The Road to Nowhere: Part V

For a (much-needed) recap, here are the first four parts:

PART I
PART II
PART III
PART IV

- - - - - -

Suzanne's eyes had been closed when she felt a rush of air move by her face. One second she was was inappropriately dancing (dry-humping, to be more exact) with a significantly tipsy, extremely attractive guy and all of a sudden the pressure on her hips was gone. She did not have to wait very long to uncover the mystery of the missing dancing partner.

All she had to do was open her eyes.

And when she did, she found herself gazing upon a pair of blood-shot eyes contained within the never-before-seen enraged face of her best friend. These eyes were not staring back at her, though, as they searched beyond her, onto the floor directly behind her. There, holding his left eye and writhing in pain, was the recently-punched Jack.

The music continued to blare. The clubbers continued to dance provocatively. The world continued to spin. But for these three individuals, time stood still.

"What the hell, Mike!" Suzanne yelled, not in anger, but out of shock.

As Michael stood there, seething, the angry shade of green slowly began to dissipate from him, leaving behind the mere mortal Bruce Banner-like man. He looked away from his temporarily fallen victim and set his stare upon his Suzie, the first person to truly befriend him. She had accepted him when no one else could stand who he was. This was the person who had helped him pass his senior English class, and without whom he would have not graduated. But most of all, this was the girl who he knew deep down should be his significant other. No one else knew more about him (frankly, he felt, no one else cared) and no other soul made his so happy.

On the other hand, the suddenly apparent clarity seemed too quick and easy to Michael. One second he is sitting at a table, enjoying his eighth beer (but maybe it was nine or ten), and the next he is committing an assaultive act upon his college buddy, and furthermore, realizing feelings he has for his long-time friend. Was he purely using this new-found attraction as an excuse for his rash decision to deck his frat pal? In all honesty, he had no clue. He realized, though, that he better get a clue fast because not only was Suzanne getting upset, Jack had decided it was time to get back on his feet.

Try as he might, Michael couldn't help but laugh at the situation. He was not a fighter. He didn't punch people, especially the guy who he hung out with on weekends. But here he was, in the middle of a crowded dance floor, with a throbbing fist, displaying a pinkish hue from the contact that it made with the side of Jack's face. Seeing that both Suzanne and Jack would be needing some answers, Michael knew that he would have to come to a conclusion on his reasons behind his violent decision-making. He knew he couldn't say that he didn't know. That would never fly with the two of them, let alone himself, come to think of it.

So Michael stood there, hands to his side, (but at the ready, just in case Jack felt inclined to offer an idea of his own) feeling like an interrogated convict. He really couldn't care less about what Jack had to say, but Suzanne was another story. She looked legitimately frightened by what had transpired and he felt like he should say something, anything, to try and justify his actions.

But just like every time before, Michael had to go and say the wrong thing. . .