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Mike walks the grocery store isles somberly, his eyes are dark from lack of sleep and his hair is a tossed mess. He’s looked like this for the past few days, he’s felt like this for the past two years. His mother sent him to the store for the family, she told him it would help him “get going again”, which is code for “you’re pathetic and need to gain independence, soon!” So here he was, running the family errands. You see, Mike had graduated high school roughly two years ago, beginning his independent, adult life! Or…he was supposed to. All his friends had nearly immediately left for their college careers, packing up and starting their life anew, Mike stayed home. Mike stayed back in Hawkins, trauma ridden, oppressive, close minded, Hawkins. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to leave like everyone else. He just couldn't. He couldn’t explain to his family, his friends, or even his short term girlfriend at the time why he needed to stay back, why he couldn’t be an adult like everyone else. He couldn’t even explain to himself why this was. He knew it had something to do with unfinished business. Every time he packed his bags in a hurried frenzy at one in the morning, staring at the front door, “just do it. Just leave Mike. Go be normal.” He’d try to tell himself to leave, but there was always another, quieter voice, one that was awfully too familiar to ignore. That voice cried, wailed even, “please Mike, please don’t leave me yet. I love you.” So he’d end up back in his room, crying himself to sleep like every night that had came before.
That voice talked to him daily, not only when he tried to leave town. It talked to him when he was feeling motivated, motivated to do anything. It would say, “Mike, are you seriously going to move on from me…?” He’d loose anything motivation he had, slumping back onto his mattress with a thud, punching his pillow until it settled down. It would say nice things too sometimes, I mean it never said mean things, just sometimes the words made Mike question the role he plays in the world. Whether or not that role is important enough to keep himself around. Sometimes when Mike was sad, crying over god knows what, that voice would talk to him. “hey! Stop crying, you’re the bravest person I know. My paladin.” Those words always shook Mike. Paladin. A role he hasn’t felt since…well since he last enjoyed his life. Nonetheless, it made him feel good. It made him feel needed.
Mike went on this little errand to quiet that voice down…well, and to appease his mother. He picked up cans, lazily throwing them in the cart. He dodged each person he knew, which was almost everyone. He didn’t need to see anyone from high school, not when he looked like this. He doesn’t need the conversation where sympathy lingers on their tongue and their eyes are wide and understanding. Truthfully, they don’t understand shit about Micheal Wheeler. He’s tired of anyone pretending they do. Everyone in this town thinks he’s a lost cause, he knows he has a life ahead of him. He just needs to figure out what’s been holding him back. He needs to find the reason that, as much as he tries, he cant leave.
He wraps up the grocery shopping in the next ten minutes, getting some things his mother asked for, “forgetting” others that he didn’t feel like crossing the store to get. He’s not lazy, just strategic. Very good at strategizing how to get home quicker. His drive home is rather seamless, as per usual. He passes the arcade, the high school, the elementary school. Each one inflicts a sharp punching feeling right in his chest. He would give anything to relive his childhood, without the multidimensional realm full of horrific monsters. He ignores the feeling, pushing it back as he does with any feeling that isn’t happiness or his guilt soaked lust, something that only creeps out in the darkest hours of the night.
Mike flips through the radio station channels, his mind spacing out as the car slowly drifts down the road. That’s when he passes it. The place Jane died, the place she sacrificed herself for Hawkins. Hawkins didn’t deserve her, Mike didn’t deserve her. The months following Jane’s death were particularly rough for Mike. He attempted to take his life numerous times, being stopped just in time by Nancy, or that one time Lucas found him. It had been two months since she’d died, to the day, and Mike just couldn’t handle it. He waited till his family left for their weekend errands, then he raided the house’s medicine cabinets. He collected anything he could, his arms were overflowing with an assortment of drugstore and prescription medication. He had to of swallowed fifty different pills that day, he lied on his bed, crying as he dropped the last empty bottle on his bedroom floor, and he just stared. He stared at his ceiling as he thought about how horrible he was to that poor girl. He couldn’t even tell her he loved her, not even in her last moments. Not even when she hugged him, her eyes pleading for the comfort of her boyfriend. He couldn’t do it…and the worst part was, he didn’t even know why. The next thing he knew, he was face first in the toilet and Lucas fingers were hallway down his throat. He faded back into consciousness with a sharp gag, his eyes focusing in on the boy. Lucases eyes were tear filled, he looked exhausted. Everyone was so exhausted. The look on Lucases face sold it for him, he promised himself and Lucas that he wouldn’t do anything of the such again, and he hadn’t since. The rest of the party never found out about that day, or the several others that came before it.
Mike pulled into the driveway with a soft whoosh, his tires coming to a stop at the garage door. He hauled the bags in the house, giving Holly a tired smile as she followed him in and out of the door, blabbering on about the campaign she had going with her friends. Mike was glad he’d gotten Holly into Dungeons and Dragons, he couldn’t help but get a little pissed off when she flaunted it in his face, though. He knew it wasn’t on purpose, she was just an excited kid talking to her brother about their shared interest. It hurt him though, because as much as he wished he could go back, he couldn’t. And as selfish as it sounded, he hated the fact that Holly got a real childhood and he didn’t. His was stolen from him. He sighed, ushering her away from him as he retreated to the basement, his parents had let him move in there since graduation. They figured if he was going to be here for a while, he should at least have his own space.
He made his way down the stairs, his eyes falling onto his bed, messy and unmade from just hours ago. He debated going back to it, laying down and giving up for the day, like he usually does at this hour. He couldn’t though, he told himself he was going to make changes and this is definitely a start. So instead, he walked along the wall, his eyes scanning the old storage bins. A particularly large one caught his eyes, labeled “Mikes extra stuff” and to be honest, he has no idea what was in there. He gets it down from the top shelf, probably pulling eight muscles in the process. Mike had never been an athletic or physically strong man, but recently he’s been so weak. He barely recognizes himself in moments like this, “really, Mike? You can’t lift a box?”
He pops the yellow lid off the box and he’s hit with the overwhelming scent of that summer. The summer of graduation, the party had spent almost every day together. None of them wanted to grieve but they all were, no matter how much they tried to push it away. They’d get into rip roaring fights every few weeks about the dumbest things, realizing later that it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Realizing later that they were all hurting more than they’d known. At the end of the summer, everyone had exchanged little keepsakes with each other. Some were fun objects based off inside jokes they made throughout the months, others were old childhood items that, without a doubt, made them all cry. Mike got to the bottom of the bin, his eyes already welled up with tears, and he saw it. A light yellow envelope, unopened, untouched. The name signed on the letter?
Will Byers, aka: the Cleric
Mike felt his brain temporarily shut down. Will Byers? That’s a name that he hasn’t thought of in two years, but also, somehow, has thought of every. Fucking. Day. Every time he woke up, every time he ate, every time he showered, Will Byers. That’s when it clicked. Will was the voice in his head, the one that kept him from leaving. Mikes fingers fumbled with the letter, desperately tearing it open. None of his other friend’s names had elicited this kind of reaction from him, so why Will? This letter must mean something. A thin piece of notebook paper fell out, folded into thirds so it could fit into the envelope. On the front of it, it read, “to Mike - please think about how much I value you as a friend whilst you read.”
Mike felt a familiar smile tug across his face, of course Will was his friend. Now, he doesn’t know if it’s been to long to say this, but he’d like to think of him as his best friend. How could he have not seen this letter? He unfolded it slowly, his eyes falling to the carefully crafted note, in perfect handwriting. Yep, this is from Will, alright. Their whole childhood Will had teased Mike, he’d tell him that his handwriting could be mistaken for another language with how messy it was. Wills on the other hand, perfect since he’d learned to write. The letter read,
Dear, Mike Wheeler
I don’t assume you’ll enjoy reading this, but I need you to know this. I’ve spent my whole life feeling guilty and gross for just being myself, for liking guys. I let myself be convinced it was abnormal and that I was sick for having these feelings, but the truth is, there’s nothing wrong with me, Mike. Do you know that? Do you know it’s okay to be different? I’m not sure why I’m asking you that, well I mean I know why but that’s not really the point of this letter. God I’m rambling. I’m going to get to the point now. I’m in love with you Mike, and I have been since like the seventh grade. I’m writing this the day before all of us part ways, and my feelings are just as strong as they’ve ever been. I hope they fade. I hope one day I’ll be able to find someone who can love me, all of me. Not just my soul, Mike, but my body. Would you love me if I was a girl? I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question, but I’m probably ruining any future of a friendship with you anyways so who cares. The point is, I’ve been telling myself I’m disgusting for liking you since the day these feelings bloomed, but I know I’m not. I’m not scared of my own feeling anymore and I’m not scared of my sexuality Mike. I hope one day you get to the same point, take that however you may. When my family moved to Lenora, I missed you so fucking much, Mike. I was so excited to see you, and all you could do when you finally came to visit was give me an awkward smile. Do you know how much that hurt me? You had to of known. You must’ve seen how I looked at you, how I still look at you. Do you feel bad? Do you feel bad knowing your gay best friend is hopelessly in love with you and you can’t get the balls to reject him. Just reject me Mike. Rambling again, I’m getting upset, I’m sorry. I’m not sorry though, and Mike, I’m really fucking angry at you. I’m so angry because after everything I still love you. I’m angry at myself Mike, because my sister died. My sister, Mike. She died, and the only thing I could think of during the following months was, “hopefully he’ll look at me now.” Do you know how fucked up I feel thinking that? You made me think that. Do you remember what you said to me, that day in the rain? When we were fighting because all I wanted to do was get back the parts of my childhood I missed, but all you could talk about was her. You chased me out the house, desperately pleading for me to come back inside, telling me that you would play dnd. You don’t realize how badly I wanted to listen to your pleas, how much I wanted to let myself believe they were meaningful. That’s when you said it, Mike, “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls!” I know, I know, you didn’t mean it like that, but I saw the look on your face after it slipped out, and you saw the look in my eyes. So it held that meaning whether you wanted it to or not. Mike, I want you know, that is it your fault. It’s completely and utterly your fault I don’t like girls. I’m crying writing this, because I don’t think I’ll ever get over you. I miss you Mike, not that you ever left, but I miss you. Maybe I just miss the version of you I've built up in my head, but I miss you, nonetheless. So that’s it, that’s everything I wanted to say. This wasn’t supposed to me mean, I hope you know that. I wanted this to be a mushy declaration of my love, but I guess I had to get the anger out before I could get the love out. I hate you so much Mike, but I love you even more. I’ll continue to love you until my heart can’t handle it, I’ll draw each of your features in my sketch book until I forget your face. I love you.
-Sincerely, Will Byers
Jesus. Mike felt the tears stream down his cheek, falling onto and smudging the words that had inflicted those tears. How could he be so ignorant. How could he not have known. Mike thinks back to the day Will came out, his teary eyes begging, pleading, for Mike to notice him. Yelling at him that it’s him, he’s the ‘Tammy’ Wills been referring to the whole time. Mike didn’t notice. He didn’t notice the whole time. He’d been so oblivious and horrible, he’s said such ignorant things. He let the words sit in his mind, feeling a sting each time he thought back to, “just reject me Mike” and “do you know it’s okay to be different” and pretty much the whole letter. The whole fucking thing stung, even the sparse nice parts hurt, reminding him of how much he’d lost. That’s when it hits him, he hadn’t lost anything, not yet. He still had a chance. A chance at…a chance at what? Was he…is he saying that he might…like boys? Well, correction, one boy…he liked Will Byers. That thought alone is enough to make him feel like he’s been provided an oxygen supply that’s been cut off from him since the day he met Will. God, he likes Will. He really likes him…he loves him. He needed to tell him, or ask him, or something. Who knows. He tucked the note in his pocket, forgetting each bit that made his heart shatter, there was no time for that. No time to feel bad and sulk over things he couldn’t change, crimes his ignorant self had committed. He was different now.
He shot up from his spot on the floor, running to the basement phone, attached to wall with a thin layer of dust covering it. He hadn’t used it in weeks, there was rarely anyone he needed to call. He quickly dialed Wills new number, well fairly new. What is he doing, does he even know what he’s going to say when Will answers…if Will answers. The phone rings,
once
twice
three-
“H-Hello? Is this…is this call from the Wheeler household?”
He answered. He actually answered…Mike? Mike…he answered…this is when you respond. Mike!! Respond to the damn boy!
“I-uh…yes…M-Mike Wheeler speaking!” He spits out, throwing a palm over his face at his stupidity.
He hears a deep inhale over the phone, then he can practically feel the smile through the static, “Mike! It’s been…what, almost a year and a half? Why are you…why are you calling so late?”
Mike feels just giddy. Will sounds actually excited to hear from him, this is good. This is definitely good. “Yeah…yeah it’s been a while. I-I was uh…I wanted to let you know that I…uhm…” he felt himself loosing courage, staring at his feet as he heard the boy breath through the call.
“Mike…what is it?” Will hums, his voice thick with sleep. It had been, what…1:30AM!? Had he been staring at that letter than long? God.
Mike took a deep breath, staring at the paper crunched firmly between his fingers, “I read your letter, Will…” he whispered, as if he was worried saying it too loud would change something, “the…the one in the y-yellow envelope?”
For a while there’s nothing but silence, incriminating silence that not only proved that Mike called about said letter, but that he hadn’t read it in the two years it had been waiting for him. After a few beats, a quiet, very faint sniffle travels through the phone speaker, “The uh…the one from graduation summer? Mike I…”
“It’s okay Will, really. I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel so isolated and I’m sorry for…well for not…” he takes a need breath, “for not realizing my love for you sooner, Will.”
Will lets out an another, louder sniffle, “Mike your…your love? What’re you saying to me?”
“Will, I’m saying I read it. Every word, and-and it helped me so much. I’ve been fighting this voice in my head for so long, this voice that tells me that I have unfinished business, that something in my life is missing and I can’t possibly go on without it.” Mike lets out a shaky laugh, his sweaty hand clutching the phone to his ear, “it’s your voice, Will. It’s you. You’re what I can’t live without…don’t you get it yet?”
“I don’t…I can’t do this, Mike,” will chokes out, the obvious sound of tears filling this throat, “you…you read it? Did you…fuck did you comprehend it? Did you process the words?”
Mike is caught off guard, to say the least. He backs away from the phone slightly, staring into the speaker as he hears soft noises glitch through it. “I read it. That’s why I’m…I’m calling you. You said you were in love with me…?”
Will is in a full cry now, the sound of his sniffles as gasps filling the call, “I was in love with you, Mike. I left you that letter because I’d hope you’d read it sooner, and when you didn’t I moved on. My boyfriend is in the next room. I took this call into my kitchen when I heard your voice, that’s how much I love you. Now…fuck, now you’re calling me years later, hoping to win me over, why Mike? Because your life didn’t turn out how you’d hoped? Fucking Christ. I moved on, Mike! I moved on and it took me so fucking long, and it cost me so many fucking tears. And now…now you get to call me after all that pain, wanting to get your way? You cant have your way, Mike. Not this time.” He gasps, catching his breath to speak again before Mike can, “I still can’t properly grieve my fucking sister, because of you!! It’s your fault! Did you read the tough parts of the letter? The parts where I told you what was eating at me? You knew I loved you the whole time and you let me suffer. You didn’t even feel bad, Mike.”
Mike stands at the phone, stunned. His lip is quivering and he’s biting it to hold back his tears. He feels them coming through, he feels the pressure of the sobs building up behind his eyes. “I…I felt bad. I feel horrible. You need to understand that I didn’t…I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know I was…gay,” he says the last word like it’s a secret, like he can’t even tell himself.
“I-I knew though, didn’t I? There was nothing platonic about our friendship. I’m glad you found yourself, Mike, but-but…it’s too late. I can’t think about you anymore, it… it hurts me too much.” Will sobs, his voice shaking.
“If we love each other, why can’t we let this happen? Why can we just enjoy love, Will? I know I fucked up, but I’ll spend my whole life trying to…to make it up to you. I promise.” Mikes leaned up against the wall, his forehead his pressed firmly against the cold concrete as he bawls into the phone.
Will clears his throat, “My boyfriend is in bed. I like him. A lot. You need to…” he takes a deep breath, sniffling, “you need to leave me alone. Forget about all of this. It’s too late and I can’t handle this. Not now…not ever.”
“Will I-“
The line goes silent.
Mike feels his knees give out before he can take the time to hang the phone back on the wall. His body falls to the floor with a thud, he brings his hands to his hair, clutching at it desperately. He can’t stop the tears, they pour down his face. They’re the same tears he had the day they found Will at the quarry, the day the medics carried his body out of the water. Cold and pale…lifeless. Mike felt lifeless. The phone sways next to his head, a silent reminder of what he lost. What he didn’t have to lose, but he waited too long.
Mike fell asleep that night, he had no energy to get up, no energy to walk to his bed across the room. Instead he lied on the floor, the cold concrete of the basement crept up his spine, and he sobbed. He cried all night, from roughly 1:35AM to 7:00AM. He slept, his mind flooding dreams of Will Byers. His subconscious’s attempt to take one last hit, rubbing in the fact that this could’ve been his life.
Mike awoke to a throbbing headache, his face was dry and crusted with snot and mucus. Briefly, he was blissful, dispite the head pain. He hasn’t remembered yet the events of lost night, nor had he remembered his dream. All he knew was for some reason he was in a good mood. That lasted for about thirty seconds, then the dream hit him. Flashes of a domestic version of Will Byers that Mikes yet to see came crashing through his mind. He saw images of Will cooking, sleeping, petting their pet dog (whom they named Jane). Then his mind betrayed him, rewinding further back into his memories, showing him the view of last night. He saw himself sobbing on the floor, he saw himself crying into the phone, and then…finally…he heard Wills soft voice through the phone. It broke him all over again.
Mike sat up straight, he felt the tears pushing out. God, he was such a baby. He was such a horrible, evil, baby. Here he was, dealing with the fact that Will just told him that he basically ruined his teenage years, and all he could do was cry for himself. All he could do was feel bad for himself. He sat on his floor for a long while, a slow tear running down his cheek every now and then. He’s never felt like this before. He’d never felt so much emotion but also so much lack there of. He feels blank.
BANG BANG BANG!
“Micheal!? Come upstairs, it’s nearly four in the afternoon, your father’s worried you’re dead!” Mrs Wheeler calls down, her warm voice seeping through the crack in the basement door. Mike lifts himself off the couch with a grunt, rubbing his eyes as to erase the fog in his brain. He reaches the bottom of the staircase when he sees his mother’s face peering down, a worried look knitted tightly between her eyebrows. Thats when it hits him. He doesn’t want to go upstairs, he doesn’t want to do anything. What was he supposed to do, go back to his old life? Keep living in his parent’s basement, living in a world in which all his days mesh into a grey blur? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t.
Mike gives his mom a weak smile, “yes I’m…I’m alive. I’m really uhh…” he peers behind himself, staring at his typewriter which has grown dusty over the past months, “I’m having kind of…the opposite of a writers block, many ideas…so many.” He lies. His mom’s eyes immediately light up.
“Oh Micheal!! That’s wonderful! Can’t you at least come eat, take a small break maybe?” She smiles, her face clearly glowing with pride. Her son, who has been layed up and depressed over the past few years is finally doing something. Finally making efforts to change his life.
Mike shuffles backwards, motioning his hands in a ridiculous fashion, “can’t mom…sorry…ideas flowing! Brains moving, gotta keep the grind up, right!?” He shouts as he disappears into the back of the basement, waiting until he hears the click of the basement door closing.
Then, he actually does return to his typewriter, settling himself in the rickety old desk chair. He runs his fingers over the keys, taking the courage to type out a meager, “dear Will,” he stairs at the letters. They’re perfect, they’re robotic and symmetrical. They don’t convey nearly the amount of emotion he needs them to. Mike shoves the typewriter back, this won’t do. He grabs a blank sheet, lying it on his desk accompanied by a pencil. Then he begins again, this time though the words flow. He doesn’t take a break and before he knows it he’s written out a whole letter.
Dear Will,
I read your letter, you know that by now. I haven’t had much time to think before I started writing this. I’m kind of just pouring my thoughts on the page here, but that’s what you deserve. I want you to know exactly what I think of you, and exactly what I think of myself. You’re the best fucking thing to ever happen to me Will Byers. Whether you like it or not, I’m in love with you. I’m so fucking in love with you and it finally makes sense. My whole life I felt it, I felt your soul pulling mine in. You’re a gravitational force, Will. We were destined to be, you and me. In every universe. I dated Jane for years, I always wondered why it felt so wrong. Why I felt guilty when I spent the day with you, rather than her. It’s cause in my mind, I equated it with cheating, Will. Even though I didn’t realize it at the time. I dated her because she was the closest thing to you, then she died. Will, as much as I hate to admit it, I felt the same relief that you did. I felt like I finally had the space to be near you, give you my all. Then I fucked it up, as I do. I’m such a fuckup. I wish I could go back in time and slap myself in the face, I wish I could tell senior, junior, sophomore, freshman, and middle school me that I need to kiss you. I should’ve kissed you, Will. Why didn’t I kiss you? Then you left, and found a boyfriend, and an apartment with him. I hate that, Will. I hate that another man gets to touch you, or even talk to you for that matter. I know I don’t have the right to say this anymore, not sure if I ever did, but you’re mine. No man will ever know you’re heart like I do, I'm sorry about that Will, but it’s true. I know you’re going to be reading this, your boyfriend probably at your side, squeezing your hand tightly. I hope he sees you’re expression. I hope he cries. I’m sorry, this isn’t about him. It’s about us, it’s about me, it’s about you. I’m such a piece of shit for making you feel unloved, you’re so loved. Everyone loves you, I love you. I love you. I love you. I wish you still loved me. I hope I didn’t just write done a bunch of shit, because this is all I can say without my tears ruining the page. I can’t go on like this. I can’t fucking live without you. I don’t want you to feel guilt though, it’s not you’re fault, it’s mine. I’m a stupid fuck for expecting you to want me, but once I had a taste of you’re feelings I can’t get enough. I know there’s nothing left for me though. That’s why I’m done. Don’t freak out, by the time you’re reading this I’m already gone. Fuck I’m sorry Will. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you deserve and I’m sorry for putting you through more pain. You deserve nothing but the best, I don’t. I don’t deserve shit. If I can’t have you in my life, I’m not living. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t keep thinking about you it hurts me too much. I should’ve kissed you. Goodbye, Will.
Love, Mike.
Mike stared at the letter, something felt left out though. He quickly scribbled at the bottom:
”ps: I continued to love you until my heart couldn’t take it. Just like you did. the only difference is you are my heart, Will. Without you I am nothing.”
That’s it. He stared at the words on the page, the paragraph blurring as his tears fogged his eyes. This isn’t a new experience, he has attempted to kill himself before. This feels more real, though. Like he finally found the reason behind all his issues and now he has no reason to hold on. It’s freeing yet suffocating at the same time. This is real, this is happening. He folds the paper into a small square slowly, his long fingers methodically creasing each time. He signs Wills name on the front and he leaves it on his desk. Someone will find it, eventually. He doesn’t take the time to write anyone else a letter, he knows it’s shitty. His parents deserve a letter, his sisters, Dustin, Lucas, Max, everyone. He knows it’s cruel to leave them with nothing, but his inner monologue is getting louder and angrier. It’s yelling at him, telling him he has no time for anyone else. He’s been this selfish his whole life, what’s a letter going to do to reverse that?
Mike stood up from the chair stiffly, he ran a hand through his already knotted hair. Everything about him is a mess, his clothes, his skin, his hair. He hadn’t taken care of himself in days, there was no use. He approached the mirror at the other end of the room, giving himself one last look. One look as to tell himself, “This is you. This is who you became,” and for a split second, it wasn’t grown Mike he saw, no…it wasn’t. It was worse. He saw himself, on the first day of kindergarten, the day his life started. The day he’d met Will. He was so nervous, he’d cried the whole night before in bed. He was convinced no one would want to be his friend, no one would like him. Then he met Will, he was so quiet, sitting on the swing set by himself. Something about him gave him courage, courage to say hi. So he did, and from that day on they had been each others person. When did it change, why did he ruin it so bad? He made is way up the stairs, his feet felt heavier with each step. His mind grew foggier with each step. He opened the door and was immediately met with Holly cheerfully running up to him, “Mike!! Can I talk to you about the campaign now?” She jumped around him, her makeshift costume clanking with each step she took. Mike forced out whatever smile he could, “not-not now…okay? Later.” He grumbled as he pushed past her, nearing the front door. His mom stopped him as his hand grazed the door knob.
“Where are you off to?” She hummed, her eyes hopeful, Mike wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear.
He cleared his throat, “I’m-uh…” his mind went blank, what was he supposed to say? He watched as her face grew more skeptical with the growing seconds. “Meeting up with Lucas…at a cafe. He’s in town for the week.”
“Lucas is in town!? Tell him to come by here before he leaves, I’d love to catch up!” She perked at Mike.
Mike took no time to respond. His hand turned the door handle sharply and he quickly made his way down the front pathway, his brain moving in autopilot. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he wouldn’t be coming back.
“M-Micheal?” Mrs. Wheeler shouts through the screen door, her eyes showing the concerning gaze once more. God, what was she so worried about? “Are you taking the car? The keys are in here sweetie!”
Mike coughs again, waving her off as he just mumbles, “bike!” He gets in his bike rather fast, his feet still peddle in the same pattern they did back when he first learned. Muscle memory I guess. The wind blew through his hair as he picked up speed, turning corners swiftly. Before he knew it he was making his way towards the quarry, the one he almost jumped off just a few years ago. The only difference is back then he did it to save his friend, now he’s doing it because he can’t go on living it means he’ll never get to hold Will Byers. He feels bad for lying to his mother, he does. There’s a reason he’s doing it this way though, there’s a reason he’s jumping rather than trying to overdose like the last few times. He doesn’t want to be saved. He doesn’t need to see that fucking look on everyone’s face again, he doesn’t want to be his parents suicidal burden of a son. He doesn't want Will to hear that he attempted to kill himself.
As he nears the top of the cliff, his phone chimes a few times…then a few more. Ok it’s really going off he should probably check it. He hauls his bike to a stop, spraying gravel behind him as his tires skid the ground. He slides his phone out of his pocket and he checks the to see who the continuous string of messages are from. His mother, of course.
“Micheal, I was just on the phone with Mrs. Sinclair.”
“She told me Lucas isn’t in town?”
“Where are you going?”
“Micheal I swear to god if you don’t answer me!”
He lets out a shaky breath as he slips his phone back into his pocket. Responding won’t help anyone. His movements grow shakier with each passing step, his body tries to work against him, moving him the other direction. One part of his brain is yelling at him to get it over with, but the other? The other part is logical, the other part is telling him that he needs to go home and go to bed. He needs to talk to a doctor, he needs to get help.
He swallows knowingly as he reaches the edge of the cliff. He can see everything, every part of town. He can’t see his elementary school, where he met Will. He can’t see the arcade, where they’d spent all their afternoons. He can’t see the Byers house, where he’d pick Will up from when things were rough at home. He starts shaking as the realization kicks in. It’s more of a constant shutter, one he can’t control. Then come the tears. They start out slow, one dripping down his cheek every few seconds. Then they pour. His mind plays back a reel of memories, most of which with Will. Memories of better times, times when his biggest stress was getting his mom to agree to a sleepover. He runs a hand through his hair as he stares down at the water, it must be freezing.
Then he starts hyperventilating, his feet shakily backed up has his wide eyes stare down. Surely it won’t hurt, right? He fumbles with his pocket as he grabs his phone once more. He quickly scrolls through his contacts, eventually landing on Will. Without thinking he clicks the call button, he needs this. He needs will.
Ring.
Come on, Will.
Ring.
Pick up.
Ring.
“Hey, it’s Will Byers, I can’t talk now but if you leave me a voicemail I’ll get back to you!” Mike shutters as the recording plays, he can hear Will giggling and another voice chuckling in the background. Glad you’re so happy, Will.
He clears his throat as the phone beeps, starting his voicemail. “Uh-hey, W-Will. I’m kind of fucking freaking out right now and I’d love it if you could call me back, right now please.” He takes a deep breath.
“I just uh…I-I’m at the quarry…uhm yeah,” his words are uneven and wobbling, “I can’t go on, Will. I…I fucking love you. I really wish you loved me.”
He pauses, his legs creeping up to the edge of the cliff once more, “I wish I’d kissed you when I had the chance, Will.” He chokes in a tear as he wipes his face, “m’ sorry, Will. I should’ve kissed you.”
He jumps.
The water makes a sharp crack as his body hits it.
“Mike?” Will crackles through the phone, “Mike I saw you were leaving me a voicemail, I guess I picked up just before you hung up. What-uh…what did you need?”
The line is silent on Mikes end, nothing but the sound of birds chirping in the trees can be heard.
“M-Mike? Are you there?”