The Balcony Scene

Chapter 4
Today was strange.

I learned two things:

1) Mike is super intelligent when he isn't baked or hung-over

2) This isn't like him

Vic sat sipping at a cup of hot cocoa. His eyes plastered on Mike, who tip toed just about everywhere with his head down mumbling lyrics. He hadn't so much as touched a beer today. He was just pacing about, mumbling and nobody disturbed him. If he was about to walk into someone, they moved and not even Jaime had a smartass remark when he bumped into him. I sat next to Vic who was staring so intently that he didn’t notice me sit down. I felt like I was again walking on eggshells.

I couldn’t bring myself to disrupt Vic's train of thought, nobody moved even though we were hours from leaving for Houston. "Come with me," Vic whispered grabbing my wrist with a startling amount of force. I followed him (more like he dragged me) out the door, "Watch where you step," Vic said looking at the door to make sure nobody was there, "What?" I asked a little worried by the look in Vic's eyes. "I don't know what it is, but when Mike doesn't have alcohol he's... different," Vic said still very obviously worried about the door. "How so?" I asked curiously. "He's psycho, that’s why we don't cut him off or talk to him he'll snap he's done it to me," Vic said raising his shirt to show me a long raised scar. My jaw dropped, and I furrowed my brow. I was too confused to even start to understand why Mike was like this. "So why doesn't he just drink?" I asked, it seemed like it'd be a really easy thing to fix, right? "It's not near as easy as it seems, he doesn't know how he acts; he drinks and smokes himself into a stupor and forgets," Vic said shuttering. Suddenly the door opened very slowly, it was Mike; his eyes couldn't seem to stay still. They shook almost violently, his hair was straighter than Vic's, and his clothes didn’t have one wrinkle in them. "Victor, bring Cherrie in, it’s cold out here," Mike said, the growl in his voice was barley audible, but loud enough for Vic to get the point. He turned back and gave me a look, that’s when I knew this was serious.

I spent the whole day dodging Mike, silently pleading him to drink, never in my whole life did I think I'd ever want anyone to drink, but I couldn't get the sight of Vic's scar out of my head. I wanted to ask but I didn’t, Vic had a way of displaying his feelings through his words and I knew he didn’t really want to go into much detail. I always thought Mike was a drunkard and a cheater but I never though he was dangerous until now. By 3 o’clock I was exhausted from hopping around like a rabbit trying to avoid being shot. I settled on the couch, we were about to leave so I sat on the couch I would've been packing but I didn’t have anything. I'd been using Vic's deodorant and wearing his clothes, it had only been about two days but I couldn’t stand smelling like a rotten onion. I felt the couch sink down a little bit, someone was next to me, but who?

I turned my head slowly to see Mike sitting with his back perfectly straight, his tattooed hands crossed in his lap neatly. "Hello Cherrie," he said overly assertive. I picked up on that right away, "Hello Mike," I said trying to hide the shaking of my voice. "Can you call me Michael, please?" he said looking deep into my eyes. "Yes I can," I said trying to speak formal like he did. "Say it then," he said with frustration in his voice. "Hello Michael," I said quietly, he smiled. "Cherrie, is that your real name?" he asked scooting closer to me. "Yes Michael, that is my real name," I said truthfully. I'd been asked that question a million times. "Well Cherrie, you are quite beautiful," he said monotone. I couldn’t decide what his emotion was, "Thank you," I said, but I didn’t smile. I was worried "Thank you is that what you said," Mike said his eyes took on a crimson color. "I mean thank you Michael," I corrected myself, he nodded and the red faded from his eyes.

"Cherrie, have you every kissed a boy?" he asked scratching his scalp his voice had changed to that of a little boy, but the seriousness had not changed at all. He kept a straight face, that was a painful subject, but I told the truth. I felt like I couldn’t lie or he'd know somehow. "No, Michael," I said feeling an immense feeling of shame. "Look at me, Cherrie," he said and slowly. I did, our eyes met, his hands cradled my face, and gently he touched his lips to mine. I didn’t kiss back; he pulled away quickly. "Now I'll ask again, have you ever been kissed? " he said going back to his growl like voice. "Yes Michael, I have," I said