nine heads
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- Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2010 20:33:27 +0000
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Michael threw his age old backpack onto his bed and ignored the eerie creaking sound it made in response to the assault of the sudden weight. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned, wishing more than anything for some kind of punching bag to appear in his room to release most of the fury he was currently feeling. He dropped his hands from his face, no such thing had appeared. The boy collapsed onto his bed, over his book bag which he quickly shoved out of the way and onto the floor causing a loud thump to echo through the room, one he was sure his mother had heard from the downstairs kitchen below. Sure enough he was right, and he heard the not too unfamiliar sound of his mother's footsteps sneaking up the stairway. He braced himself. Next came the gentle tap on his wooden oak door, and then it slowly slid open and the round yet slender face of his mother peaked around hesitantly. She studied her sons face intently for a moment before saying anything.
"What's with the commotion Michael?" Her usually cheery voice was now solemn, distant and showed hints of cautious undertones. Michael continued to look at the ceiling. He couldn't formulate the words right now. His mother pressed on, "Just please tell me it isn't her --" His mother didn't get to finish her thought. She was abruptly stopped by the interjection of her son. "Mom, please. I don't feel like this right now." Michael continued to stare up at his ceiling, he wasn't even sure when the last time he had blinked had been. "Alright, I'll be downstairs. No eating up here okay? We're having a real dinner tonight." With that her voice ended and her footsteps could be heard quite clearly as she stole away back downstairs. Though it might have been official that he was a jerk, he was justified. Somewhat. Today had been pretty much the worst day he had had in a while for just so many reasons. Football was just starting off for the season and they had not only lost their scrimmage, but he had twisted his ankle.
Not to say that Michael was some kind of football obsessed, one tracked mind kind of kid, but he was an upperclassman and this was supposed to be his year to shine. He couldn't do that with a messed up ankle. Thing had proceeded to only worsen when his coach told him with what had happened today with his ankle and all, he 'just wasn't fit to play for the start of the season'. Really nice. He had spent the rest of his time on the bench, having a water boy help him ice his ankle. Yet even despite all of this there had been one thing he had been looking forward too. Seeing Whitney. Whitney was Michael's girlfriend of the past two years. She was gorgeous, a cheerleader and just the perfect match for him. Everyone said so. So how could it be that lately they had been arguing all the time and not she hardly ever even wanted to see him? Why was their once perfect relationship starting to fall apart? He couldn't let that happen. But what could he do to stop it? After practiced he had, with the help of an old emergency crutch made his way over to where the cheerleaders hung out after games before they left school.
The girls (and guys ..) usually all retired to an the old gym that the school had used before buying building an entirely new, better one last year. Now the old gym lay abandoned, only good for pickup games and the typical pot heads who had nothing better to do. As Michael opened the heavy door with some definite difficulty he stopped and had just stared at what he was looking at in front of him. It was Whitney, and some guy from the team just standing there, their arms tangled around each other and lips dangerously close to touching. In the next minute he couldn't even have described what went through him. Anger, confusion, sadness ... yet it all came through at the same time, and it was not good. Michael abandoned his crutch and pulled the door fully open, suddenly oblivious to the weight of it. He couldn't formulate the words to speak, but who knows what he would have said if he had. Probably something he would have ended up regretting. "What ...?" Was the only word that had shown itself.
"Sorry man ... she.." The guy mumbled and quickly rushed out of the gyms other exit. He was now left to face an astonished looking Whitney. He looked at her a minute, and suddenly all he could feel was the feel of his chest as it seemed to be swimming in a deep bucket of ice. "Come back ..." She pleaded, but somehow Michael was already out the door. He was walking, surprisingly fast for a guy with a hurt ankle, towards his car ... half of his uniform still on him. He could hear his girlfriends pleas coming from somewhere behind him but he couldn't tell what she was saying. It was all he could do to keep focused on his car in front of him. It was not like this, or similar things to this, hadn't happened ... or had been rumored to have happened before, it was just that it always seemed to be a surprise when they did. He knew he would forgive her, even for this, and that was probably what pissed him off the most.
Michael woke up. His eyes scanning the room, confused for a second. He could still feel the searing pain of his ankle and he could smell the sweat that was seeped into his uniform. He groaned. He must have fallen asleep while staring at the ceiling. He leaned forward and massaged his throbbing ankle. As he did so he happened to glance to the right, to where his window was a quarter way open and where a breeze was slowly but surely making it's way through, ruffling the curtains slightly as it did so. He stood up, wincing at the pain that such a simple thing as standing now caused him, and hobbled over immediately putting all of his weight onto the ledge of the window. Michael pulled back the curtain and looked towards the same house that had been there all of his life. It was the house that held the girl which he had also known since he was only in diapers.
They had played in the sandbox together, went to preschool together, and now went to high school together though their worlds couldn't be more different. She was his best friend, the one person he knew he could tell anything too and the one girl who was single handedly unlike any girl he had ever before met. Micheal had a far away look in his eye as he tried to see into her room which was the window facing his.