My life is like a friggin movie sometimes.

there's cast, camera...lights, action...

I was holding Michael, shivering on the bed, looking at us as the director or the cameraman, we were shivering together, two men holding each-other.

or maybe a man and a woman holding each other

maybe two women, fuck i hate this. Why does it matter? Am I a total jack-ass for assuming Michael's gender?

In that moment, in my mind, we were two men holding eachother, but that could've just been because I was a man at the time, mostly.

Michael was crying, and I felt like she hated me for being there, for holding her, for rocking her, for saying "shh" and "it'll be ok" and whatever other bullshit I was saying at the time.

I didn't know what to say.

Or what to do.

My options felt like they were all wands on a shelf at Ollivanders, I could call out to them and one of them would fly to me- but would it be the right wand for the wizard?

The bed had a whirlpool in its center, sucking us down.

I didn't know if what I was doing was the right thing, but I had to do something right? I couldn't just let Michael dissolve into sobs, making up excuses, saying she was sorry over and over, making promises she couldn't keep, threatening to leave the bedroom, threatening everything.

In the moments that were silent, I wasn't so afraid. I tried to think of what song would be playing during this scene. I couldn't think of it at the time. Later I decided it was.....

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