A charity case.

The moment he shut the door of the bathroom, an overwhelming feeling of nausea rose from deep down his stomach and he rushed to the toilet seat and retched its content.

He hadn't been able to eat much, but then how could he? How could anyone stomach food when their lives were being paraded as a charity case? How could he eat when he was staring right at the fountainhead of the darkness in his life?

The feeling of being fisted in his guts overcame him again and bile rose in his throat as he regurgitated dissolved food. He watched the morsel he'd been able to stomach come back with a vengeance. He waited for a few more seconds for the spasms to cease before flushing and heading for the sink to rinse his mouth and wash his face.

As he was washing his face, his hands started to shake and give in to the tremors, and consequently the jaws of bitterness that gripped at his heart. His hands fell and he wept bitterly.

He'd been called a charity case. Well, wasn't that what he was?

Three months ago, no one would have guessed he would be here right now. At least he hadn't. Last Christmas, if a seer told him his future would be filled with so much darkness and gloom, he would have laughed at the notion. An hour to the moment his life had been turned inside out and ripped into atomic shreds, he hadn't the vaguest it was going to happen.

It had hit him hard and fast without a tip-off, that he hadn't had the time to retreat, to recoup, to save himself, to run. He had walked right into a windstorm of flying elephant shit.

The door of the bathroom was tapped twice. "Mike? You okay?"

Mike didn't hear him. He kept on sobbing, though at a low pitch. As though intuition told him to stop, he did and bent over to wash his face, just as the well-wisher walked in.

Mike looked up at him. "Sorry Matt, the shrimp didn't go down well."

Matt nodded, as though to say he understood and agreed with him. He hitched his thumb towards the door and Mike followed him. He didn't want to. He wished he could run. He wished he could be anywhere else but where he was at the moment. He wished he could disappear, or die.

Why hadn't he died that terrible day? Why had his seat belt held him back from smashing his head on the windshield like it had done to the two other passengers in the vehicle? Why hadn't he bled to death from the cuts he'd sustained? Why was he still alive? Why hadn't he died and saved the world of his miserable, sorry excuse of a living being?

He would do anything to give his life in place of those who had died, and gladly too. He saw no reason for being alive, or being here, for that matter. He and Matt reached the table and took their seats, facing two other men, Dr. Stone and his assistant, Dr. Earl, who had been waiting for him.

"Mr. Drayton, as we were saying," Dr. Earl began in earnest, barely letting Mike's ass touch the seat. "It would be in your best interest to accept the relief."

Matt was demonstrating with his hands, simultaneously with Mr. Earl's speech and Mike frowned at him. "There's no need for that."

Matt looked at him with a brow raised in askance but Mike didn't bother to fill in the gap. He was tired of repeating the same thing over and over.

"More coffee, Mr. Drayton?" Dr. Earl asked with his nasal voice, leaning forward and holding the coffee jug.

Mike didn't reply as he hadn't heard him. Matt tapped him and pointed at the coffee mug and then pointed at Earl. Mike shook his head politely. He didn't want coffee or alcohol or foul-smelling shrimps. He wanted to get out of there. Fast.

"We won't detain you much longer."

This came from Dr. Stone, a man whose name suited him to a fare-thee-well. He was literarily stone. Dr. Stone was a proud man, who was capable of making even the bravest of hearts turn into a poodle with just a look. He had a stern, rock-strewn face with a pair of deep-set eyes that were like hard glints and a thin, wide mouth that was like a granite opening in his stony face.

Mike hated Dr. Stone.

He had come to that conclusion the very day he met the man five years ago, and had therefore limited their meetings to be as rare as possible and when it came about, as brief as possible. Dr. Stone was the reason he was where he was today, the one that switched off the light in his life, plunging him head-first into darkness.

Mike hated a lot of things about the thin man, hated the way he invariably seemed composed and in control of everybody's life, and the way he acted like he could intimidate anyone if he wanted to. He also hated how he acted as if nothing could ruffle his feathers. The only time Dr. Stone had lost his notorious calm was the day his daughter died.

"With all due respect sir, I don't feel comfortable taking the trust fund. It doesn't feel right."

"You were her only survivor. It would be right that you take her life's work."

The double entendre wasn't lost on Mike.

Stone flashed him a disarming smile. The smile looked forced and out of place like a square peg in a round hole. Only his lips were involved in the smile, and they seemed unnaturally stretched and forced. The smile was nothing gentle or reassuring, far from it. Instead, it was a jarring reminder of Mike's failure in life.

Matt cleared his throat. "Mike I think –"

"Shut up." Earl snarled, looking down at him from under his long, crooked nose. Earl was a very ugly man, Mike concluded. It was not because he hated the man or because he held any grudges, the man was really ugly. He looked like a person who had had his face done but had been too impatient to let it it heal and so had healed in an ugly position. His face looked like one that had been carved from an ugly tree by a carver too impatient to smooth out the rough edges. He had cheekbones that were angular and too sharp which was too bad for his big, wide mouth. Not to talk about his long crooked Pinocchio nose that looked like he'd slammed it into a brick wall when he was born and it had grown around the edges, leaving the middle deflated.

His fat paws which he called hands pointed at Matt. "Your job is to make signs for the deaf man. If you don't want me to rip out your gut from your mouth, then stick to that."

Matt scowled at Dr. Stone's assistant and then he made a mistake. His eyes flickered towards Dr. Stone. He gulped loudly when he met the man's hard stare.

Mike balled his fists.

"Myna's dream was to –"

"Donate her inheritance to charity homes, not give it to me, Mr. Earl."

"That is what she wants and it is final."

Mike looked at Dr. Stone for several, long seconds before lowering his gaze. He discovered something shocking in Stone's hard and unflinching gaze and it frightened him. He didn't want to think about it.

"Okay." He said with a small voice.

Earl stood and clapped his paws once. "Good then. I will book an appointment with the otolaryngologist in our hospital to test hearing aids on you."

"Okay," Mike said after Matt interpreted using sign language. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. He wanted to run and hide, like the coward that he was. He wanted to cry and bemoan his fate. He wanted to howl at the moon like a wounded animal. He wanted to flee.

Stone stood before Earl did, but it was Earl that muttered a haughty goodbye to them. The moment they were out of the conference room, Mike expelled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. In the past, he never let himself be intimidated by Stone. Whenever the man stared at him, he usually stared back, unflinching. Whenever the man-made a snide remark, he usually returned it with the same amount of hostility.

But today, something seemed off. It was always off with Stone but today, he discovered something that was nagging at him and didn't want to stay away. The thought bothered him so much that he started to have a migraine.

Matt tapped him. "You okay?"

Mike shook his head at his brother. "No, Matt. I need to rest. I'm tired."

His brother nodded and they both made their way for the door. As he passed through the lobby of Dr. Stone's office, Mike couldn't help but have painful flashbacks of his memory there. He shamefully kept his head low as he passed through a door that was labeled M.S.D, MBBs. It almost brought hot tears to his eyes, one he tried hard to dispel but didn't want to stay away. He blinked them back.

He stopped suddenly. His brother stopped too and gave him an inquisitive look.

"You go ahead. I think I forgot my cell phone."

Matt had no reason to doubt him. "I'll get the truck ready."

Mike nodded and retreated, pretending he was going back to the conference room of the hospital to retrieve the cell phone he left at home but retraced his steps and twisted open the knob of the particular door that had almost made him lose it.

The first thing that greeted him as he stepped into the room was darkness and gloom. This was the same office that used to be filled with sunlight and laughter and hot coffee. He wouldn't have guessed months ago that this room would bring him so much anguish.

He looked around the office, at the dust sheets that covered almost all items in the room and sighed forlornly as memory flooded him. He shut his eyes and wished he could travel into the past and live there forever. Live in the happy times. If he could, he was going to savor it, bit by bit, step by step. He would never let go of her. He would do a whole lot of things differently, damn it, he would do every single thing differently.

A hand jabbed Mike and he almost jumped out of his skin. He was startled but didn't want to give the person the satisfaction of seeing him jump so he turned around slowly to face the person that had jabbed him.

Stone. He should have known. Hell, he should've.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?"

Mike wondered how long Stone had been there. Why hadn't he seen him before? Is it because the man resembled the cold walls of the room and he had blended into them like a second skin? Or was it because the man was growing so thin that Mike hadn't noticed him?

"I was just passing by," Mike replied coolly.

He watched the cold man laugh scornfully, oddly grateful he couldn't hear the grating sound. "Just passing by? Cut the bullshit and get the hell out."

"Is it a crime to visit Myna's office?"

"Yes. It is. I never liked it and I never will. Not now not ever." He grabbed Mike's face painfully so that he would face him. Mike let him. It hurt, but he wanted to feel the pain, something, anything that would jar him back to reality.

"I regret not kicking you out of this office the first day I saw you. I regret not beating the crap out of Myrna when she started to fall for your devilish charms. I regret not vehemently opposing her getting married to you. Do you know why? Because had she not met you, she would still be alive." He let go of him but their gazes didn't break. "You are the reason she's dead. The reason that car ran into a trailer. And don't think that because I decided not to press charges, you're off the hook. Enjoy your free days Mike because they are counted!"

Stone turned angrily and stormed out of the room, just in time for the tears to roll down Mike's face.

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