#vanmichael

Of course that was all he cared about. He rolls on to his side, extending one hand. Flexing it, letting it fall. He tried taking one thing that his Father could not yet replace.

His own life.

It was a stupid attempt. The bloodied gauze wrapped around his wrists tell the story. Why he thought that would work- why he thought that his Father would have let it happen-

He turns his head away.

He's supposed to get a roommate today. That's exciting, isn't it?

The woman comes in late at night. There's a tremble in her hands as she sits on the bed. As she tries to tie her hair back without anything to do it with.

"That's pretty," Michael mutters, staring at her from his spot on his bed. She flinches, so Michael continues. "Your hair. I- uh, I like the color of your hair. It's a really nice blonde."

"Thank you," she says after a moment's hesitation, "I grew it myself."

Neither of them laugh at the joke. Michael watches her hands shake, watches as she drums her fingers against her knees.

"What got you in here?" She tries to ask, but Michael sighs as he sits up.

"I don't have to tell you," he comes off aggressively. He doesn't mean to, but the words are snappy. She just looks away.

Over the next two days, Michael finds out her name is Vanessa. That she had some nasty run in with her own Father. That her way out was supposed to be pills-

According to her, they were just sleeping pills. Michael doesn't believe that.

They sit together in the room. Michael's back is against the bed, Vanessa thumbs over a frayed edge of her sleeve.

"Do you think you'll ever be fixed?" She says, trying to relieve the silence.

"No," Michael responds, bringing his knees to his chest, "I don't think I want to be fixed, though."

"Hah, you sound like an emo kid," she looks at him. Her eyes soften just a touch.

"I hope you get better, Michael."

"... Yeah, that's nice, Vanessa."

Michael never knows how she watches him. Any eyes on him, he brushes off. It's surely just the paranoia. Surely just medication messing with him.

He's startled awake, one night, by the mattress dipping by his side.

Vanessa hovers over him, a distant look in her eyes. Michael goes to scream, but she cuts him off by wrapping a hand around his throat.

She's going to kill him. She doesn't seem all there as she squeezes, as she watches his face start to turn a nice, rosy color.

She lets go, only to lean down and kiss him. Aggressive, nipping at his lip before clashing their teeth together.

"Michael," she whispers against his lips, "You want it too, don't you?"

No, no, he wants to cry. He can't bring himself to, his hands tremble as he brings them up. He tries shoving her, but Vanessa's moving faster. His hands are pinned up.

It's almost like his Father, though her hand is softer.