Micky quickly went to his room, opening the door so he could slip in. His room had many of his drawings on the walls and all over the place, no one would never see them. But he was ok about that, this was like his own little place to hang his work and look at it. He smiled softly and put the book down, then laying in his bed, he reached over and opened his bedside table. He reached Into it and pulled out a picture, he smiled at it. The picture was of him and his mother, he was young, maybe nine or ten, but in the picture his mother was holding him close to him. There was a cake in front of then, it was Mickys birthday. That was one of the few times his mom would get off work and spend the day with, but of course by the time he was fourteen his mom couldn't get off work anymore.<br/><br/>Micky whip his right eye and sighed softly, he leaned his head back and then put it back up. "Sorry mom, but you got a werewolf for a son. You probably think I'm dead anyways..." He sighed again before putting the picture back where it was, he stayed in his bed for a while. He wasn't even doing anything, just stairing blanking into space. But his thinking slowly started to turn to what if he was still at home? What if be hadn't killed his so called best friend? As he started to think theses things he just got angry. "Fuck me, fuck that place too, fuck everything!" He said, getting up and grabbing his jacket. It was a little colder then early today.<br/><br/>Micky walked out of his room, making sure to close the door behind him. He walked to the front door and put his shoes back on.