Unhinged

Chapter 1: Desperation

"We have no choice but to relieve you of your position immediately."

Mike gritted his teeth. "It was a mistake," he said impatiently, "you know that."

The head of mall security looked at him, unsure of the validity of his claim. The few prior incidents involving the new hire were easier to overlook. "You beat a man in front of his child," he said with a sigh.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know. But what if it wasn't his child? He could have been kidnapping him. You hired me to keep the mall safe, I had to be sure."

"There are other ways to be sure than resorting to violence." It was the head of mall security's turn to become impatient. "When I hired you, I didn't know you were so—"

"So what?" Mike asked, daring him.

"So unpredictable."

Mike leaned back in his chair, expecting an extreme adjective, like "unhinged." He realized he must have come up with that descriptor of himself, himself. The small mall security office felt like it was shrinking, closing in and ready to crush any hope of holding a job that Mike had left. His eyes darted around the room, at the sad coffee pot with day-old coffee in it, the empty trash can at his feet, and the scattering of theft report slips on the desk in front of him, realizing it was the last time he would see any of it. He couldn't say he was sad, but the disappointment in himself was more apparent now than it had ever been. He couldn't handle something as simple as mall security.

The head of mall security sighed again. "Look, you seem like a good young man. I'm sure you'll find a job somewhere. Just not here. I'm sorry."

Mike nodded and got up to leave.

"Oh, Mike? Thank you for your work here. For your next job, try to keep a level head, okay?"

Mike looked back without eye contact, pulled his lips between his teeth, and gave him another obligatory nod before leaving the room. "Next job" rang in his head. He was lucky enough to get the mall job — unfortunately, he wasn't sure he'd get another.

———

Mike returned home in the same beater car he had since he was sixteen, a loan from his parents which he never truly paid them back for. It's in his name, and he tries not to think about it. To make him feel better about not being able to afford another car, his motto about it was: if it ain't broke, don't fix it, except now it is broken and he can't fix it. The car rumbled to a halt in the driveway leading to a two-story, two-thousand square foot house. Mike truly could not complain: he was reminded of the homeless crisis every day on the news, but he still slammed the car door shut and sighed on his way to the front door.

Inside, it was dark and the only light was coming from the TV in the living room, not too far away. He could hear a faint laugh track. He tried — and failed — to set his backpack down quietly on the counter when his keys tumbled out. The clanging of metal was responded to by a groan from the couch.

"Mike? You're back."

It was no use being stealthy now. "Yeah," Mike whispered, and went into the living room. 

A human form made itself visible by removing layers of blankets. 

"I know I said I'd be back by ten. Sorry about that, Max."

The woman seemed unfazed as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Oh, don't worry," she yawned. "How was work?"

Mike hardly heard her. "It was fine. Um — is she...?"

"In her room," Max said, with a nod. "I didn't check to see if she was asleep."

"That's okay. I'll check later."