Before Killing Was Cool ➊ FRERARD

2: Shut Up And Drive

C h a p t e r | T w o

Present Day - Mikey

Mikey's on the floor, trying to concentrate his sight on his hands, but they're blurring in and out of focus.

"Come on, kid, you can't stay in this... place of death." A man's tugging on his arm, pulling him to his feet. Mikey allows him to escort him out.

That obnoxious goddamn ringing in his ears, God, he can't stand it. Amongst the crowds of police officers and, already, a flood of press, Mikey recognises one student who hasn't fled the scene - or, at least, showed up very fortunately late.

Pete doesn't notice the boy approaching him, his attention directed on the untouched cigarette between his fingers. Mikey stands next to him without really looking at him, scared in case he'll disappear like so many already had.

"You picked a good day to skip," Mikey mumbles. He's still in a trance, unable to process what's happened - he can't even think about screaming or crying.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Pete says softly, sounding like he really means it. Pete would be secretly ecstatic that his crush is finally speaking to him but the circumstances crush his happiness.

Pete offers Mikey his unlit cigarette but Mikey shakes his head. His brother always told him never to smoke. "What am I supposed to do now, Pete?"

Pete quickly gets over his shock that Mikey knows his name because they've never even shared a class in school what with the age difference. Mikey's only a sophomore. "I don't know. As long as it's not nothing, Mikes." The nickname slips out and judging by the expression it receives in response, Pete regrets it immediately.

"That's my brother's name for me."

Pete could've prevented this if it weren't for his ridiculous attempts at friendship with the school psychopath. He didn't expect it to go down this way, but he still could've saved the dead, and Pete thinks - no, knows - he can't do anything right.

"What can I do to help?" Pete asks.

Mikey stares at his hands again. "Nothing. I don't expect you to even care."

"Of course I care."

"Pete, I can't go to the station. I can't deal with the interrogations. I just want to get out of here." Mikey, who is just fifteen years old at this point, feels his first authentic emotion since the incident - overwhelming guilt. "I hurt Frank. This is my fault." But then he shifts his pity to Pete. "I can't even imagine what it's like for you; your best friend—"

"Stop. It's not your fault, it's Frank's." Bursts of anger and distress make Pete's insides hurt.

"But if I hadn't—"

"Mikey," Pete cuts him off, "bad things happens to good people."

"But it's not fair! My brother doesn't deserve this. He's just gone and there's nothing I can do but relive the sounds and the black hole of the barrel sucking me in then - then it's pointed to my brother's head and the doors and the sounds, the sounds—"

"Try to think of something else. There are other sounds here, y'know, like my voice and your breathing. Close your eyes and put your fingers on your neck," Pete suggests and Mikey does, "can you feel your heartbeat? Count it, it'll calm you down."

Mikey feels his pulse travelling down his hands - one, two, three - and slowly loses himself, the world outside dimming to a faint glimmer, nothing around him but the steady beat keeping him alive and Pete's voice telling him he'll be okay.