Michael

Read Michael Storyline:

Michael has always been there, waiting outside windows and watching from the mirror, pulling me out of my college mistakes. I spent whole years trying to figure out how to get rid of him. Adults aren't supposed to have imaginary friends. Sometimes, though, I think he's the only thing that's real.We hurt one another, but in the end, the wounds are all mine.Michael has always been there, waiting outside windows and watching from the mirror, pulling me out of my college mistakes. I spent whole years trying to figure out how to get rid of him. Adults aren't supposed to have imaginary friends. Sometimes, though, I think he's the only thing that's real.We hurt one another, but in the end, the wounds are all mine.FROM MICHAEL:My vision went out and I heard my own voice echoing in my head. I remember glimpses of dark hallways, and then being taken into the showers inside my building. Michael pulled my sweater over my head, and I almost slid down the wall behind me, but he grabbed me. Then, I was naked in the shower, water stinging my eyes. I heard Michael’s voice behind me. “Turn around. You’re puking on the wall.”I turned to face him, and I looked into his eyes. Suddenly, the water slowed, falling around me in slow-motion, glistening pearls of all the things I had ever learned half-asleep in class, math equations and philosophical arguments colliding across our bodies and swirling down the drain at our feet.“Do you believe I’m real now?” He asked me.I stumbled backwards, and the water began to fall again from the showerhead, crashing into his chest as I crumpled against the wall behind me, my heart pounding. This time, he didn’t try to help me as I went down. “I’m sorry,” I said again, and I still had no idea why I was sorry. Maybe I was sorry for being drunk, or for being naked, or for vomiting.I sat staring up at him, tears forming in my eyes, combining with the water from the showerhead. He looked so sad. “Stand up,” he said finally, and he knelt and tried to pull me up, sending another wave of sickness through me. I painted his stomach and his underwear with vomit, and I forget the rest.