The Fall of the Aftons

103: Michael Afton

As soon as Michael was awake, Henry was shoving food into his face. He tried to swat it away, but Henry wouldn't quit. And after a few minutes of struggling to avoid the food, he started to get extremely irritated. "Cut it out!" he exclaimed, finally reaching his breaking point.

Henry frowned. "Michael, you haven't had any food since Thursday night. It is crucial that you eat something!"

"I don't care," Michael mumbled as he shoved the food away.

"Michael, you pass out almost every single day because you're so malnourished. Nobody here wants you dead. We want you to be alive and well, happy and smiling and playful--just like you used to be." He sighed, set the food down on Michael's bedside table, then stood up. He pushed the chair away before he helped Michael out of his bed. "Come on," he muttered, leading Michael to the third-floor bathroom.

"What are you--" Michael started but was cut off when Henry shoved him onto the scale on the floor. He tried to get off, but Henry fought with him to keep him on the machine. "Let me go!"

"You're five foot seven, right?" Henry asked, holding Michael so he'd stay on the scale.

"I-I, um... Y-Yeah. I'm five-seven."

"You're eighty-eight pounds, Michael." He pointed to the scale. "You are dangerously below the average weight of a boy who's five foot seven. It's a fucking miracle that you've only been to the hospital one time for malnourishment!"

"I... I-I..." Michael tried to say, but he couldn't quite form the next words. He cleared his throat and tried again, taking in a short deep breath before he restarted. "I never knew that I got under one hundred. I was in the one-twenties about two months ago."

"Well, that's what happens when you starve yourself."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry!" he said desperately, tears starting to burn his eyes as he stepped off of the machine. "I've been meaning to stop, I-I really have. I'm so sorry!"

Henry frowned and wrapped Michael in a tight, caring hug. "It's okay, bud. We'll help you get through this. I promise." He let go and evaluated Michael with a sad smile. "Now come on. Let's go get you something to eat, okay?"

Michael nodded his head as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "O-Okay."

~ ~ ~

"Oh, thank goodness, you're okay!" Noah exclaimed when he saw Michael at his locker later the following week. "And you've got color in your cheeks now--gosh, you looked like you were on the brink of death when Lex found you last week. I'm so sorry."

Michael shrugged as he continued to grab things from his locker. "It's fine. I don't really care."

"I'm sorry, Michael, I'm so sorry. I know that I've said that a hundred times, but I am."

"I know you are. You don't have to keep telling me." He shut his locker and walked off to head to his first class with Noah trailing behind him.

Throughout the entire day, Noah stuck by Michael's side as much as he could. He was constantly trying to keep Michael happy, but Michael didn't understand why. It was starting to get irritating and Michael was getting fed up with it.

"Why are you treating me so well?" Michael asked Noah during their lunch period, cutting off Analex's complaining about her math teacher.

Noah stared at him, surprised. "Why do you ask? Am I not allowed to treat you well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked a little hurt by the question. "I always treat my friends well."

"But shouldn't you be, like... Ugh, I don't know... Hesitant to be nice? You were acting like a total jerk toward me two weeks ago, and now you're suddenly overly nice and caring toward me. I don't understand it." He sighed. He sounded crazy. "You... You hated me," he explained further. "And now you're this... You're this sweetheart toward me. I guess? I don't know. I just don't get it."

Noah stared at his food. "I... I feel bad," he mumbled. "So I'm trying to fix my mistake."

"What do you have to feel bad for?" Michael asked, confused. "I never cared about what you said. All you did was put me in a familiar setting again." Suddenly, he heard the sound of something coming at him from behind, so he reached back and caught it without even looking. It must've been some mean kid's fork because four pointy needles dug themselves into his palm. He studied his hand for a few seconds before he pulled the metal utensil out of his hand and dropped it on the floor. "Either way," Michael continued, ignoring the cafeteria's sudden madness about what just happened, "you don't need to make it up to me. I don't really care."

"What the fuck, dude?!" Analex exclaimed, completely bewildered. "Your hand was just impaled with a fork, yet you continue with the conversation like nothing happened! Doesn't your hand hurt?"

He shrugged. "I guess. It doesn't hurt that much, though."

Suddenly, Noah collapsed and he didn't get up. Analex swore under her breath and rushed to his side, trying to figure out how to help him. "He has a bad phobia of blood," she explained as she struggled to reach for her water bottle on the lunch table. "He faints whenever he sees any."

"I-I didn't know. I'm sorry," Michael mumbled. He pulled his backpack from the floor onto his lap and dug through it for his First Aid stuff. He quickly wrapped his hand with gauze and bandages before he put his stuff away.

A couple of minutes later, Noah regained consciousness. He apologized for being "such a baby," but Michael and Analex assured him it was fine. Everybody had their own fears and problems. They understood completely.