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Michael Rose Mell was a loud and active kid. He didn’t have many memories from his childhood. When he was in preschool, he remembered his moms getting called a lot because he would climb on trees or stood up against bullies. He would worry his moms often, but he always promised to be safe.
He broke a lot of his bones as a child.
In kindergarten, he was sat next to another boy, one that he didn’t know the name of but was instantly enamored with because of his Pacman shirt.
“Hi!” Michael smiled, noticing that he was drawing on a piece of paper. “What’s your name?”
The other boy looked up, blush softly dusting his cheeks before he looked back down. “Jeremiah. What’s yours?”
“My mommys named me Michelle, but I like the name Michael more!” Michael replied, kicking his legs from under the table. “I saw it on a show once. Or was it a movie? Whatever. Someone was named Michael, and I like the name Michael, so I want to go by Michael now! I told my mommys too, but they thought I was just being funny.”
“You can change your name?” Jeremiah asked him, grabbing at a deep blue crayon.
“Mhm! I did!” Michael grabbed his own piece of paper and crayon box, absentmindedly scribbling. “Do you want to change your name?”
Jeremiah nodded. “I wanna be Jeremy.”
“Okay, Jeremy!”
“Thanks, Michael.”
And ever since then, the two were inseparable. Wherever Michael went, Jeremy followed, even if it scared him to no end. Like when Michael promised Jeremy that climbing a tree and hanging from it upside down was a good idea. Jeremy held his arms out as Michael fell, but they both tumbled to the ground. Jeremy got a bloody nose and Michael got a lot of cuts on his knees and arms.
Still, the two would stay friends. They made their own secret handshake that had way too many moves, and future them shortened it. They made a secret language that the two could write in easily. Jeremy made them friendship bracelets, and they both promised to never stop being friends.
Michael also knew he wasn’t a girl. His classmates didn’t bully him that much for it, and most of them just assumed he was a tomboy or something. He would flinch if he heard the name ‘Michelle,’ and he cut his own hair once. His mothers brought him to a hair salon the next day. After that, he came out to them.
He knew they would accept him, but when he stood in front of them that day, hands clenched together inside the pocket of the hoodie Jeremy got him, glasses fogging up slightly, he felt a pang of fear strike down his spine like lightning. Michael smiled when they hugged him tightly.
He wasn’t Michelle anymore. He was Michael.
When he got to the sixth grade, things started going downhill. Sure, his moms told the school to change his name in their system from Michelle to Michael, and sure, most people didn’t know who he originally was, but there were still people from the year before. People who just wouldn’t let him forget about Michelle.
He would still have nightmares about the bruises he donned the rest of the day. He would still remember the looks on his mothers’ and Jeremy’s faces when he looked at them. He still remembers the gentle, feather-light touches of Jeremy’s hands cupping his jaw, turning his head side to side to get a better look at it.
Michael still remembers the feeling he felt when Jeremy held him like that, an emotion that was buried deep down inside of him clawing its way back up.
That day, he came to terms with being utterly in love with his best friend of, now, eight years. He swore to himself that he would never, never, let Jeremy find out. Jeremy was his only friend, and if he lost him, Michael would lose himself.
That night, when he got back home into his newly renovated basement, he decided to play a game to get his mind off of Jeremy, anything. It was a multiplayer game, he remembered that, and he remembered making friends with one guy. He talked more with him, and he remembered getting told that he could rant to him.
And so, he did. Michael ranted about everything that had been happening to him. All of the bullies, the bruises he donned when he got home that day, the thought of him trying out taking T in the next few years, his ever growing crush on his best friend. Everything he could possibly get off his chest, he did.
And all he received in response was a simple nine words.
“Ew, you’re a fag? Don’t talk to me anymore.”
The words struck a pang of hurt straight down to his heart. He froze and could barely remember to breathe. His fingers stilled over his keyboard, and he looked at the message for a few more seconds before logging off. He threw his headphones down onto the table and wheeled his chair back, thinking about the words.
Michael knew about self harm, he wasn’t an idiot. He just never imagined.. himself.. doing that. But now, he thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be a helpful alternative. He knew it wasn’t good, but honestly, it couldn’t be that bad! As long as no one found out or anything, he would be fine!
The blade cut across his tan skin, and he watched the blood pool out almost instantly. Shit, had he cut too deep? On his first one? Shit, shit, shit, he was a fucking screw up. Should’ve never been born. Of course Michael was sitting here, lonely, fucked up Michael. He made another cut, and another one, and one more. The blood was covering his arm now and he thought he was going to be sick.
The thoughts of no one finding out flew out of his head, and before he knew it, Michael was reaching for his phone, texting Jeremy at lightning speed, no matter how many typos there were.
Player 1: dudr o nrrd hrlp
The response was almost instant. He was thankful that Jeremy was used to Michael’s typos from too quickly typed messages.
Player 2: You need help? What’s up dude?
Player 1: bloid
Player 1: fjckng rveruwhre
Player 2: Blood? Are you okay?
Player 2: I’m coming over now. Are you going to pass out?
Player 1: no
Player 1: npt yhat mich bliod
Player 2: Alright. I’ll be there really soon, I promise. Do your moms know?
Player 1: in basemrnt
Jeremy was already rushing over to Michael’s house, thankful that they lived on the same block. Pulling out the key that Michael had given him (it was his extra), he unlocked the door and basically ran to the basement door. Throwing it open, he did.. not see what he was expecting.
Michael was hunched over, cradling his left arm in his chest, tears running down his face. His glasses were drawn askew on his face and foggy, making it so that he couldn’t see, although he probably couldn’t see with them. And then, the second thing Jeremy noticed, was the two items laying beside him.
A screwdriver and a taken apart pencil sharpener.
It dawned on Jeremy, and he realized why there were so many typos. One, he always has typos. Two, he probably couldn’t see that well. And three, he was left handed. If he had cut his left arm, it was probably hurting, like, a lot. And before he knew it, his feet were taking him to Michael’s side, crouching down to his height.
“Michael!” He shouted, realizing that was probably a bad idea by the way he flinched and softened his tone. “Michael, come on, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
Michael couldn’t really make out what he was saying, but he nodded and let Jeremy pull him up to his feet. He faintly made out the harsh, fluorescent lights of his bathroom. They needed to change the bulb. He remembered hissing when the water touched his cuts. He remembered watching the blood drip off of his arms, mixing with water, a memory that would be burned in his mind for life.
“Shit, I— I’m so, so fucking sorry, Jeremy.” Michael shook his head and cried again, a new wave slowly making its way out. “I— I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
“It’s alright,” Jeremy whispered, trying not to cry himself. “Thank you for texting me.”
“Shit, did I bother you? God, of course I did, I’m just a screw up.”
“No, you’re not, Michael. If you ever, ever, feel like this again, please text or call me, okay?” Jeremy asked him, and, shit, he was holding Michael’s face like that again.
Michael tried not to kiss him right then and there and nodded. “Okay.”
Michael did keep that promise. If he ever felt like he was going to grab at that drawer again, he remembered the hurt expression on Jeremy’s face, and grabbed at his phone instead, shaky fingers flying across the keyboard, and suddenly he was getting hugged by his best friend, and he fell in love with Jeremy all over again.
And, also, he quickly found out that it was getting extremely difficult to keep from kissing Jeremy as soon as possible. Michael’s extreme crush didn’t seem to be getting better, and instead, it fucking hightened. It was growing every second, and he didn’t know what to do about it. It’s not like he could tell Jeremy, he wasn’t gay!
In eighth grade, he came out to Jeremy correctly.
Well, not exactly. Michael and Jeremy both knew that Michael was always gay, and it had just been sort of.. known. They didn’t need to make it a sort of sobbing happy tears mess, they just knew it about Michael and that was that. But, when they had gotten accidentally drunk from some person who offered them alcohol at a party the two had gone to, Michael sat Jeremy down, holding back a lot of laughter.
“Jeremy,” Michael started, focusing on not letting his lips curl up. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, man,” Jeremy slurred, “What’s up?”
Michael huffed, letting a few giggles slip out before composing himself again. “I think I might just be a little gay. Just a little bit.”
Jeremy had a straight face before he bursted out laughing. “Just a little bit? Dude, you tell me how hot guys are all the time!”
The two had laughed over it in the middle of some random person’s guest bedroom, drunk off of their asses.