Cataclysm (Sequel to Wanderlust) (Kellic)

Chapter 17

a/n: ehh i dont feel like explaining myself twice (already did in the author's note of my badlands fic) but basically i would literally die before i let this story go abandoned and i'm not dead so here ya go

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Chapter 17 - Mesmerizing

The next morning, I wake up before Kellin in our Four Seasons room in Atlanta. It's a five-star hotel and probably the fanciest place I've ever stayed in. Bree sent me a message saying she booked a room for us way in advance for one night (which apparently means we're right on schedule, I guess?); it seems that after our little spa treatment today, we should prepare to move to a different location.

Deciding not to wait any longer, I grab my phone off the nightstand and dial Mike's number. Part of me isn't even certain he'll pick up, but this way is faster than sending him texts that he can ignore and waiting endlessly for him to respond. Even if he declines my call, I can still call him again and annoy him until he picks up, because that's what brothers do.

Surprisingly, after a few rings, I hear his tired voice: "Hello?"

"Mike," I say, trying to keep my own voice down so that I don't wake Kellin up. "We. Need. To talk."

Mike groans. "Is this about me and Tony? Vic, I really don't—"

"Listen to me," I interrupt, desperate for him to understand. "Listen to me if you won't listen to him. You cannot let your own problems ruin this."

"You don't understand," he says. "He's stifling me, Vic. I feel like I can't do what I want."

"How is he stifling you?" I ask. I figure it's best to get both sides of the story, even though I already have a pretty good idea of what's going on.

"He doesn't like me going out," Mike says. "He argues with me when I say I'm going to a bar or club or something. I swear I'm not hooking up with anyone; I've just been..." He trails off.

"Just been what?" I prompt, but I already know the answer. "Drinking? Drowning your sorrows in alcohol?" I know it because I've been through it myself. Our family is prone to alcoholism.

"Maybe," he says slowly, even though we both know that I'm right. "But that doesn't matter. I'm just having fun. It's not hurting anybody."

"It's hurting you, and it's hurting Tony," I tell him. "Mike, you've seen me addicted. So has Tony. Now that you're in a similar situation, he's scared for you. All he wants is for you to get help."

"I don't need any help," Mike says immediately. Typical. "I'm fine."

"Tony would not be this worried if you were fine," I say. "He's seen you drunk before. He knows your limits. It seems to me like you're going way over your limits. I'm telling you, Mike, the first step towards recovery is recognizing that you've got a problem."

"I don't—" He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Maybe I get drunk a lot. Like, a lot. Maybe I need to drink a lot more than I used to so I can get smashed. Maybe I've been having trouble living with myself lately, and drinking makes it easier. Okay? There. Happy?"

"So you admit that there's something wrong? That things aren't how they used to be?"

He sighs. "I used to feel good without any sort of substances in my body. I used to make Tony happy, not worried. I get defensive with him. I guess the only reason I'm not that snappy with you is because you know about these things."

"I used to get defensive, too," I say. "We all want to believe there's nothing wrong, Mike. So listen: if you truly don't feel anything for Tony anymore, then I suggest going ahead with the divorce. But if there's a larger part of you that wants to try to save your marriage, try to save yourself—even if it's hard—then I'd suggest not giving up just yet. Okay?"