'm worried."
"Then don't be." Michael knew he'd feel remorse for his snappy tone later.
"I'm your mother, Michael. Worrying is what I do." Susan frowned at him. Michael had forgotten how scary this woman could be when she was angry, scary in a completely different way his father had been. "I've wanted you back home ever since what happened in Dallas-"
"Don't." Michael gritted out, his hands shaking slightly. "Please don't."
Susan closed her mouth, sighing as she frowned at her son. "It won't be permanent. Just until you get back on your feet. Then maybe you could live in an actual house; somewhere to call home."
"I have a home." Michael argued, even though it was a lie. Susan knew it too.
"The apartment isn't home to you, honey. You said so yourself." Susan's voice was losing its anger, now it was sounding more and more tired. "I'd just feel better if you were around other people. You're too isolated in that apartment by yourself."
"I'm not isolated! I like being on my own."
"And that was a good thing for a while. It's not what you need right now."
"Since when do you know what I need?" Michael demanded, his voice rising. He was going to hate himself for this later, but he couldn't stop. "I've been looking after myself - and dad - since I was nine years old. And from what I remember I did a pretty damn good job of it. So I don't have to stand here and listen to this."
Michael stood up and stalked from the kitchen.
"Michael..." Susan called after him, but he didn't stop. He just yanked open the front door and stepped out into the oncoming night, not bothering to stop the momentum from slamming the door behind him.