Chapter Text
Connor didn't know how he'd got into this.
Scratch that.
He knew exactly how, he just didn't know how to get out of it!
How do you react to something like that?
He didn't plan to witness this... Fight?
Could you call that a fight?
Between the boy with the glasses and his lanky friend. Connor had only understood half of what they were talking about, but the fact that the other had called the glasses-wearer a loser in such a cold and derogatory way, had even hit him.
But what had hit him harder was the other man's reaction when his no longer best friend had left the bathroom.
He slid backwards down the closed bathroom, pulled his knees up and rested his head on them.
Shit, how am I going to get out? Connor thought and looked out of his hiding place towards the door.
He hadn't intended to hide, in fact he wasn't hiding at all. He was just sitting on the washing machine, which was at the very back of this far too large bathroom in a kind of private area.
But since the boy with the glasses was blocking the door, he was trapped here with him.
Connor heard a strangled sound and leaned forward again to check on the boy.
The boy's head was now completely buried in his arms and his shoulders began to twitch suspiciously. Immediately afterwards, the sound of sobbing could be heard.
Connor felt kind of sorry for the boy. Even if he didn't understand the SQUIP part of his conversation, he understood the part about the 12-year friendship that the other had trampled on. It hurt to hear that even such a long-lasting friendship can fall apart like that.
The sobbing grew louder and the boy began to mumble something that Connor couldn't understand from a distance.
The boy lifted his head and tried unsuccessfully to wipe away the tears. He got up on wobbly knees to go to the sink. Once there, he looked at himself in the mirror.
Connor leaned a little further forward. He wanted to see what was going on.
In his carelessness, he knocked over the almost empty detergent, which fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Connor's eyes widened in shock.
Sure that he had been spotted, he ducked his head, but the boy only looked towards the door, terrified.
He must have thought that someone had knocked on the door. As if hypnotized, he looked at the door, waiting for the knock to come again.
Connor leaned forward again and knocked something over again.
This time it seemed to trigger something in the boy.
Abruptly, he was overcome with fear and began to wash his hands and face in panic. Getting faster and faster.
The water splashed and then he turned quickly to the door and put his hand on the handle.
He did not open it. Instead, he took a deep breath, wiped his eyes with his sleeve and went back to the sink.
Connor got off the washing machine. Either, he was going to take advantage of the situation to run away or he was going to talk to the boy.
No matter what he did, he could no longer watch this with a good conscience.
The boy looked at himself in the mirror for a long time and hummed a tune to calm himself down. But apparently to no avail.
“This is a heinous night," the boy said, hanging his head low. "I wish I stayed at home instead. Watching cable porn.” There was frustration and anger in his voice.
Connor was now standing behind him and wanted to tap him on the shoulder, but was startled when the boy banged his fists on the edge of the sink. “Or wish I offed myself instead Wish I was never born!”
Connor backed away with his hands up, as the other pushed away from the sink and frantically gesturing with his hands, talking himself more and more into a rage.
“I'm just Michael who's a loner, so he must be a stoner. Rides a PT Cruiser, god, he's such a loser.”
How the boy still hadn't noticed him, was a mystery to Connor. But he seemed so caught up in his head that he blocked out everything else.
“Michael flying solo. Who you think that you know Michael in the bathroom by himself. All by himself!”
Connor didn't know whether the boy was trying to convince himself or someone else. The other man took a deep breath, seemed to have calmed down and Connor also breathed an audible sigh of relief.
The boy, Michael, flinched and turned around.
A look of dread spread across his face when he saw Connor.
The latter would have been happy if his phase of 'magically not being noticed' had continued, but instead the two of them looked each other straight in the eye.
Connor with a mixture of confusion, pity, embarrassment and Michael with 'Oh shit, ground open up and swollow me whole. PLEASE!'.
The silence between them was unbearable. No one said anything, no one knew what to say.
What do you say in situations like this?
'Sorry, I overheard your little meltdown, but it's cool.'
No! You don't do that!
Realization overcame Michael.
The boy in the dark hoodie and the long brown hair had been here the whole time. He had seen him, he heard him.
“Awesome party, I'm so glad I came,” he said matter-of-factly. He turned around, got into the bathtub and closed the curtain shut behind him.
Connor stared in the direction of the tub. The outline of Michael, clearly visible as he tried to make himself smaller to hide.
To hide from him or to hide from what he had said?
Connor turned towards the door.
He should go, he had wanted to be gone for a long time.
In fact, he didn't even want to be at this party where he didn't know anyone. Where the music was too loud and the people were too drunk.
Why had he let this girl persuade him to come?
The door handle felt cold and so did leaving the boy, no Michael, sitting alone after he had some kind of nervous breakdown.
So he went to the bathtub, knelt down and gently tugged at the curtain.
“Um,” he began uncertainly, fuck, maybe I should have thought of something first.
“Are you okay?”
Stupid question. He knew the other wasn't okay.
“Yes, everything's fine. Thanks for asking,” came the reply, sounding far too chipper as warranted.
“I'm Connor,” Connor said and pushed the curtain aside to look at Michael.
Michael wanted to protest, but didn't. He sighed instead and closed his eyes. “Okay, give it to me, I'm ready,” he said, defeated.
Connor frowned, “I'm not here to mock you. I just wanted to...”
Yeah, what did he want to do?
Soothe his guilty conscience. That was all there was to it.
Why should he get involved in the other person's problems... but on the other hand...
What am I actually doing here? I'd rather be left alone in this situation myself.
“It doesn't matter,” Connor finally said and stood up. “If you're all right, that's fine. I'll go, then.”
With hasty steps, he left the damn bathroom and headed straight out of the house.
He stroked his hair. This had been so damn awkward. He just wanted to get out of here fast.
“What am I doing here?” he muttered. How often was he going to ask himself that today?
Sighing, he fumbled around in his jacket pocket. He needed some time to relax.
The day had been fucked up enough.
First all the crap at breakfast with his parents, then the stupid guy with the cast who wanted to mess with him and then Miguel, who ...
No, no.
Connor shook his head, shaking off the thought of Miguel. He wanted to forget everything and put it behind him. After all, that was why he was here. Wasn't it?
He had his lighter now, but then he remembered that he didn't have any of his stash. “Just great,” he grumbled angrily and clenched his free hand into a fist.
“Hi, uh, Connor was it?” he heard from behind him. Connor turned around, surprised by the sudden address, lighter in hand. To his surprise, Michael was standing there.
“Hm,” said Connor in response to Michael's question.
“You smoke?” Michael asked, trying to engage Connor in smaltalk.
“Yeah, bad habit,” Connor said simply and put the lighter back in his pocket. How he would love to have a smoke right now. “But as they say, if you don't have a bad habit, you probably don't have a personality.”
Larry had often pointed out his bad personality, mocked Connor in his mind.
Meanwhile, Michael had come closer. “Hm, yes, that makes sense,” he said, nervousness in his voice.
Michael was surprisingly easy to read.
Normally Connor found it difficult to interpret others, but Michale was like an open book. Despite the fact that he had only known the boy for a few minutes.
“Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about what happened in the bathroom,” he said, but Michael continued to look at him uncertainly.
“I don't know anyone here anyway,” Connor added, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Michael relaxed a little, “Where are you from?”
“Rochester,” Connor said, paused and added, ”New York.”
Michael swallowed and looked at him as if he were from another planet.
“Dude! Why are you driving from New York to New Jersey on the first day of school?”
“Why is that Dave guy having a party on the first day of school?” Connor fired back, pointing at the house, from which loud music was still blaring.
His nerves from the exhausting day were already thin enough, so he could do without any accusations.
”It's Jake, but ok, fair. But still,” Michael defended himself, ”Are you visiting anyone here? Some relatives?"
“Yes,” Connor lied, glad of the idea Michael had given him.
All this was slowly becoming too much for him. He didn't even know why he was telling the others so much.
He had actually come here to clear his head and now he was chatting to a boy whose break-up with his best(?) friend he had witnessed.
That was definitely not on his list of things he wanted to do today.
“Are you staying long?” asked Michael, who was becoming uncomfortable with the silence between them.
“Hm, longer,” Connor said dismissively, wanting to end the conversation.
“Have you been to their place or where are your things?”
Stupid question, here in my bag of course.
Connor reached to the side, where his bag should be. Instead, he reached into the empty space.
The wasn't there.
Quickly, he reached to the other side, but it wasn't there either.
“Shit, shit!” Connor said, grasping his head.
This couldn't be true!
Where was it?
Maybe still in that bathroom?
No, if he remembered correctly, the weight on his shoulder had been gone for some time.
His thoughts began to race.
Where and when had he last seen his bag?
At the station?
On the bus?
In the city where this girl insisted on dragging him to this damn party, only to leave him there completely alone?
“Maybe you left them at the station. Give them a call,” Michael said, trying to be helpful as he could sense the other one's panic.
He gave Connor a friendly pat on the back to reassure him a little. It always had helped with Jeremy.
“Yeah, that's right. Good idea,” Connor said with relief and grabbed his smartphone from his pocket.
Luckily, he hadn't left it in his bag.
After a quick Google search, he found a phone number. Now he just hoped that someone would answer the phone at this time of night.
He let it ring for a miserably long time until someone finally picked up.
Fortunately for Connor, his bag really was found. However, for whatever reason, it was sent back to the train station in Rochester.
The nice train employee offered to contact the station in Rochester tomorrow to store the bag for him.
He gladly accepted the offer.
Sighing, Connor ended the conversation. That was all he needed. First he wants to run away from this horrible place and now he has to go back.
But he had no other choice, all his important documents and all his money were in his bag.
I wish I'd just done it, then I wouldn't have any problems now. But no. Thanks for nothing, inner voice.
“So~ What did they say?”
Connor looked up in surprise. Why was Michael still there talking to him? Shouldn't he just go back to the party or home?
Strange guy, but Connor didn't seem any less strange to Michael.
"Has been found, but gone back to New York. So I kind of have to go back too. That'll be fun,” he slumped against the front of the house, defeated.
“Oh, that really sucks,” Michael said sympathetically and took up the same position next to Connor.
While Connor was thinking about where he could spend the night and get the money for a ticket to Rochester, Michael thought about something else.
“I've got it. I'll drive you,” he announced happily.
“W-what?” Connor stammered, surprised by the offer.
“It's really no problem, Dude. You need help and I'm just the helpful type. You don't have to give me anything in return,” said Michael, grinning enthusiastically, visibly excited about his idea.
“Yeah, sure,” Connor scoffed, pushing himself off the wall of the house and standing in front of Michael.
“And then you'll sell my organs or do something else to me. Or maybe you'll give me that SQUIP stuff, whatever that is.”
Michael's eyes twitched at the mention of that 'SQUIP' drug. So the provocation had worked.
Connor had had enough of others trying to play him for a fool, or pranking him just to get a reaction from him.
Without waiting for an answer, he simply left, leaving Michael behind.
He didn't know where he was going, but the main thing was to get away from here.
Anything was better than staying here any longer.
He didn't get far though.
After just a few feet, he heard Michael shouting behind him. Connor just kept walking, but Michael caught up with him.
“Where are you going anyway? To your supposed relatives? I know you were lying about that.”
Michael stood in front of Connor and stopped him from going any further.
Michale crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Listen,” he began and Connor rolled his eyes.
Why had he stopped at all?
“I know, I know. It's creepy, but you're not the only one who's had a shit night." Michael lowered his eyes and took a moment before he could continue.
“We both want to get away from something. I don't care what you're running away from, but I need a distraction at the moment and you need your bag. So why not kill two birds with one stone?”
Michael held out his hand, “Do we have a deal?”
Connor looked suspiciously at the hand in front of him.
The boy in front of him was dramatic, but he was right.
Connor had nowhere to sleep and no money to get anywhere.
He looked Michael in the eye. In the little time the two of them had spent together, he hadn't outed himself as a dangerous person, but that didn't mean Connor trusted him.
“Deal,” he said shaking Michaels hand, sealing his fate.
“Great, my car is nearby,” said Michael, already jingling his keys.
The green PT Cruiser was quickly found. It had been a long time since Connor had been in a car this old. Larry would probably have called it a piece of junk, but somehow the car had charm.
Michael dug a charger out of the center console and plugged it into the cigarette lighter.
“What's the name of the station?” he asked, tapping on the screen of his smartphone. Connor gave him the name and Michael started the sat nav.
“Let's go then,” and with that Michael started the engine and the two of them began their long road trip.
Connor was surprised by the other's taste in music. Bob Marley.
Who would have thought that the two of them had something in common.
He looked out of the window into the dark night.
This whole thing was insane. The list of bad decisions he'd made today just kept getting longer.
Connor looked at his smartphone, it was almost midnight.
With his other hand, he felt around in his left jeans pocket.
The pills were still there. There was still a way out for him.