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×~michael what did you do~×



It didn't take long for word to get out about Michael's fight with Wesley. Even less time for Logan to hear about it.

As lunch came to an end, Monika ran for her friend. "Logan! I just saw Michael and Wesley come out of the bathroom with security. I think they had a fight. Wesley looks pretty beat up."

Logan jumped. Her eyes went wide and her pulse kicked up. "What?" She gasped. Whatever happened couldn't be good. Depending on who started it depended on how badly things went down. Logan was mildly aware of Michael's psyche. He wasn't entirely a mystery to her anymore. He often vaguely picked his own mind of things he liked and disliked. The expressions he gave told Logan all she needed to know.

And she knows he hates Wesley.

Logan was quick to stand. She began back towards her class. Michael's backpack was gone and he was nowhere in sight. Logan rushed towards the office. Logically, that's where he had to be, right? If he had gotten into a fight with Wesley- no, if Wesley had passed him off enough, the scene probably wasn't too pretty.

Logan was out of breath by the time she reached the front office. Inside was lined with mahogany and a rich wine red as an accent. Silver streamers hung from the ceiling. A receptionist sat at a circular desk, peering back at an office door.

Logan could just make out Michael's mother, standing over the principal's desk. Her mouth was moving and muffled yelling filled the office.

Logan glanced around, straightened up, and started towards them. She hoped she wouldn't attract attention If she looked like she was supposed to be there. The receptionist paid her no mind as she whizzed past.

When she rounded the corner, she locked eyes with Michael. He sat near the end of the office facing his mother. Logan jumped. Michael wasn't as beat up as she had imagined. That worried her. What had he done to Wesley? "Logan?" Michael had been the first to break the silence. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to make sure you were okay!" She ran to his side, glancing at where he was bandaged. The few bruises and cuts that were uncovered looked as if they were weeks old; almost healed. "What happened?"

Michael didn't respond. How could he? What Wesley threatened in the bathroom made him sick. He couldn't look at Logan without his hands twitching with that familiar urge. The urge that drove him to kill his rats. To kill Wesley's cat. The urge to kill that dog he found just this morning.

He had to repeat this to himself over and over: She could not see the perfect world. To her, the world was already perfect. And sometimes her naivety scared him. How could his friend be so oblivious? So unlike him?

"What happened, Michael, What did he say to you?" Logan rested her hand on Michael's shoulder, snapping him away from his rueful thoughts. "What did you do?" She asked quietly.

His mother's voice had only gotten louder as minutes passed. The longer Michael avoided it the more she would ask. Normally she would leave it be, but this concerned her. His silence concerned her.

"I don't want to talk about it." He said finally. The tone of his voice told her to quit, but she couldn't.

"No, Michael please, tell me what he did. What you did." She paused. "I won't tattle on you, I promise!" Logan held up her hand, raising her pinkie.

Michael glanced up at her. He couldn't read her eyes, but the concern on her face made him forget Wesley. Only for a moment did his world feel mildly complete. When he tore his eyes away, it all hit him again. Michael stood up wordlessly and began streaking for the exit.

𝙜𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 • MICHAEL MYERSWhere stories live. Discover now