log: destiny/michael Who: Michael and Destiny What: Michael returns Clem's lovely gift. Where: Hookerville When: After the party. Warnings/Rating: N/A
When imagining the type of Christmas presents people typically returned, vouchers for a night with a prostitute didn't sit high on the 'Family Feud' list in Michael's head. There it was, though, under the blenders, fruitcakes, socks and out-of-date electronics, there was 'Prostitute Vouchers From Soon-To-Be-Ex-Wives.' He didn't know the Feud had a sign long enough to fit that one, but it was spelled out in his head in bold, tiny font.
It hadn't been his best month ever. He knew he'd behaved badly with Clem, who didn't know where he'd been for the last month. He knew he couldn't explain it to her, and he knew he'd taken it hard that the marriage had been even more arranged than he thought. In retrospect, he was an idiot. He felt foolish and misled, but he'd reacted like a bully.
Anyway, it was all going to be over soon, and whether she'd been cruel or not, he'd been cruel right back. That wasn't much like him, really, but he hadn't felt like himself in a long while. That itself was part of why he'd gotten into this whole mess in the first place. He'd reached the end of the career ladder, gotten the job of his dreams, and looked around to find himself unrecognizable and no one else around.
No one had been there almost since high school. He had worked so hard to leave those dark and dingy years behind him, but they dogged him still. There was something he kept seeing at the corner of his vision, almost hearing words at the edge of what could be heard.
Whatever it was, he'd learned his lesson ten years ago. He didn't meddle with things like that anymore. Nothing good was going to come out of it, so he let nothing come out of it at all.
Returning the voucher probably wasn't necessary, and sure, he could have torn it up or burned it while drinking dramatically in his living room alone, but he wanted to make it clear to the person it had been purchased from that he was never going to cash it in. The last thing he wanted was for some girl somewhere in town sitting around, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe she didn't care at all - but the idea she might was enough.
He'd never been to the circle of trailers at the edge of town that the locals affectionately called 'Hookerville,' but it was easy to find. He walked up and flashed the voucher at the first girl to cheerfully proposition him, and she deflated a bit, pointing him to a caravan on the other side of the circle.
The plan was to get this over with as smoothly as possible? He'd return it, let her know she could keep the money, and go home. Easy. Right?