Chain Reaction 3.1.13: Work Related, Part One

A/N: I'm chopping this up into two updates, back-to-back, because the number of pictures gets up into the 20s, a point at which I think I need to stop--for loading purposes if nothing else.

Part Two will be released tomorrow!

And Mike takes the lead for this story for quite a while yet. So much juicy drama that, well, you'll see...
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Michael

     I moved out of the safe house, and with the money I'm making now plus what I'd had saved, I have enough to buy my own, real house. Not the basement apartment at my Dad's; not a safe house.

     It's just a one-bedroom place with a basement. With the way things are going, that's all I'll need.

     I'm so lonely. It's been months since I last saw Darrin. The only thing keeping me from losing my mind is that I try to stay busy.

     In addition to the work I do for Aunt Em, I have a SimTube channel. It's mostly a bunch of crap, but I do gets some subscribers. I'm not making much of anything off it. Again, I have to stay busy.

     The worst is trying to get some sleep. I've somehow managed to work myself into a "backwards" sleep schedule: work at night, sleep during the day.

     I join a 24 hour gym (NOT the one where I met Darrin). It's not too crowded at night, so it works well with my sleep schedule. I'm a few hours later tonight, or rather this morning, than I've been previously thanks to work taking longer than I expected. I typically come in about one. It's four.

     Wait a minute...

      Is that... 

     It is. My heart starts hammering in my chest, and I realize I've been holding the bar down too long. I let it up, and Darrin goes to one of the treadmills.

     Just ignore him, just ignore him, just ignore him, just ignore him. 

     No matter how many times I tell myself that, it doesn't work.

     He hasn't seen me. It's possible he wouldn't recognize me right away. At least with a quick glance.

     He's kept the five o'clock shadow look, almost like he's purposefully shaving it close but not to the skin. That's probably it. It looks good on him, gives him more of that stereotype detective look. It's hot.

     He's right. there.

     So much for ignoring him.

     He finally sees my reflection in the glass, and he almost trips.

     I smile. "Hi."

     Mouth agape, he turns off the treadmill and steps down from it.

     "Michael, what... What are you doing here?"

     I brush some hair back behind my ear. I hope it looks okay. I mean, this is the first time he's seen me since he ended things.

     "What do you mean? I come here two to three nights a week." WHEN I start a new relationship, I don't want to begin it overweight, and I have to work hard to avoid that tendency.

     "You do?" He's shaking. I thought cops were supposed to be able to remain cool in stressful situations. I guess he's only human. "You changed your hair." Pointing out the obvious now, is he? Well, maybe he's trying to find something to talk about.

     "Yeah. I had the back cut, kept the top long, and I finally figured out how to use product on it."

     "Oh." His cheeks get pinker. He looks at his shoes.

     Holy plumbob! Am I the one who has it more together the first time meeting after a breakup? I have to bite my lip to hold back the smirk. I guess it's not fair. I had a full five minutes to hide my reaction when I first saw him walk in. 

     He clears his throat. "Well, um, it looks good." He closes his eyes tightly, perhaps regretting his words.

     I decide to break up the tension. "Do you want to go get some coffee? There's a café upstairs."

     Sigh of relief. "Yes." He visibly relaxes, and we walk upstairs quietly.

     When we arrive at the empty café, the barista flirts with him, but I don't think Darrin even notices. Then again, maybe the guy flirts with everyone because he hands me a piece of paper with his phone number on it alongside my coffee cup.

     The barista's making me uncomfortable the way he's staring at us. Then Darrin asks me something that makes me want to hide under the table.

     "So are you seeing anyone?"

     I hide my reaction in my mug, swallow some coffee, and take a breath. "No." Turnabout's fair play. "Are you?" I'm not sure how I want him to answer.

     "No."

     I nod and drink more of my coffee, looking down into my cup. If he'd said yes, it would've hurt, but it would've helped me, I think, find better closure. Him saying no... does that mean he wants to rekindle...? No. He probably doesn't.

     "So you come here two to three nights a week?" he asks, and he sounds like he's not happy with that information, a kind of desperate what-do-I-do-now kind of unhappiness.

     "Yeah. For about a month now."

     "I'd kind of thought you would stay at the old gym. I was trying to find a new place to go."

     Anger starts forming in the pit of my stomach. "Well, now you know the old one's free."

     "I just paid for a six month membership here."

     "That's not my fault. Are you saying you want me to find another place? I bought a membership, too, you know." This is outrageous! Are we really going to have a turf battle?

     That makes me think of something.

     "Speaking of 'places to go,' I want the key back to Dad's basement apartment." If he can be childish about things, so can I.

     His mouth drops. Then he scowls. "Fine." He pulls out his keys and starts working the apartment key free of the loop. "It's not like I'll ever need it again anyway."

     I stand up, and he follows me.

     "It's not like you'll be needing it either, since you moved and all. I guess you can give it to your dad."

     I take the key back. "I never told you I moved." Living in the safe house wasn't moving. That was temporary. He knows that. He's implying more.

     'Oops' is written all over his face.

     "You've been keeping tabs on me?" The red decor is good for me right now.

     He backs away. "No. Well, not really. I went by the house... and then your dad's..." His face matches the wall behind him.

     The barista looks utterly entertained.

     "So you went looking for me."

     "Well, no. Not exactly. Not like that. I just... wanted... I had to make sure you were okay. I was on duty and everything, so it was... work related."

     "Are you kidding me, Darrin? Really? Work related?!"

     "It's not like I stopped caring!"

     "You were wanting to do a drive-by?! Well, you...! I...!"

     I put my hands down. So now we're yelling at each other.

     Plum, I miss him so much!

     No. Stop it! 

     I find my voice. "I'm... fine." I want to give him my new address. 'Yes, please, drive by my house any time you want! Come inside for coffee! Have popcorn and watch a movie! Spend the night!'

     Crap. Stop it! This is getting dangerous.

     I open my eyes. "I'm hungry now." I storm past him to the barista, who happily fills my order: a piece of chocolate cake.

      I'm breaking my diet for you, as*hole, I think very loudly to him where he sits moping on the other side of the seating area. I eat the cake with my bare hands, being absolutely disgusting. In fact, I even suck on my fingers when I'm done.

     We don't say anything else to one another, and eventually, he gets up to leave. It's time for him to go to work. I remember.

     I decide to go for a jog.

     I can't go anywhere without some memory of Darrin creeping up on me. Last winter, we sat on those benches on our first real date. We drank hot cocoa. He told me about his parents.

     I hope his parents are happy now. Maybe he'll do as they want and go marry some woman and have a boatload of kids. 

     My stomach clenches up, and it's not just from my emotional pain. I haven't eaten something as unhealthy as that cake in a long time.

     I run over to the wall at the marina and puke my guts out over the side.
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Mike's house--by one of my favorite builders (slightly redecorated by me):