Moving to his aunts was meant to bring Micah some sort of stability into his life, but instead he was trying his best to comfort a woman who'd just lost her kid to something no-one could stop. It was fucking insane, because his aunt asked him the dumbest, meaningless questions about god and fate. Mike couldn't really give her an answer. Aunt Helen asked them anyway, crying on the sofa while he awkwardly patted at her back, trying to show some sort of support.

Rosie had been a really fucking cute kid. She'd been just 6 years old, and she'd liked drawing and butterflies. That was kind of it though. Micah didn't really know much more than that about her. It was unfair, this much he knew. The world was full of assholes, and instead of them, God decided to kill a six year old kid that liked butterflies. Aunt Helen had told him that Rosie had really liked him, and that had made the whole situation sting like a bitch. Apparently him being there for the last month had somehow been important to the kid. Mike was pretty much worthless in making people feel better though, so he wasn't sure where his aunt had gotten that idea from. Guess Rosie might have said so before she died. Or maybe Helen was trying to make [i]him[/i] feel better, he really didn't know. Aunt Helen did try her best. Even after everything that had happened to her, she seemed to remember that the last few months had been pretty rough on Mike as well. She got why he was angry, and she tried to help the best she could. What Mike wanted now was to return the favor, but he didn't know how.

That was why Micah was locked inside the only bathroom in the apartment when he should have been sleeping. He couldn't do shit to help her out on his own, so maybe bringing back the dead would work.

This was probably the most pathetic, dumbest things he'd tried in a long time. Micah glanced at the spotless mirror again before letting out a huff of laughter. This wasn't going to work. What the heck was he thinking, listening to some idiot goth chick with an overactive imagination? Having a ritual like this wasn't very Christian of him either. Aunt Helen, she'd be pissed if she knew. Checking in on the time from his phone, Mike let himself slouch on the bathroom floor for a moment longer before getting up. Time to get this over with.

"What the fuck am I doing with my life?" Mike found mumbling to himself, staring at the familiar face in the mirror. Shit, he looked like a zombie. No wonder no-one talked to him. He glanced at the cracked phone again before leaning over the bathroom counter, letting his lips meet the polished, spotless surface of the mirror.