Thud. Thud. Thud. The ball keeps bouncing off the wall methodically, meeting your racket and returning, creating an endless cycle. It doesn't tire your muscles up that much anymore after being used to training so often.
Michael knows where you should be. Even if it has been a long time since you talked properly, he doesn't feel as if you stopped being friends. Maybe it's wrong. Tanya wouldn't like that—you and others ended on bad terms. But she's not here, and Martha, Ellie, Regina, and Jimmy didn't give him the reassurance he sought. Michael doesn't have anyone to vent to—he assumed that it wouldn't bother him, but in the end, it did. The girl who was closest to him, someone so good that he felt as if he didn't deserve her, disappeared without a trace, and not long before it, his brother was cruelly killed. But this time, it wasn't a murder—and he couldn't decide whether it was better to stay ignorant or find out for sure if your loved one is buried six feet underground. Naturally, he was overthinking, going in circles in his own mind like a rabid wolf chasing its own tail, with no end, with no sedative. The police continue to shrug their shoulders, still having no answers, and it drives him further mad. He checks her Twitter account every day in the hope that her profile may appear in the status 'online'. It never does, however, staying still and lifeless, like another dead, forgotten boat of thoughts and images, now sunken deep under millions of others like it.
Tanya was the one who introduced him to you when he had only begun to date her. It's disappointing when good bonds get ripped simply because you have to choose a side. If you try to balance between two, you'll get torn apart yourself—it's perceived as a betrayal, as something vile instead of plain uncertainty or desire to be good to everyone. Not like Michael had many options in this case—anyone would prefer the majority along with their lover over one single acquaintance, no matter how painful it was to admit that you have to lose a great friend, to make a sacrifice for the better, for the 'right'. What was right anymore, really? Michael was trying to be a nice guy, but he didn't know if it was worth it anymore if all he got was a punch in the face from God himself.
He doesn't approach the tennis court immediately, succumbing to hesitation. Even with all the anger and sorrow filling him, there's still that kinder, softer part in him that wonders if he shouldn't ruin your peace. Watching one do something they're passionate about is surprisingly healing—distracting, maybe. Like finding a window where you can see the sunlight and tricking your brain into feeling it, even if the room you're locked in is freezing you to death.
"Uh...hey. I see that you’ve still got a pretty good swing." An awkward attempt to start a conversation. "...Have you heard anything about Tanya, by the way?"
He wants to slap himself. Of course, he has to mention her. But he can't help himself. No matter how rude and selfish it was, he couldn't play the role of the 'tough man' forever. He was still a boy. A human. A meaty bag, sensitive to what happens around and unsure about what to do anymore.