Secrets Entwine

Chapter One

                 

The ding of my text alert woke me. The illuminated screen read one forty-five in the morning, and the text from Michael was gibberish. I sighed heavily, knowing exactly what my best friend needed, and rolled out of bed.

I opened my window to the night air, walked quietly to the kitchen, and retrieved two glasses of water. Back in my room, I pulled the cot from under my bed and set it up. Moments later, Michael rustled the bush outside my window.

"Hey," he said heavily.

He managed to fall halfway into my room, and I pulled him the rest of the way. He smelled like whiskey, and the only reason I knew what whiskey smelled like was because I smelled it on Michael pretty regularly. His dad didn't keep a close eye on the alcohol like mine, who only drank cheap beer. 

"What happened?" I asked, but he was already falling asleep.

I pulled him up so that he was leaning on the wall and shook him.

"Hey. No sleeping till you drink your water."

He said something incomprehensible, and held out his hand for the water. I had to help him like I did my little brother, but we got both glasses in him. Lately, he had been feeling down, as I put it. He didn't like the word depression, so we used phrases like feeling down, a bed spell, a slump, etc. 

For the last two years, he'd have spells of depression. Sometimes, there was a clear trigger, like the time his dad kicked his older sister out of the house, but sometimes it just happened with no warning. When he was depressed, he'd get into more fights with his dad than usual, and end up at my house in the middle of the night. He wasn't always drunk, but this bad spell, which had been going on for a week and a half, had been filled with drinking. 

"What happened," I repeated.

The water seemed to have revived him a little.

"My grades," he mumbled.

I shouldn't have been surprised. We had gotten our report cards, and he had two D's. Some kids would think that's not too bad, at least he didn't fail anything, but Michael was a straight A student. He was much smarter than me, and I blamed his last few bouts of depression for the grades. His dad, who didn't bother much with Michael most of the time, cared about his grades. I suspected it was for the purely selfish reason that if Michael made good grades he could go to college and move out.

We managed to get him on the cot, though he had pulled me in with him. He laughed as the room spun around him, and his stubble grazed my cheek. Once I disentangled myself from his heavy limbs, I pulled his shoes off. I put a blanket over him and a trash can by his head, and looked at his beautiful face. His hardened features were softer when he slept, and I longed to fix him.

"I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he whispered.

"Stop it," I replied. 

"I'm so fucked up. I don't want to get tired of me," he muttered.

I touched his shoulder to reassure him.
"I'm not going anywhere."

I couldn't tell if he heard me. He passed out cold. Since I was sure he was unconscious, I gently smoothed his dark hair to the side. I resisted the urge to kiss his forehead. Some lines were just too dangerous to cross. Michael had no idea I was gay. He also had no idea that I was in love by fucked up mess of a best friend.

I left him asleep in my room the next morning. It's what we usually did. He'd sleep it off for a while, then check into school late or skip all together. My parents didn't know. I didn't think they'd be mad that I was getting a drunken teenager out of the streets in the middle of the night, but they would try to get involved with his family life. Michael absolutely did not want my parents involved in that.

He showed up at lunch with take out from an Italian restaurant for both of us. I secretly gushed that he did something so thoughtful for me, but reminded myself that it was just a friendly thing to do, especially after showing up drunk at someone's house in the middle of the night.

I turned away from our friend Jackson and the dirty joke he was telling to get my spaghetti and look at Michael. He looked pretty rough. There were dark circles under his chocolate eyes.

"I'm sorry about last night," Michael mumbled, barley meeting my eyes. 

Everyone laughed at that dirty joke I had ignored.

"Stop apologizing. How are you this morning?"

He shrugged and was about to speak, but our emotionally un-evolved friend noticed we weren't paying attention to him.

"What happened? You two fight?" Jackson shouted.

We hadn't laughed at his stupid joke, and he was insecure enough that he wanted our attention.

"What happened, Isaac? Michael ride your mom too hard?" He laughed really hard at his own joke.

Michael stiffened at my side and pointed his white plastic fork determinedly at Jackson.

"Shut the hell up about his mom," he growled.

"Come on, man. He's just joking," Collin tried to smooth Michael's edges. 

Jackson looked into Michael's furious eyes and down at the little fork, and seemed to consider that it could actually do some damage in Michael's hands.

"I'm sorry, man." He held his hands up in surrender.

"Don't tell me."

Jackson looked obediently at me.

"It's okay. I'm not mad," I said before he could open his mouth.

Michael relaxed and stabbed his meatball with the fork.

"Michael," Jackson braved more conversation. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, you know about...moms and all."

This was a serious face-palm moment, but I simply watched with half-sucked noodle hanging out of my mouth. Michael's mom was a sore subject, and in his current state it was very likely that Michael punch  Jackson for his attempted empathy.

"Say what you want about my mom. It's all true, but leave Isaac's mom out of it."

And because Michael insisted, everyone sitting with us nodded in agreement that my mom was off limits for crude humor. I looked sideways at him while the conversation slowly turned to more comfortable topics, and wondered how he could influence people like that.

Intimidation was definitely a factor. He was a tough guy and could definitely handle himself, but there was more to it. They respected him. Maybe because he had more life experience than the rest of us, or simply that he was a genuinely sincere person. It always impressed me, and even though I didn't need a group wide agreement to avoid teasing my family, I loved his protective tendencies.

"You gonna drive me home tonight?" he asked popping a meatball in his mouth.

I nodded. He came to all my games, and I drove him home after.

Thanks for reading. Vote or comment if you liked it! There's more to come and I'm really excited about this story.