He doesn’t know how they can be so sure. They believe that now, he knows they’re not lying, not really, but what if he says it and they can’t stand the thought of him anymore? What if they can’t bear to sleep next to him anymore or live in the same apartment? He wouldn’t blame them. They shouldn’t submit themself to that kind of thing.
Michael’s quiet for an uneasy amount of time. The answer vibrates inside him, building up pressure like carbonation in a shaken bottle. He bites his lip to keep it in, to stop it from potentially ending everything. The song Wolfgang sang him last month plays in his head, cut together with the story they’d told him last year. You’re their shadow, the message informs him. If you stay, you’ll destroy them.
He thinks he might already be starting to. He also thinks he might love them. It’s upsetting that he hasn’t been able to leave his body behind for them, harmless and doll-like, the way he wanted to. He keeps trying. All it ever does is pull more darkness out of him, shadows running from his fingers to the floor like slow-moving rivulets of water.
“I wanna have sex with you. Sometimes it’s all I can think about, like a fucking animal. Like some kind of monster. Even after what I did. It’s disgusting, it’s dangerous, you shouldn’t be around me like this.” It comes out of him like vomit, panicked and shaky and sick. He tries to pull his hand away, movement jerky and halfhearted.