TRIGGER WARNING! TALK OF SUICIDE AND DEPRESSION AND SUICIDLE THOUGHTS!
Michael wasn't sure exactly what had just happened. All he knew was he wasn't high enough for this shit. He had meant to help Jeremy get ride of his SQUIP. Or at least help Jeremy realize that maybe it was actually bad. He had even brought one of his bottles of Mountain Dew Red. As anyone could imagine, having a panic attack and a break down in a bathroom in the middle of a popular kid's party was not at all planned. Though, Jeremy calling him a loser and shoving him to the ground wasn't exactly part of the plan either. Michael pushed himself up off the ground, trying to hold back the tears. He couldn't break down here. Not with... with him still out there. Michael glanced at himself in the mirror.
"God, it's been so long since I've just been Michael in the bathroom, hasn't it?" he questioned out loud. He chuckled, but the sound held no true laughter. His eyes were red and puffy, and he still couldn't stop the tears. Oh well, he could just blame it on weed, right? After all, he was the weird, retro, always stoned loser everyone always talked about. Michael laughed again, but it came out like a choking sound. He needed to get out of here now. After his face was dry of course. He couldn't help the sob that ripped through his lungs this time. He put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds, but anyone who was actually listening could hear the cries. Not like anyone was actually listening. All anyone could hear was that drunk girls horrible singing that would ruin Whitney Houston's music forever. Michael felt his mood drop even more when he realized the joke he was about to make wouldn't be heard by anyone. Michael took a deep breath, once again trying to stop the tears. It wasn't working, obviously. It was then Michael heard the knocks on the door. He stepped away from the door quickly, and dug his nails into his palms to distract himself from crying. His back hit the wall and he slid down, trying hard to ignore the knocks. The knocks wouldn't stop, but neither would the tears. All Michael could think about was that one word that left Jeremy's lips. It kept repeating itself over and over again. He opened his hands to release the pressure of his nails and he stood to go to the sink. He threw some water on his face to calm him, not noticing the small blood trails coming from some of the crescent shaped marks in his palm. Michael went towards the door, planning to unlock it, when he realized that the knocking must have stopped just second ago. He glanced down at his hands and cursed. He hadn't even realized that he was bleeding. It had been so long since he's actually done anything like that. Jeremy was usually there to stop him, or to at least distract him from the thoughts he had. Or, if Jeremy couldn't be there- though that was extremely rare- he usually just got high. Though Michael did do that when Jeremy was there too. But neither or those were an option now. Michael continued to stare down at the blood. It hurt like Hell, he had decided. But it felt good, in a way. It kept the pain inside away, at least. And that was what he needed right now. A distraction. It was quite addicting. Michael pushed his nails into his palms again until he couldn't feel it. Then he pulled the sleeves of his shirt up a bit, and ran his nails up and down his arms unsurely. Slowly, he pushed down a little harder on his skin, until red lines were lined up and down his arms. Some were bleeding slightly, while other just glowed a nasty red. With each new skin breaking scratch, an old thought flew away. Jeremy calling him a loser. Gone. He was right, of course. I am. Gone. Why am I even still here. Nobody cares anymore. He stopped dragging his nails on his skin at that thought. What was he thinking? Of course people still cared about him, right? Sure, Jeremy was going through a rough patch but he still cared.
"That's just wishful thinking," Michael said aloud. "He doesn't care anymore." Michael stared at himself in the mirror. Who did he think he was? He wasn't worth anything. He was just a weirdo who couldn't be happy in his own body. Why couldn't he be normal? Michael's eyes started welling up with tears again. He wasn't sure what happened, but next thing he knew, the reflection staring back at him was shattered and his knuckles were bloody. He stared down at his glass coved hands in surprise. Had he seriously just punched a mirror? How had he thought that was a good idea. Michael sighed and shook his head. He couldn't deal with that thought right now. He had to get this glass out of his hands. He searched the cabinet's for some gauze, or something to wrap his bloody hands and arms with. Michael wouldn't lie, he was grateful for the distraction right now. He found some gauze pads, ace bandages, and medical tape under the counter, and silently praised Jake on being such a huge athlete that his parent's had to be ready for anything. He quickly cleaned his hand and wrapped his arms, ignoring the thoughts trying to force their way into his mind.
Why are you even fighting? There's a nice big piece of glass over there. It'd be easy. You can go out with a bang and scare some poor drunk girl stuck at this lame ass party. Michael shoved that thought out of his mind quickly, trying not to look at the large shard of glass right next to him. He had to get out of here. Now, before all of the thoughts came back. Michael tried to ignore the redness and puffiness of his eyes as he stood up and walked to the door. He took a deep breath as he opened the door and glanced out. No sign of Jeremy. Good. Michael sprinted to the front door. Before stepping out of the house though, he looked into the living room, on last time. He saw Jeremy sitting there, laughing with Christine. Michael walked out the door before he could start crying again. God, he was hopeless. Well, you are hopelessly in love with- He cut off his own thought. He couldn't torture himself with that right now. Or any of his thoughts, really. Michael found his PT Cruiser, and quickly started it up. He leaned back into the seat for a second, and let a tear track down his face. Then another, and another one after that. Eventually, they just wouldn't stop again. The words from his and Jeremy's fight started back up in his brain again, but there was only one that seemed to be repeating and repeating. I think you're just pissed that I have one and you don't. Maybe... maybe Jeremy was right. Maybe the SQUIP wasn't so bad. Sure, that one kids brother went crazy, but that didn't mean everyone who got one went crazy. Jeremy seemed to be doing just fine, anyways. And maybe Jeremy would actually pay attention to him if... Michael opened his eyes suddenly, making what was probably the worst drunk mistake in his life. He slammed on the gas before he could change his mind, quickly driving home. He needed some cash after all. He was going to buy some 'shoes'.
Michael walked into the Payless, finding himself glad that it was always the last store to close in the mall. He fidgeted with his the wrap around his arms, ignoring the stinging coming from underneath it. Though secretly, he liked the stinging. It helped him ignore the sober voice in his head telling him this was a bad idea. He made sure his hoodie covered his arms completely though, not wanting to answer the dumb ass questions he was afraid people would ask. Michal made his way to the desk, relaxing when he saw it was the same guy who had sold Jeremy his SQUIP.
"Look, kid, we are about to close in five minutes. Just come back tomorrow." The guy must have noticed he was walking up and decided that he didn't want to deal with a customer right now. Michael huffed. He wasn't leaving here without a tiny computer pill. And God knows he would do anything to get it.
"This can't and won't wait till tomorrow." The guy looked up at Michael and squinted.
"Hey, you were with that one kid, weren't you? The really nerdy one." Michael nodded and pulled out his money. He slammed it on the counter.
"Four. Hundred. Freaking. Dollars. You know what I want," he simply said. The clerk looked at him suspiciously.
"Kid, are you drunk? I don't sell to anyone drunk or high. Are you sure-"
"Just give me the DAMN PILL!" Michael shouted, glaring at the shady man. The guy didn't move for a second, before he simply shrugged. He reached under the desk and pulled out a ladies running shoes box. He opened it and pulled out a gray looking pill.
"You know the warnings already. I'm not responsible, blah blah blah. Now get out of my store." Michael grabbed the pill, glanced at the guy, and quickly turned around. He quickly made his way out of the store, not wanting to press his luck. He couldn't believe that actually worked. It wasn't like Michael was that scary. If he was, he wouldn't even need this computer pill thingy. Michael sat down at one of the food court tables, and sighed. Now was the time. When he would walk into school tomorrow, no one would be thinking about how he was such a loser, or how he was so gay for anything that he did. No, they would be thinking about how cool he was, and how they all want to be his friend. He pulled out a bottle of regular Mountain Dew, and opened it. No going back now, he decided at he put the pill on his tongue. He took a drink of the soda and swallowed the pill in one gulp. He sat there for a second, thinking about how maybe this time it was a scam, when a sudden flash of pain went through his head. He let out a small yell of surprise when the pain didn't stop. He heard a voice, but couldn't tell what it was saying through the pain in his head. He grabbed at his hair, crying out as the pain increased. He barely had time to think that maybe this was a bad idea before he could finally understand the voice. A voice he knew all to well.
Calibration complete. Michael Mell, welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor. Your SQUIP.
Michael looked up, the pain in his head finally gone, and met the eyes of what he concluded was his SQUIP. But there was one problem.
The thing standing in front of him was also his Player Two, Jeremy Heere.