Unsteady (COMPLETED)

SEVENTEEN

Now - Carmella

I watch him battle his demons in silence, giving him a moment to take in everything on his own. My eyes roam his body as he leans his head into his hands - his elbows firmly planted on the old table. His hair is a little longer than normal and his face is lined with some fine wrinkles, but he is still as handsome as the first time I met him. His eyes are clenched shut - something he's always done when he doesn't want to show me what he's thinking.

My eyes continue to wander him and land on his hands which are shaking slightly - an indicator that he is fighting a losing battle and will be reaching for the bottle soon. 

I get up from my chair and walk around the table until I am at the chair closest to him. I slowly pull it out, allowing it to scrape against the floor, and then sit down. I don't move for a moment, giving him a chance to say anything before I do. After a few more moments of silence, I place my hand on his arm and clear my throat. 

"I know how hard that was." 

"No, Ella, you don't." He sneers, his voice harsh and raspy with emotion. "You can't possibly know how hard that was. You don't know how I feel and you don't know what's going through my head, so don't even try."

"That's not fair, Mike. I'm trying to offer my support!" I say, my voice raising in the end. 

"And I appreciate it, but nothing is going to make this better right now." He says, before slamming his hand on the table. "What the fuck was I thinking? I know how it feels to have an alcoholic for a parent. I know the embarrassment of them showing up in public places and causing a scene. I understand why he hates me. What the hell is wrong with me, Ella?"

"You have a prob-"

"I never wanted this. I never wanted to be an alcoholic. I never wanted to be such a failure of a father and husband. I always said I would never be this person." He states with disgust as he gestures to himself. "Yet here I am, everything that is my father and mother all wrapped into one fucked up being."

"Mike-"

"I can't do this." He says as he pushes himself back, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He hesitates a moment before shaking his head and standing up from his chair. 

"What do you mean, Mike?" I ask as I follow suit. 

He walks away from me, ignoring my question and heads into the kitchen. I quickly trail after him, a sinking feeling setting into my stomach. 

"Mike?" I say, my voice coming out as a squeak. 

His attention flitters over to me. His face is twisted into an expression of utter agony and his eyes are filled with so much anguish, it sends a knife through my heart. 

"Babe?"

"I'm sorry, Ella." He croaks, his eyes looking everywhere but mine. "I'm so sorry, but I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" I ask. There is an edge to my voice that makes him visibly flinch. "What can't you do, Michael?"

"I can't be the man you and Ty deserve. I'm not a family man." He says before running his hand over his face. 

"You can, you just don't want to." 

"That isn't true." He says firmly.

"Isn't it?" I ask in a dangerously calm tone. 

"No, it's not."

"You don't want to because you know it's going to be hard. You know that this is going to require for you to work at it and you don't want to do that." I state.

"No-"

"You are a weak man, Michael Travers."

"I am not." He says, but there is no conviction behind it.

"No, you are." I spit. "You are a weak man who doesn't care about anyone but himself."

"That isn't true!" He bellows, taking a threatening step towards me.

"Yes, it is! If it wasn't, you wouldn't be giving up already!" I yell back. "If you weren't, you would be willing to fight for this! You would be willing to fight for us!"

He grips his hair with both hands, pulling slightly at the roots. "You don't understand how hard this is!" He screams into my face.

"I don't?" I ask.

"No! You don't understand what it feels like to need something to get you through the day. You don't understand the pull. You don't understand-"

"I understand more than you think," I reply. "Do you realize that I, too, have problems?"

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. 

"I have my own problems. I rely heavily on my depression and anxiety medication to get through the day and even then, sometimes I still struggle." I tell him honestly. "But that's how normal people handle their demons. They go to the doctors. They get medication if they need it. And they take their medication every day. They don't turn to alcohol to solve everything.

"Because Michael," I say, looking him dead in the eye. "Alcohol doesn't solve anything. In fact, alcohol is the source of all your problems."

"You know nothing." He mumbles as he turns away and begins opening and closing the cupboards, searching for something.

I sigh. "Believe it or not, I understand," I say softly. "I'd understand even more if you would just talk to me. Lean on me and we will work past this together."

He opens one more cupboard and he sighs in relief before reaching inside and pulling out a small bottle.

"Michael, no," I say, disappointment lacing my words. 

"Leave me alone, Ella." He mutters. His voice is low and tense and his face shows how defeated he feels in this movement. 

"No, Mike. I won't leave you alone. I won't let you give up already. I can't." I rush out, my eyes watching the small, brown bottle in his hand. 

"Just go. Leave like you said you wanted to. You would be better off without me." He states weakly as he begins to unscrew the lid. 

"Fuck, Mike." I curse under my breath as I reach over and try to grab the bottle from his hands. He reacts quickly with an elbow to my nose and I can instantly feel a warm liquid spill from it.