petrify

"I know... it's not easy. It is much harder than I think it is but don't stop fighting. When you are tired and want to give up, come to me to cry" he cupped my neck.

Some simple words but they encouraged me and told me sometimes giving up is an option. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear them.

"Breathe for me sugar" he repeated.

Why is he telling me this? He looked at me as if he was in a daze. Suddenly my surroundings were becoming a blur like in the movies so fast. I couldn't figure out what was happening as I watched my hands disappear.

"Anse" I cried.

It was more like a choked cry. I couldn't breathe for some reason. He was gone. The headache.

I jolted awake, opened my eyes and mouth and got my head out of the water. I breathed heavily pushing back my hair. Was everything in my head? Nothing was real. I tried to calm my breathing down. I could think of nothing but getting dry and pouring a drink.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

I took a painkiller to soothe the headache and the ache in my arm. I examined my wound. It is taking time to heal. The wound on my head and neck faded to a great extent but they were still there. He was bleeding. I remembered. And that smile on his face, a forced one, a hurtful one. Those tears which soon left his eyes. But he told me himself he killed them. What other proof is needed? But his body language was not going along with his words. He was lying. My fingers brushed my damp hair. I was standing in front of the mirror, thinking. Maybe I shouldn't think much of it. These kinds of people have to master how to manipulate to bring their empire to heights whilst deceiving their enemies.

Drying my hair with the hairdryer, my grumbling stomach brought me to the kitchen. I am hungry. Whenever I get too overwhelmed or angry, I get really hungry. Where is he? That thought occupied my head each step I took till I entered the kitchen. Even when I took a can of soda to rub against my neck which I often did subconsciously when there was too much going on in my mind, I was still thinking about who might be those who are the real culprits. There is no point in racking my brain out. I'll just ask Michaelson directly. As if he'd tell me. Duh. He surely knew something about this. He was so confident with his words.

I warmed the leftover food in the oven. I absentmindedly picked at my lamb chop with my fork with a sigh whilst my chin rested on my fist. It took a good moment for me to regain enough composure after I dreamt about Anse. It ended too soon because I was out of breath but that didn't mean I could so easily just stop dwelling on it. It meant quite the opposite. The meal was delicious but… Did I lose my appetite? My orange juice tasted bitter and the salad seemed bland and this tasteless thing made me want to vomit. My heart was sour. I already knew I wouldn't be able to eat until I talked to that bastard. I'll talk to him and then enjoy my food. I tried to connect to him using the walkie talkie. No answer.

I approached the room I believed to be his study. I haven't been here since I came here. Well, since I was brought here. Basically because I believed it was off limits since I had noticed the thumbprint mechanism on the door as I approached it, accompanied with an iris scan. I didn't want to push my luck. The door was slightly opened surprisingly and no one was guarding the door. My jaw dropped as I stepped in. It was very big and clean. There was a very big and perfectly organized L shaped desk sitting in the center of the place. A stocked bookshelf that was covering pretty much an entire corner. I admired the glorious library filled with more books than I thought even existed but only in movies. There were two ridiculously tall glass doors with a pure white curtain and pitch black curtain on either side of it. Apparently, it leads to the balcony or a quiet corner. It wasn't a balcony. It was to adorn a small but pretty elegant garden filled with flowers, I couldn't recognize the name of. I noticed these blue flowers back in Anse's secret apartment that time. Michaelson was definitely the weirdest person I knew at this point. Another door which I believed to be the closet lay in a far corner. I was surprised when I saw the brick fireplace to my left in a corner with a beanbag nearby. I wandered along the floor, figuring out that it was a lot larger than I had initially anticipated. I thought it would be a shabby study room but it was like a whole new house. Another lone door didn't miss my sight. I stepped inside.

"What on-"

What caught my attention the most when I went into the room was the 3 giant portraits. The first one was of a portrait of an old but handsome man who screamed dominance. Z M. The second one was of a young dark haired man seemingly in his early twenties. I M. My eyes widened at the sight of the third portrait. A girl probably seven and an adolescent boy. Her straight platinum blond hair that reached her shoulder with fringes in front. The strawberry colored pretty dress she wore adorned her petite figure so well with the younger self of Michaelson. His platinum blond hair slightly longer than the current him was covering his ears and forehead as he smiling by her side. I didn't know whether this hairstyle was making him look innocent or his smile. It was not a creepy one. It had no hidden agenda behind it. His face was full of life which was missing somehow now. I didn't realize I was staring at him. He took her hand in his own while his other hand was in his pocket. They both held these charismatic vibes. It looked as if she was someone he adored the most on this planet. 'Who is she? And where is she?'

I examined the initials in the corner of the portrait. They were not clear.

I could hear someone's faint whimpering. I silently followed the voice. It led to a secluded door which radiated from a dark, cold and eerie room. It became even more apparent the further I went. I tried to find the source of light regardless of the discomfort that this particular room gave off when the familiar whimpering became louder.

I switched on the light. As light shone in the room, my confusion spiked at what I saw drastically. Michaelson lied face up on the floor. He gasped, opening his mouth to breathe but he couldn't. His neck and his hands were stretched in a creepy manner. His muffled cries reached my ears but I made no effort to approach him. He had tried to shoot me when I had gone near him last time. His feet curled. Tears spilled out from his eyes. Fuck. I pushed my steps to him and crouched beside him to get a closer inspection of his condition. His breaths were heavy and labored. I had to pause for a moment to realize what the hell was happening. His eyes were so wide open amd his body still as though he was paralyzed or tied to shackles which he couldn't break.

Sweats covered his neck and forehead and his face was in distress. I had to figure out a second what to think since I never saw him in this state. I needed to try to think clearly and so far that wasn't working. I'd never seen him look anything close to this. I kneeled down. I slumped forward my hand on his wrist and felt he was hot to the touch and he was constantly sweating. Lifting my hand into my hair, I tried to take a second to just breathe. What even happened here? Crap. I've no clue how to calm him down. I didn't even know where to begin. So, I tucked my arms under his, moving him a bit so his upper body was on mine. His head was practically on my chest. It was disgusting enough that he was sweating and was on me while I just took a bath but I couldn't care less. I rubbed his palms.

My breathing intensified seeing him in that state. What if something happened to him because I didn't react fast enough? His eyes were opened all this while but he was still somewhere else. He wasn't really here.

"Michaelson," I shouted.

I needed to cool him off. I was relieved when I realized he stopped whimpering. I discarded the shirt on him, leaving his upper body naked. It was only sticking to his skin. I was sitting against his heavy body, my wound stinging as I was holding Michaelson.

I couldn't understand why I felt guilty when I saw his blood coming out of the newly dressed bandage as though it happened some time ago on the side of his stomach amidst his tattoos. Maybe he was stabbed or shot. His arm was also bleeding. It was a gunshot wound. Why is his blood this thin? Somewhere in my mind I knew antidepressants made one's blood thinner thus it doesn't stop bleeding for a long time when someone is hurt. What could he possibly be stressed about? I wanted to examine it but shrugged off the feeling. I should focus. This is more important.

"Can you hear me?"

I should just do whatever Anse used to do. It won't be that difficult. Just trust yourself.

My hand laid on his chest. I could feel the panicked beating of his heart. I brought his palm to my heart. Maybe if he felt my heartbeat… like how I used to calm down. My thoughts were clouded with questions and I knew I wouldn't get any answer to them at the moment. What just happened to him after he rushed out earlier from that torture room? What if nobody had come here? I shook them from my mind, instead focusing on him. As that thought crossed my mind, a harsh gasp cut through the air as though a dead person woke up in the morgue.

"Michaelson come to me" I whispered loudly.

I realized I had been holding his one hand, his palm still on my chest. I carefully placed it on his side. He said no words, just tried to breathe. Should I just choke him with a pillow? He doesn't deserve to live. He's just a burden on earth.

I connected to Ortega.

"Help him. We're in the study room" I said.

Shortly, the door burst open with a panting Ortega and a small bag in his hand. He closed the door and rushed next to us. Was closing the door that important at the moment? I let go of Michaelson's hand and looked at the bracelet Ortega put in Michaelson's left wrist. My eyes fell on his ring which he always portrays on his finger and the 'I' initial on that knuckle. He never took that shit out. It showed his heartbeat. Long and steep lines. He pulled his eyelids a little to take a look at his eyes and patted on his cheeks attempting to wake him up I guess. Why did Ortega come here alone?

"Since when has he been like this?" he asked while he continued to look at his heartbeat.

"It's been more or less 3 minutes"

"More or less than 3 minutes?" he groaned.

"Maybe less"

"I'm asking you facts not guesses"

"I don't know exactly. Maybe you should focus on helping him instead-" I retorted harshly but bit my lip mid sentence deciding against talking.

I took a moment to look at Ortega's wound on his cheek. He gave him a shot in his arm and checked the cctv camera of the study.

"Is he gonna be alright?"

No reply.

"Answer me" the pitch in my tone was higher than ever.

He continued ignoring me. He removed the bracelet. Michaelson's breathing was still strained.

"Is it because of his wounds?" I asked again.

Ortega took out fresh new bandages to remove the dirty and soaked bandages that lay on Michaelson's body. He moved his hands under his waist. I felt Michaelson's body twitched and tightened as Ortega attempted to move him, his body reacting almost defensively. He jerked off Ortega further sinking into me, his left hand grabbing my thigh while the other grasped my hand. I was dumbfounded at his reaction. His breathing spiked up.

"His stitches have opened" Ortega worriedly said.

"I need you to keep him still while I sew the wound. Can I trust you with this?"

I was dumbfounded for the hundredth time today. How was I supposed to coax him? He was not a child.

"I'll do that"

He nodded and proceeded to wear gloves while I decided to engage Michaelson in a conversation.

"Michaelson"

He looked at me calmly, his breaths steady.

"When there are a lot of bad memories, the good ones are easier to forget"

His fingers curl against my elbow in a desperate hold as his agonizing eyes were staring at me.

"It's painful… to breathe" he muttered very slowly.

A tear found its way down his cheek. He looked vulnerable as he did that night.

"Even people that have made mistakes deserve to be happy. There's my favorite verse, all things work together for good"

You make people feel so worthless but you still act like you're human enough to deserve to feel happiness and peace. You never get past being a killer. So why are you hurting so much? Why are you still not happy? You're miserable even after taking so many lives. That's karma.

The dead glint in his eyes only made my anger swell up, inflating with each second he held my eyes.

I watched as Ortega was now stitching the second half of the wound. His face approached my face, his warm breaths hitting my lips.

"No. How is everything doing me good? I'm doomed"

He was regretting something. Regrets were the most useless form of guilt. They come too late to do you any good. I knew it.

He was waiting for me to say something when I put my hand on his cheek. He closed his eyes leaning onto my palm. I put his head on my lap while Ortega cleansed the wound on his arm.

"Don't let the past rule your future"

I prayed I could do it myself, not letting the dark shadow of my past fall on my present which now seems blurry.