Mike Baker

....Dat was GEEN antwoord op zijn vraag.
 
Oh hemel.
 
Thomas had een minares. Dat kon niet anders, waarom zou hij anders s'nachts weg zijn, waarom zou hij zich anders raar gedragen, waarom zou hij anders dronken zijn dan om het schuldgevoel te vergeten? Arme Blythe. Hij knikte maar, liet de man maar gaan. Fuck. Nu was hij nog verantwoordelijk voor zo'n domme cake. Hij moest het Blythe zeggen. Maar wat als het niet waar was? Moest hij dan enkel zeggen wat er gebeurd was? Hij voelde zich zo naar, het voelde alsof hij ruzie met Thomas gehad had en dat voelde zo onveilig en dus zette hij maar een kop thee. Hij schoof het bier en de lege flessen maar aan de kant en even overwoog hij stiekem een enkele te nemen, maar nee. Hij moest doorzetten. En dus checkte hij de timer op de oven, registreerde hoe laat dat betekende dat de cake klaar zou zijn en zette hij zich met een mok thee en zijn boek op de bank, waar hij kon lezen en rustig kon huilen onder de sprei.

Uhm, jawel, hij ging haar het hele verhaal zeggen. Dat Thomas zich vreemd gedroeg, dat hij dronken was, dat Thomas hèm bier aan had geboden. Hoe kinderachtig ook, hij zag ineens de schok in Thomas' blik. Al wat hij tot nu toe gezegd en gedaan had tegen Mike was kennelijk helemaal oké, maar het idee alleen al dat Mike erover tegen zijn vrouw zou spreken was een heel drama? Hij zou later het gekwetste gevoel wel verwerken, maar nu had hij het gevoel dat hij Thomas een beetje moest parenten. Dit was zo niet hoe hij zijn vrije dag verwacht had.
 
"Wel, ik ga het haar wel zeggen, Thomas, want dit is niet wie je bent. Ik zie al tijden dat je je anders gedraagt, je lijkt me niet meer te vertrouwen, ik zie je je overnacht opsluiten op de zaak... Heb je een maîtresse?" Dat zou uitleggen waarom Blythe het niet weten mocht.

Hij kon de man echt niet meer polsen en de alcohol-meur was ook niet te harden. "Oké." Zei hij en hij deed weer of hij verder ging in zijn boek. "Ik wacht gewoon tot Blythe thuis is." Want Blythe kende Thomas een stuk beter, kende hem kennelijk ook met iets op, en zij was zijn vrouw en had veel meer zeggenschap in dit huis gewoonweg omdat ze de vrouw van het huis was. 

Hij kon het vuur voelen dat aanwakkerde in Thomas' stem, maar kon hij dan niet zien dat dit verontrustend voor hem was? "Tuurlijk mag u dat zelf beslissen. Ik maak me gewoon zorgen want ik ken u zo niet." Zei hij maar tegen de wankele man. Had het zin om tegen hem te praten? Hij wist het niet. Vroeger praatte hij tegen iedereen, hoe dronken of niet ze wel niet waren, maar toen praatte hij vooral met het doel om hen drugs te verkopen en met iets op ging dat meestal wat gemakkelijker. Dit was een iets gevoeligere zaak.

Waarom zei Thomas dingen over hoe zijn kinderen gemaakt waren, daar wilde hij dus echt niks over weten, hè! En hij negeerde zijn vraag ook nog eens. "Dat is geen antwoord op mijn vraag." Zei hij zachtjes. "Heeft u niet al genoeg op?" Vroeg hij terwijl zijn blik naar het flesje in de hand van zijn beste vriend gleed.

Niet dat hij zich echt focussen kon op het boek zelf. Hij probeerde ervoor te zorgen dat hij niet zag dat hij hem zorgvuldig in het oog hield, tot die dat toch deed. "Ja, prima boek." Niet vragen wat hij zonet gelezen had want hij was veel drukker bezig met Thomas, en bidden dat Blythe nog al snel terug zou komen. "Ik dacht dat u al een hele poos niet meer dronk. Is er een reden?" Vroeg hij bezorgd.

Hij voelde zich een stiekemerd, zoals hij van de trap af sloop, maar ergens was hij bang dat Thomas in een boze dronkaard was veranderd in de tijd dat hij in zijn kamer was, opgehitst door het feit dat hij het biertje afgeslagen had, maar eenmaal beneden leek Thomas gewoon vrolijk. Het had haast leuk geweest, had Thomas nuchter geweest, maar Mike kon niet vrolijk met hem mee doen als hij wist wat de oorzaak ervan was. Maakte hem dat stom? Irritant? Wellicht, hij had, als hij aan de andere kant van deze interactie gestaan had, hemzelf ook een party pooper gevonden. Maar wat kon hij anders doen, erin meegaan?
 
Hij zette zich maar aan de tafel om zijn boek te lezen, of te doen alsof. Vooralsnog had Thomas het huis niet in de fik gestoken. Dat was al iets. Mike keek ernaar uit dat Blythe thuis zou komen.

Thomas had zo vrolijk geleken, zo lacherig en zo wankel, en Mike voelde een knoop in zijn maag ontstaan. Dit hoorde niet. De kinderen waren weg en Blythe ook, maar Thomas hoorde niet te drinken. En wat dan nog als zij allen weg waren, dit was ook zijn huis, toch? Hij moest zich veilig voelen, dat hadden ze almaar gezegd, maar nu had hij zich echt niet veilig gevoeld. Zeker niet toen er hem een biertje werd gegeven, hij had bijna ja gezegd, gewoon om zijn vriend niet teleur te stellen, maar was nu op zijn kamer wel blij dat hij geweigerd had. Blythe zou dit toch niet goed keuren? Had Blythe ook geen verleden met substanties?
 
Mike had zijn nieuwe kleren zo langzaam mogelijk opgevouwd en in zijn kast gelegd, maar toen begon het weer te jeuken om naar beneden te ging. Hij was graag beneden, daar speelden ze altijd spelletjes en hij was vrijwel alleen op zijn kamer als hij op zijn gitaar wilde oefenen. En hij moest ook toegeven dat hij een beetje bang was dat Thomas zich verbranden zou. En dus weer naar beneden.

Oké, dit was echt niet tof. Hij wilde zijn mentor niet teleurstellen, maar tegelijkertijd wilde hij zichzelf ook niet teleurstellen en ook... Zou Thomas niet teleurgesteld moeten ogen bij de volgende meeting? Zou hij ervoor uitkomen dat hij gedronken had? Waarom deed hij toch zo raar de laatste tijd? Hij had eerst gedacht dat het aan hem lag, want altijd als er dingen verkeerd gingen lag het aan hem, maar Blythe leek het ook op te merken. Thomas had een korter lontje, gedroeg zich raar, bleef werken zelfs als de werkdag gedaan was, bleef op de zaak slapen. Mike dacht haast aan praktijken waar hij Blythe zeker niet van wilde vertellen. Een rijke man met een zwangere vrouw... Maar dat was toch Thomas niet? De grote, onzekere teddybeer die altijd lovend sprak over zijn familie? 
 
Maar dit was Thomas ook niet. "Ik ga naar boven, mijn nieuwe kleren in mijn kast steken." Al zou hij zo wel checken of Thomas niet het huis in de fik aan het steken was.

Dat verleidelijke geluid. Klik-tsss, het schuim dat omhoog borrelde en de aanmoediging van Thomas Hawk. De religieuze man, die altijd nuchter was, naar Mike's idee. Hij had al een poos niet meer gezegd hoeveel maanden hij nuchter was, betekende dat dat Thomas al vaker dronk en het gewoon niet vertelde. Het klonk ook aanlokkelijk, als Thomas of all people hem toestemming gaf... Maar hij zou dan vanavond zijn counter aan moeten passen en dat zou echt rot zijn. "Nee.... Het is oké..." Zei hij maar langzaam en wilde zo zachtjes aan de keuken wel uit vluchten.

Zodra hij de keuken binnen kwam zag hij gelijk waarom zijn onderbuik hem een waarschuwing gegeven had. Meneer Hawk, zijn mentor, de persoon waar hij zo naar opkeek in zijn eigen nuchtere proces had gedronken. En aan zijn stem te horen ook niet al te weinig. Hij keek de man wat bezorgd aan, rook de alcohol van zijn adem komen. Of kwam het uit de lege flesjes? "Oh nee, bedankt. Daar zit melk in." En daar kreeg hij buikpijn van. Niet dat hij van dit moment geen buikpijn kreeg, want dit was echt naar. Toch, het was Thomas zijn huis, niet die van hem en toch voelde het als een indringing, een gevaar. De alcohol rook aanlokkelijk en Thomas zag er zo happy uit, zoals hij al een paar maanden niet meer echt was.

Eind november
 
Voor Mike was het een hele normale dag geweest. De winkel van meneer Hawk was dicht en de kindjes waren bij zijn moeder zodat zij allemaal even wat rust konden pakken en hij genoot er wel even van. Hij hield van de kindjes, maar het was allemaal momenteel wat moeilijker met Dolly en het was ook fijn om een keer thuis te komen en dat het rustig was. Hij was zweinsveld opgegaan, had wat nieuwe kleren gekocht die meer bij zijn nieuwe beeld van zichzelf pastte en was naar huis gekeerd, maar daar was het niet zo rustig als hij had gedacht.
 
Het moment dat hij de deur achter zich deed en hij zijn naam hoorde voelde hij al een zekere onrust. 

Oh, she was scared? "Shut the fuck up. Get the fuck away from my house. You can write me, if you want to talk but I can't do this. I was enjoying my day off, until now. Another day ruined by mrs. Bailey. She must think she's really something. Fuck off."  And with that he slammed the door, so satisfying, and went back to the puzzle he'd been working on. One good thing about this, atleast Blythe would be very proud of him. And he was quite proud of himself, too.
 
Xati and Mike out

She came to check if her friend was okay, how sweet. He kept his stance, but lifted his hand off his wand now. She wasn't a threat, atleast. "If you cared you would've come to check on me in the hospital. Your husband did this to me for what we did. I'd thought you'd atleast pay me a visit. Emmerde-you too." Whatever the fuck that meant, it probably wasn't good if she chose to switch to French for one word. "I would've been fucking there if it had been you, even for a little but, but you didn't even write me. How sick is that. Neither you nor Rye wrote me. It doesn't matter what we did, if your friend almost dies you care enough to show your face." He felt the pain in his voice now but he didn't care, let her see how much it had hurt. She deserved to feel guilty for it. He knew her enough to know she would.
 
"I don't think you two really realise how it was for me. You used me to feel better, to forget about Rye. I used you to feel better too, to forget about Nehemia and Rye used me as a dummy to destroy to let out his anger. I couldn't go to the bathroom by myself for weeks, I could still feel everything move inside of me, getting back into position. You both didn't fucking care enough to show your faces, didn't feel guilty enough. I know what I did was bad, but had things been reversed, had Rye been with my girl, I would've kicked him in the balls, I would've cussed her out. But I wouldn't go and stab him, and if I did, God. I would be by his bedside that night to apologize." He was shaking with the anger he hadn't allowed himself to feel since it all had happened, wanted to slam the door in her face again, but he wasn't done with her yet.
 
"But perhaps I am just too eager, too hungry for love and friendship. That's what you sniffed out too. Had you tried it with anyone else in our group, you know it wouldn't have worked, but you know it would work with me and then you just played me and left me to die. You both left me to die." That's what it felt like, anyway.

Talk about it? What was there to talk about, did she want him to relay his trauma to her? How Janvier had looked at him, horrified at all the blood spilling from him, his inability to stand up? The derealisation when he realised he could see his organs? Or the moment when he woke up, the way his biological mother looked at him. It broke his heart hearing her cries. He couldn't understand the words she'd yelled behind his ear as she hugged him tight, but he knew what she'd meant. She'd lost him once already. It hurt him so much to know he'd hurt his mom that much. She didn't deserve it, after all she'd suffered. And Thomas had looked so furious, he'd never seen him that angry before. Kept saying he wasn't going to let this happen to his family, that he was going to contact his lawyers if he just gave the word. But Mike never gave the word because he still cared for Rye. He could've drug his ass to the courtroom, and the evidence would've been damning. His wounds lined up exactly with Rye's antlers, Janvier would probably testify if he asked her, but he couldn't. But he also didn't want anything to do with Rye or his wife anymore. 
 
"There's nothing to say besides that you kissed me. And that was my punishment for letting another person use me. I did what I did but you started it." He always let it happen, never said no. Didn't really feel he had a right to say no. People always used him for that. Married people, too. So Xati hadn't been any different. His friends hadn't been any different. He shouldn't have done what he'd done, but they'd betrayed him too. He thought he'd been safe with them. He'd never expected Xati to make a move on him, had never expected Rye to retaliate in that way. What was Rye's intention anyway, with that letter? "I really hope you just came here for a chat and nothing else, because it'd be really fucking sad if not. To come running for me after getting consent from your husband. Is that why you're here?" To take advantage of his want for attention again? Because he wasn't going to let her. In all honesty he was furious with her.

She wanted to see if he was alright? What the fuck? "I'm fine." He said, rather sharp again. "That's all?" He didn't want her here. Thomas and Blythe were out with the kids and he didn't feel safe right now. Xati was the reason he'd almost kicked the bucket and he really wasn't wanting to relive those moments where the drugs the healers had given him were kicking in, forcing him to pass out, while knowing he was so close to the end. He'd tried to fight, but his body had betrayed him and he only remembered everything that happened then in a blur. Nothing hurt him, he wasn't there, and yet he'd felt so terrified. Feeling his heartbeat slow down so much he didn't even know was possible.
 
Just because Rye had decided he was fine with him seeing her didn't mean he wanted to.

It had been a little while now since the fiasco in the bar. His wounds had healed into scars, his body worked like it should again, yet the feeling of impending doom followed him. Like Rye could show up at any moment to finish what he'd started. They weren't friends anymore, and Mike had realised after talking to Blythe he didn't really want to be anymore. There were a whole lot of other options Rye could've gone for, instead of the drastic approach he'd chosen. Thomas had urged him to press charges, but he'd said no, time and again, and since he was an adult there was nothing Thomas could do but shake his head in frustration.
 
He hadn't expected Rye on his doorstep, but there was one he expected even less. And she was there, right now.
 
He slammed the door shut upon seeing her, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He used the safety chain so the door only openend to a small gap as he held his wand that was in the back pocket of his trousers. "What do you want?" He asked cautiously. He wasn't interested in anything, was not planning on getting stabbed again. There was nothing he wanted to have to do with neither Xati nor Rye. They were bad news.

Oh, she was scared? "Shut the fuck up. Get the fuck away from my house. You can write me, if you want to talk but I can't do this. I was enjoying my day off, until now. Another day ruined by mrs. Bailey. She must think she's really something. Fuck off."  And with that he slammed the door, so satisfying, and went back to the puzzle he'd been working on. One good thing about this, atleast Blythe would be very proud of him. And he was quite proud of himself, too.
 
Xati and Mike out

She came to check if her friend was okay, how sweet. He kept his stance, but lifted his hand off his wand now. She wasn't a threat, atleast. "If you cared you would've come to check on me in the hospital. Your husband did this to me for what we did. I'd thought you'd atleast pay me a visit. Emmerde-you too." Whatever the fuck that meant, it probably wasn't good if she chose to switch to French for one word. "I would've been fucking there if it had been you, even for a little but, but you didn't even write me. How sick is that. Neither you nor Rye wrote me. It doesn't matter what we did, if your friend almost dies you care enough to show your face." He felt the pain in his voice now but he didn't care, let her see how much it had hurt. She deserved to feel guilty for it. He knew her enough to know she would.
 
"I don't think you two really realise how it was for me. You used me to feel better, to forget about Rye. I used you to feel better too, to forget about Nehemia and Rye used me as a dummy to destroy to let out his anger. I couldn't go to the bathroom by myself for weeks, I could still feel everything move inside of me, getting back into position. You both didn't fucking care enough to show your faces, didn't feel guilty enough. I know what I did was bad, but had things been reversed, had Rye been with my girl, I would've kicked him in the balls, I would've cussed her out. But I wouldn't go and stab him, and if I did, God. I would be by his bedside that night to apologize." He was shaking with the anger he hadn't allowed himself to feel since it all had happened, wanted to slam the door in her face again, but he wasn't done with her yet.
 
"But perhaps I am just too eager, too hungry for love and friendship. That's what you sniffed out too. Had you tried it with anyone else in our group, you know it wouldn't have worked, but you know it would work with me and then you just played me and left me to die. You both left me to die." That's what it felt like, anyway.

Talk about it? What was there to talk about, did she want him to relay his trauma to her? How Janvier had looked at him, horrified at all the blood spilling from him, his inability to stand up? The derealisation when he realised he could see his organs? Or the moment when he woke up, the way his biological mother looked at him. It broke his heart hearing her cries. He couldn't understand the words she'd yelled behind his ear as she hugged him tight, but he knew what she'd meant. She'd lost him once already. It hurt him so much to know he'd hurt his mom that much. She didn't deserve it, after all she'd suffered. And Thomas had looked so furious, he'd never seen him that angry before. Kept saying he wasn't going to let this happen to his family, that he was going to contact his lawyers if he just gave the word. But Mike never gave the word because he still cared for Rye. He could've drug his ass to the courtroom, and the evidence would've been damning. His wounds lined up exactly with Rye's antlers, Janvier would probably testify if he asked her, but he couldn't. But he also didn't want anything to do with Rye or his wife anymore. 
 
"There's nothing to say besides that you kissed me. And that was my punishment for letting another person use me. I did what I did but you started it." He always let it happen, never said no. Didn't really feel he had a right to say no. People always used him for that. Married people, too. So Xati hadn't been any different. His friends hadn't been any different. He shouldn't have done what he'd done, but they'd betrayed him too. He thought he'd been safe with them. He'd never expected Xati to make a move on him, had never expected Rye to retaliate in that way. What was Rye's intention anyway, with that letter? "I really hope you just came here for a chat and nothing else, because it'd be really fucking sad if not. To come running for me after getting consent from your husband. Is that why you're here?" To take advantage of his want for attention again? Because he wasn't going to let her. In all honesty he was furious with her.

She wanted to see if he was alright? What the fuck? "I'm fine." He said, rather sharp again. "That's all?" He didn't want her here. Thomas and Blythe were out with the kids and he didn't feel safe right now. Xati was the reason he'd almost kicked the bucket and he really wasn't wanting to relive those moments where the drugs the healers had given him were kicking in, forcing him to pass out, while knowing he was so close to the end. He'd tried to fight, but his body had betrayed him and he only remembered everything that happened then in a blur. Nothing hurt him, he wasn't there, and yet he'd felt so terrified. Feeling his heartbeat slow down so much he didn't even know was possible.
 
Just because Rye had decided he was fine with him seeing her didn't mean he wanted to.

It had been a little while now since the fiasco in the bar. His wounds had healed into scars, his body worked like it should again, yet the feeling of impending doom followed him. Like Rye could show up at any moment to finish what he'd started. They weren't friends anymore, and Mike had realised after talking to Blythe he didn't really want to be anymore. There were a whole lot of other options Rye could've gone for, instead of the drastic approach he'd chosen. Thomas had urged him to press charges, but he'd said no, time and again, and since he was an adult there was nothing Thomas could do but shake his head in frustration.
 
He hadn't expected Rye on his doorstep, but there was one he expected even less. And she was there, right now.
 
He slammed the door shut upon seeing her, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He used the safety chain so the door only openend to a small gap as he held his wand that was in the back pocket of his trousers. "What do you want?" He asked cautiously. He wasn't interested in anything, was not planning on getting stabbed again. There was nothing he wanted to have to do with neither Xati nor Rye. They were bad news.

He heard the click of the lock of Thomas' office. He'd never heard that lock been used before, and right after him leaving too. The phrase, locking me out, came to his mind and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. 
 
He wasn't sure if Blythe would want to hear about it. Maybe he was over reacting. Thomas was a busy businessman, had a big brand to uphold. Some times were just going to be busier than others. But it wasn't Christmas time, the summer vacation rush was over. And Thomas was being so secretive about it. Was he allowed to feel hurt? Perhaps he would go to Blythe. She always said he was welcome here. He just hoped she wouldn't lock the door on him like that too. He wasn't sure he could handle it.
 
Mike and Thomas (& Alex because sleep) out

O....kay?
 
Well, Thomas was still his boss. But he was more than that, he was his friend, family, which made this quite hard. Clearly Thomas didn't trust him, which hurt. Perhaps that was the danger with being close to your boss, but he'd never thought this would be the case with him. He was always so open, so kind, so jovial. He could always ask him anything, but now he was closed-off. He felt like he'd done something terribly wrong, but Thomas wouldn't even tell him why. "Okay." I guess. 
 
"I'm going downstairs. I'll let you work." 

Yet again, and I quote:
 
"????"
 
Was it because Thomas did not trust him? Why else would he not trust his counting? Why else would he be so mysterious? His reasons? It didn't make any sense. "Well, I'll do my best next counting so there won't be any mistakes." He said, trying to reclaim the stock count as his task.