Chapter Text
The harsh lights of the bar were close to setting Michael’s brain ablaze. He drained the last of his beer and stood.
“See you guys later,” he called to the rest of the Achievement Hunter staff, and Griffon, the designated driver, perched on Geoff’s lap. “I’m gonna head home.”
“Do you need a ride?” Jack asked.
“Nah, I can walk. S’not that far.”
“Y’better be at work tomorrow,” Geoff said, his words slurred with whiskey. “No fuckin’ excuses.”
“Bye-bye, little Michael.” Gavin grinned and waved.
Michael smiled and stumbled out the door.
--
With heavy steps he made his way down the sidewalk to his apartment. It was late, around two, and the streets were nearly empty except for a few cars and inebriated stragglers.
Michael hummed a song they had sung in the Let’s Play they had filmed earlier that afternoon, oblivious to the world. somewhere behind him, a man coughed, but he thought nothing of it. His bed beckoned.
He was a bit surprised, however, when footsteps other than his own followed him his normal route home. About a quarter-mile from his apartment, Michael heard the steps speed up behind him, and before he could turn, a hand covered his mouth and pulled him back against a hard chest and an arm held him tight. Panic overtook him, and cursing, he tried to break free.
Fuck what the fucking shit oh my god
His shouts were muffled by the man’s fingers. He kicked and flailed in vain as his attacker pulled him away from the open street into an alleyway and around a corner, where he threw Michael to his knees and pointed a gun at his head.
“Don’t you fucking scream.” The man’s gruff words barely registered in Michael’s brain, so muddled was he with feelings: anger and fear and nausea that struck him dumb and widened his eyes as his gaze rested upon the glinting barrel. He dared not move as the man grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved his head to the ground, knocking off his glasses.
Michael found his voice, small and weak as it was. “Please, don’t… please –“
“Shut the fuck up,” the stranger commanded sharply, then softer: “Be a good boy and stay still and quiet.”
Michael fell silent and limp as his jeans were yanked about his knees.
The following minutes were a blur of agony. Michael felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed by a fiery blade, and tears ran from his eyes, but he did not make a sound. He trembled and focused on the constant scraping of his forehead and knees and elbows on the rough and dirtied asphalt instead of the pain from behind. His mind was blank, aside from I should have accepted Jack’s offer.
--
Michael didn’t know how long he had lain in that alleyway after it was over. At some point he had got back to his feet, pulled up his pants, and trudged up to his place. His movements were robotic as he locked the door and placed the keys on the counter.
Dirty.
Yes, he was dirty.
He pulled off his clothes, ignoring the pain and the dried blood that trailed down his leg, and turned the shower up to a blistering temperature, and beneath the spray he stood, staring at the white wall in front of him.
Tired.
So very tired.
And the shower floor looked so inviting.
He curled up on the slick plastic as the scalding water pounded his side.
--
Michael woke only when the hot water ran out. He rose on shaky knees and scrabbled for the temperature control and turned off the water. His skin was rough with goose bumps.
It was Monday. Work, Michael thought wearily. His head pounded from his hangover and his body was numbed by cold. Last night was fuzzy.
A couple aspirin from his medicine cabinet helped. Michael wandered into his room with a towel around his waist and grabbed the first clean shirt and jeans he saw. He felt a bit better dressed and clean, but the base of his spine felt stiff and sore.
Oh, yeah. That happened.
He didn’t feel like eating. There were three missed calls and two text messages from Lindsay sent around midnight, but he didn’t bother reading them. Things had been kind of tense between them for a couple of weeks now, and his girlfriend was the last person Michael wanted to talk to.
The ride from his apartment to the office proved uneventful, and he arrived more than half an hour early than he normally did. He sat in his car for a while, staring into space and alone with his cloudy thoughts.
He was still the first into the Achievement Hunter office despite waiting in the car. He spun back and forth in his swivel chair until Jack came in.
“Hey, did you get home okay?” he asked, settling into his own chair.
Michael tensed. “Y-yeah…” he managed. His backside throbbed.
Jack furrowed his brow. “You okay? You seem off.”
“I’m fine,” responded Michael quickly. “Hungover, is all.” I should have gone with you. I would have been safe.
By then, Gavin and Geoff had ambled in, then Ryan and Ray a few minutes later. While the other five discussed the day’s Let’s Play, Michael remained silent, staring into space. His head was muddied with the ghosts of the night before.
“—ichael? Michael, what’s up with you?”
“What…?” Gavin’s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. The Brit was eyeing him curiously, a frown on his lips.
“You’re unusually quiet. Something eating you?”
That fucking bastard from last night. He shuddered. “I, uh… I think I’m coming down with something. Sore throat.”
“Okay, Michael…” Gavin didn’t seem convinced, but turned to Geoff all the same.
Michael tried to seem as normal as possible while they played. He was still less talkative, but he managed to get in a few yells and a fair amount of cursing. His playing was below his average caliber, but no one seemed to notice.
He was relieved when they paused for lunch. Even though he didn’t want to eat, he followed Ray, Geoff, and Gavin to the Roaring Fork while Ryan and Jack went elsewhere. The conversation helped distract him. He sipped his coke and flashed a few smiles when Ray and Geoff began bantering about Saint’s Row. His mind was quieting.
Perhaps normalcy could be returned to Michael’s life once again.