Xanax, Sorrow, and Love (A Mikey Way Fanfiction)

Elena

My eyes cracked open to the sight of oak leaves waving quickly, the image blurred awfully by rain running down the skylight above me. At first, I was extremely confused as to where I was. It smelled like pine needles and not mildew, and everything looked completely different from the two places where I was used to sleeping. I looked around the room, somewhat in a panic. When I saw Mikey's glasses perched haphazardly on the nightstand, I remembered where I was. But Mikey wasn't there. The blankets on his side were crumpled, some of them on the floor, so it wasn't a hallucination that he was there.

I climbed out of the bed. The soft, green carpet felt strange against my feet that were used to the sticky and cold tile in my old bedroom. I wandered over to the big picture window across the room and pulled open the curtains. The treetops of the forest swayed violently in the wind, as raindrops bounced off the green leaves into puddles pooling at the roots of the trees they were attached to.

I got dressed without another thought, and as soon as I opened the bedroom door to make breakfast, I heard screams and cries reverberating off all the walls in the house. The wails got rougher and more hoarse as they progressed. Someone was downstairs screaming all morning long. "Mikey!" I yelled, dashing down the hall at a near sprint.
I first looked for Mikey in the living room. He wasn't there, but shards of a vase were sitting by the wall where the drywall and carpet met. He threw it.
My eyes darted frantically around the living space until they landed across the floor at the kitchen.

Mikey was huddled in the corner between the dishwasher and oven, screaming into the receiver of the home phone, tears streaming down his face. He was hyperventilating and shaking all over. Clumps of hair stood out on parallel sides of his head, as if he was clutching it.

"No!" he screeched. "She can't be dead! She just can't! She was getting better!..." A sob escaped his throat. "I won't believe it! I'm not, I can't and I won't!" Mikey smeared tears away from his eyes, really just making it worse; considering how wet his hands already were. I stood, looking across the peninsula at the wreck that was Mikey. He didn't notice me. I didn't want to intervene quite yet. However, I felt so bad just standing there and watching as he collapsed internally. I remembered it all happening to me five years ago. I knew the emotional torment he was facing, the scars on his soul that would never go away. His only remaining mother figure was gone, which, unfortunately, made us equals in one more way.

He screamed again and jerked his head backwards, slamming it against a cupboard. "I'll be over, Gerard. I just want to see her one last time." He dropped the phone on the floor, the receiver humming as Gerard hung up on the other side of the line; and he closed his eyes, struggling not to cry, fingers pressed to his temples. He bit his lip to keep himself contained, but failed, and let out a loud sob as he ripped a sizable layer of skin off his lower lip.

After pounding the linoleum floor, trying to catch his breath and crying at the same time, he opened his eyes, and they wandered from the floor to my face. "Oh my god, Mikey, I'm so sorry-"
He lurched to his feet, stumbled a few feet to where I was standing, and grabbed my hand before his knees started trembling and he collapsed once again. "S-sh-she-she's... G-go-ne, Em-b-ber. G-gone." He sputtered as he sobbed once again. His nose spontaneously started bleeding.
I dropped to my own knees and patted Mikey on the back, grabbing him a paper towel from the side of the counter above where I was kneeling. With hands trembling violently, Mikey held it to his nose. He was struggling to breathe, his breaths were loud and raspy. "X-Xanax," he managed to spit out, "T-throat... c-clo-sing..." After he told me to get his medication, he vomited and resumed crying.

I started to panic as I ungracefully jumped over the kitchen peninsula and slid across the linoleum in my socks, nearly tripping over the phone. After I yanked open the medicine drawer, almost sliding it from the counter, my fingers fumbled with the bottles until I reached a small, orange prescription bottle with the label Mikey wanted. I struggled to open the childproof lid with my trembling hands. After some time (too much time) the lid popped off. Under an unreasonable amount of pressure, as I could hear Mikey choking, sobbing, and dry heaving in the background; I threw the lid behind me into the living room and dumped the pills on the table. "How many?" I asked.