The Puppeteer's Labyrinth

i didn't ask

Michael pulled up into the driveway and eased his car to a slow stop. For a few moments, he sat in silence, dreading going inside. All he wanted to do was go straight to bed and sleep off the emotional and mental stress of the day, but he didn't know how to do that while avoiding a confrontation from Laura. He knew she'd see through him in an instant. 

He considered any lie he might be able to get away with, but finally resolving that it was hopeless, he let out a sigh, picked up his backpack, and got out of the car.

He shuffled slowly to the door, forcing his eyes open as he unlocked it and stepped in.

The lights inside were comfortably dim and he could hear music from the kitchen; a collection of classicals and instrumentals Laura had put together. The smell of the pumpkin bread which she baked often wafted down the hallway, and his shoulders relaxed, the invisible weight upon them feeling strangely lighter.

He set his backpack down as the sound of pattering rain began outside.

"Mike?" Laura called from the kitchen.

Michael came around from the hallway to see her changing loaves of bread from their tins to baking sheets while a tall pot of soup simmered on the stove beside her. He managed a wave.

Laura eyed him, gaze wandering over his face with some concern as she removed her oven mitts. "You okay?" She asked, pulling off her apron.

He nodded as she came to hug him. As her arms wrapped around him, he felt his shoulders slump and he let his eyes close. He just felt so tired, and he felt so comfortable here in her embrace. He could have slept where he was standing. But, noticing his strange disposition, her head tilted toward his.

"What's wrong?" She questioned softly. 

"M'just tired," Michael answered quietly. It wasn't a lie, just not the full truth.

Again, she seemed to notice.

Laura leaned back, raising a hand to brush away the hair in his eyes as she studied him. "You're more than just tired," she commented knowingly. "What's wrong, Mike?"

He sighed, forcing his eyes to stay open. "It's just been a long day," he muttered. She frowned.

"Did no one come?" She asked worriedly. He scoffed. "Oh, someone came alright," he muttered to himself, gaze cast to the floor. She straightened.

"Who?" Laura questioned, looking at him.

He frowned silently. "Elizabeth," he finally answered. From the expression on his face, she could tell this wasn't a happy thing as she let her hands fall to his shoulders. "How... did that go?" She prodded gently. Michael said nothing for a few moments.

"Not great." He muttered, arms falling from where they'd been wrapped around her as he stepped away toward the table. 

Her gaze followed him. "...I'm sorry." She apologized quietly.

Michael shrugged carelessly. "It's not you who should be sorry," he murmured to himself, unable to help the frown pulling at his mouth as he urged his weakened hands to grab a piece of fruit in the center bowl. He reached for an apple, peeling off its barcode sticker while Laura remained silent behind him. 

"What... happened?" She finally asked, voice hesitant and meek. 

He moved to lean against the countertop, biting into the fruit. 

"Oh, you know," he started flatly. "She just reminded me how all of this is my fault for like, eight hours." He looked down at the apple, catching Laura's concerned expression from the corner of his vision, her hands raised to her mouth. He frowned more, turning the item in his hand while the rain outside fell harder.