Chapter Text
Mickey ran for his life this morning.
Literally.
That stupid bitch chased him with a fucking gun all while screaming about revenge. Fuck her.
By the time the cops showed up, Mickey was out of breath and had been certain of his imminent demise. Thank God for gentrification. With rich white people taking over the neighborhood, the Chicago PD were finally making their presence known.
Sammi had two guns aimed at her as she wisely put her own gun down and lied face down on the ground with her hands behind her head. Mickey couldn’t help but laugh. It had all been so ridiculous.
The cops had wanted him to come to the station to file a report, press charges. Mickey refused. The gun was unregistered and she certainly didn’t have a permit. The City of Chicago would have enough against her without his cooperation.
After the cops had driven away, Mickey promptly headed to the liquor store where he stole three bottles of whiskey and four six packs. The cashier owed Iggy money and didn’t intend to put up a fight, merely turning his head as Mickey walked passed him.
Now Mickey sits on his bed, nursing the last beer of one of the six packs. He already finished off one bottle of whiskey and was well on his way to getting truly fucked up. The events of the day finally weigh heavy on his shoulders and he fights the urge to cry.
Goddamn it. That stupid fucking son of a bitch.
Mickey gave Ian what he could. He was trying. He was fighting to keep them afloat, to keep Ian afloat. The fucking prick. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? He looks around the room and sees Ian in every crevice.
Fuck.
He throws his empty beer can across the room before passing out.
Mickey wakes up to Iggy standing over him. He startles a bit then groans.
“What the fuck you want?”
“You look like run over dog shit.”
“Fuck you.”
Mickey’s head throbs and his vision is still a bit blurry. He suddenly feels stomach acid at the back of his throat and jumps up, barely making it to the bathroom where he vomits into the sink. Iggy follows him, leaning against the bathroom door frame. Mickey heaves a couple more times before he rinses out the sink and his mouth. He turns to see Iggy smirking at him like the fucker he is.
“What the fuck do you want, Iggy?”
Iggy chuckles.
“What the fuck happened to you last night? You and your boyfriend hit the bottle too hard, huh?”
Mickey doesn’t respond. Iggy continues.
“I got to make a few house calls. Want to come?”
Mickey shakes his head. His only plans for today involve the remaining two whiskey bottles and three six packs. If he’s lucky, he might be able to find Iggy’s good stash of weed too. He walks to the kitchen and pulls out a six pack before lighting a cigarette from a pack he found on the counter. Iggy watches him intensely until Mickey snaps.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you staring at?”
“What happened?”
Mickey looks at his feet.
“I know something’s up, Mick. So what is it?”
Iggy pauses.
“Shit, it’s not Dad, is it? He’s not getting out, is he?”
Mickey looks up in time to see the look of fear etched on Iggy’s face. He thinks about how fucked up the Milkovich kids are if the mere thought of their father is enough to have them almost pissing their pants. Mickey shakes his head.
“No, it’s not Dad. It’s Ian.”
Iggy waits for Mickey to continue.
“It’s over. We’re…we’re over.”
“Fuck.”
Mickey chuckles. His words exactly.
“Had to end sometime, right?”
Iggy nods.
“Most things do.”
Iggy leaves and walks to his room while Mickey finishes his beer. He returns with a small bag of coke.
“You want a line?”
Mickey nods, knowing this is the Milkovich way of showing sympathy. Iggy actually fucking cares.
They snort a line together before Iggy leaves to make the rounds. Mickey heads back to his room and the consoling comfort of his bed.
He’s got no more fight in him today.
The way Mickey sees it he could very well lie in bed the rest of his life, drunk off his ass and stoned out of his mind. People do it. Shit, every man in this fucking neighborhood basically lives this way. Why not him?
So he does.
For five months and three days, this is how he spends his life. He wakes up in the morning, drinks a bottle of whatever is on hand – God bless Iggy for keeping the fridge and cabinets stocked with liquor – smokes some primo weed, and then passes out.
He figures this is the best it’s ever going to get for him. Despite being messed up a majority of the day, he still finds himself thinking of Ian. His fucking smile and terrible jokes. The way he used to wake Mickey up in the morning by trailing his fingers lightly over Mickey’s skin. His hands and how they molded to Mickey’s flesh, kneading and grasping like Mickey was a raft in a stormy sea.
He swears some nights he can feel Ian next to him in bed. The weight and heat of him pressing down on him. Or he’ll wake up at dawn to an empty bed and immediately think that Ian’s out for a run. When the reality of Ian’s absence hits him, he’s down for the count.
He rubs his eyes to force the tears back, but they come anyway. They always come. And every time they do he fears they’ll never stop.
One particularly bad night when he woke up in a panic because he thought he heard Ian crying before realizing that Ian didn’t live with him anymore, he calls Mandy. She answers after the fifth ring, mumbling a greeting into the phone. Mickey takes a shaky breath.
“Mandy.”
There's a slight pause before she responds.
“You dreamt about him again?”
Mickey sniffs and clears his throat.
“He left. Me. He left me.”
Mickey begins to cry.
“What do I do? I love him so much. I don’t know what to do.”
Mickey repeats the story he’s been telling for ages. Trailing through their relationship with a fine tooth comb, hoping to find the source of their ruin.
Mandy listens. Like she always does. She finally speaks once he’s exhausted his tale of woe.
“Fucking Gallaghers.”
Mickey snorts. Those two words say it all.
Two days after calling Mandy, Mickey finds himself standing outside of the Fairy Tail.
He knows he shouldn’t be here. He knows he’s probably lost his fucking mind by showing up to look for Ian, but he has to see him. He has to talk to him, to get Ian to reconsider. After all the shit they’ve waded through, they can’t end as simple as that. There’s just no way.
Mickey enters and pushes through the crowd of drunk and horny patrons in search of Ian. He doesn’t see him on any platform. For all he knows, Ian may not even have come in tonight. Just as he’s ready to leave and head to the Gallagher house instead, he sees Ian on a couch. He’s kissing and dry humping some blond guy while three other guys look on. Mickey’s fight instinct kicks in as usual and he storms over, pushing pass the three men and grabbing Ian by the arm. Ian immediately yanks his arm away.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Mickey sees the light go out of Ian’s eyes when he realizes it’s him. Ian stands up and stares Mickey down.
“What are you doing here?”
“Apparently stopping you from fucking some guy in front of a crowd of people.”
Ian glares at Mickey before sighing and cocking his head to the side, indicating that Mickey follow him.
He does.
They end up in one of the private rooms. Mickey works up the nerve to speak, but Ian beats him to the punch.
“Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Ian looks away.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Trying to save me. Stop. I don’t need to be saved.”
Mickey shakes his head.
“I’m not trying…”
“Yes, you are. And you need to stop.”
“Ian…”
“I have to get back to work.”
Ian pushes pass Mickey to the door. Mickey grabs Ian by the arm and turns him around.
“Would you just wait a fucking minute? Jesus, Ian, let me at least get a word in.”
Ian sighs, looks into a broken boy’s eyes, and tells Mickey the last thing he wants to hear.
“Go home, Mickey. There’s nothing for you here.”
Mickey thinks there’s nothing worse than watching the love of his life walk away from him for a final time.
Mickey walks into his house, passing an unconscious Iggy on the way in. He moves to the kitchen and pulls out a beer before putting it back.
He should want to destroy brain cells right now, but he can’t stomach the thought. Instead he walks to his bedroom and lies down, placing his head on one of Ian’s shirts that has begun to smell more like Mickey than Ian.
He revisits the brief contact he had with him. The dagger-like words and indifference. How does a person go from wanting someone so much they would risk death to suddenly not wanting to be in the same room?
He’s pathetic. He knows he is. Chasing after Ian like the bitch he always denied he was. Waiting for him to change his mind, come to his senses, realize his mistake. But he won’t, will he? Mickey knows he won’t. Tonight proved that.
This time Mickey doesn’t even try to stop the tears from falling. He lets them come like a flood. What does he have to be strong for now? He’s not responsible for anyone else anymore.
By the time 3:30 rolls around, Mickey’s cried his tears. He has gone sufficiently numb.
Numb is good. Numb works for him. He can live with numb. But it won’t last forever. He knows this. He knows that eventually he’ll start to feel again, especially when he sees Ian in every fissure of his life. There’s no place that Ian didn’t pour himself into.
Mickey can’t stay in Chicago. It’s too fucking much. If he stays, he’ll just end up putting a needle in his arm or a gun in his mouth. Anything to avoid the taint of Ian.
He stands up and grabs a duffel bag he finds buried in his closet. He throws clothes, toiletries, and cigarettes into it. He crawls under his bed and pulls out the wad of cash he has strapped there.
He’s saved over $3500 in the past few years. He kept it for emergencies, mainly for bail at first, but once Ian came into the picture it was used to keep them afloat. He still has over $2000 left.
Mickey then goes to Iggy’s room, not feeling even the tiniest bit guilty when he finds Iggy’s own secret fund of $1600. He writes a quick note to Iggy, merely stating that he’ll call when he gets to where he’s going.
Maybe.
Probably not.
He grabs his bag and the car keys from the coffee table before heading out.
He doesn’t let himself look back.
Mickey takes the Stevenson south.
He doesn’t know where he’s going. He figures he’ll just keep driving until the car breaks down. Knowing his luck, he’ll only get as far as LaGrange.
He drives in silence at first but eventually puts on the radio. The silence allows for thinking and that’s the last thing he wants to do right now. If he thinks, he may talk himself out of leaving and that cannot happen.
It’s self-preservation at its finest.
He expected the tension to ease a bit the farther he got from Chicago, but it doesn’t. Not really. That fucking cord that has tethered him to Ian for the past three goddamn years remains, stretching through the distance. He wishes it would snap already, but he also fears that if it does, he definitely won’t be able to get it back. And he might need it again someday.
He passes St. Louis and transfers to the 44. That’s how he finds himself 15 miles outside of Tulsa huddled in a stairwell of a cheap motel while tornado sirens go off. This is what he gets for driving through Tornado Alley in the middle of May.
He smokes a cigarette while the front desk clerk – some young girl who can’t be more than 19 – stares at him. He wants to ask her what the fuck she’s looking at but stops himself. He may be stuck with her in the stairwell for awhile. The man whom he assumes is the owner of the motel has his eyes closed. The girl grimaces and shoots an apologetic look at Mickey when the man starts to snore.
Finally, the sirens stop and they wait fifteen more minutes before the girl nods at him, giving him the all clear.
Mickey’s just getting settled into bed when there’s a knock on his door. He ignores it at first, but the knocking becomes more insistent so he hauls himself up and swings open the door. He makes his displeasure known.
“What?”
It’s the girl. She smiles at him while holding two towels.
“I brought some more towels. I know we only give one. Figured you might need them.”
Mickey grunts a thanks and takes them from her. She doesn’t move. She has her hands clasped, looking like she wants to say something else but is too nervous to.
“There something else?”
He thinks he knows what she wants. She probably came here looking to fuck him. She’s been staring at him since the moment he walked through the office door and asked for a room. She’s in for a disappointment.
She shakes her head but still doesn’t leave. Mickey rolls his eyes and figures he might as well just get it over with.
“Listen, I know you probably think that you coming here means we’re going to fuck, but that’s not going to happen. I like dick. A lot. So, I hate to disappoint, but I’m going to have to pass.”
The girl has a shocked expression on her face before responding.
“Oh. I didn’t…that’s not what I’m here for.”
He’s such an egotistical jackass.
“Then what do you want?”
She looks nervous again.
“Can I come in?”
He sighs before moving to the side to let her pass. She walks in and looks around the room as though she’s never been in it before. He shuts the door and crosses his arms. There’s a long pause.
“So?”
She pushes her brown hair behind her ears and bites her lip. Mickey’s eyebrows rise. He’s tired and his patience has dissipated.
“Are you going to talk or what?”
“Where are you going?”
“Well, I was hoping to go to bed, but that just may be shot to shit if you don’t get on with it.”
“No, I meant where are you traveling to?”
He shrugs.
“Don’t know yet.”
“Just driving then? Seeing where the road takes you?”
“I guess.”
“You know, I’ve never been out of this town. Almost 19 years old and I’ve never left. This place is stifling. But no one ever leaves. People get stuck here. The two friends I have are married with kids. Only one of them finished high school. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. No one’s happy. I –“
Mickey interrupts her.
“Why are you telling me this?”
She takes a deep breath and begins talking. Fast.
“I got to get out of here. I can’t stay in this place anymore. I’ll end up like everyone else. Unhappy with a bunch of kids I didn’t want, living in a trailer with a man I can’t stand who drinks and fools around on me all the time. I’ll be stuck working at this motel and taking care of my dad who hasn’t been sober in years. I’ll have to listen to people whispering about me and looking at me and I won’t do it. I won’t do it anymore. I have to get out now. If I don’t go now, I’ll end up dying in this place.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I want to go with you. Wherever you’re going, I want to go to. I don’t care where I end up as long as it’s not here.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I have money. There’s money saved up. I can help with gas and food and whatever else.”
“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”
Mickey opens the door. He feels her grab his arm and he quickly pulls it away. She has a desperate look in her eyes. He can tell she’s trying hard not to cry.
“Please.”
“I don’t fucking know you. You don’t know me. I could be a serial killer or a rapist –“
“Are you? A serial killer or a rapist?”
“No –“
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t want company. So could you get the fuck out now?”
“Listen –“
“No.”
Mickey grabs her arm and pushes her out the door before slamming it in her face.
What a weird ass girl.
Mickey gets only about an hour of sleep. Without liquor to knock him out, his sleep pattern is all jacked up. He finally resigns himself to the fact that he’ll just have to make do with coffee and gets out of bed at 4:40 in the morning to shower and dress.
At 5:15 he walks out of his motel room where he finds the girl leaning against the passenger door of his car with a small bag at her feet. She stands up straight when he walks over but doesn’t say anything. He ignores her, putting his bag in the trunk and getting into the car. He puts the key into the ignition but doesn’t turn it.
Motherfucker.
She looks and acts nothing like the Milkovichs, but he can’t help but compare her to them anyway. She’s caught in a web weaved by a drunk dad, no mom, and shitty circumstances. It’s his life basically. It’s what he’s leaving behind too. He shakes his head because he can’t believe that he’s actually contemplating taking her with him. He’s probably going to get accused of kidnapping or some shit.
Fuck it.
He leans across the front seat and unlocks the passenger door. She immediately opens it, throwing her bag in the backseat before getting in and putting her seatbelt on. She locks the door and looks at him, a huge smile on her face. He doesn’t say anything, just turns the car on and shifts to reverse.
“I’m Annie by the way.”
“Mickey.”
“Nice to meet you, Mickey.”
He grunts.
She laughs.
Annie’s not much of a talker which Mickey appreciates. She stares out the window mostly and softly hums to the songs on the radio, but other than that, she’s quiet. She springs for coffee and snacks along with giving him some money for gas every time they need to stop. She moves so quickly, though, like she’s terrified he’s going to abandon her at some gas station or McDonald’s, but to be honest, he doesn’t blame her. He’s actually thought about it a couple of times; mainly because he can’t believe he actually has some strange girl riding in the car with him to God knows where.
They make it to Albuquerque.
He stops off at a gas station to buy a six pack before heading to the nearest motel. They get separate rooms. Before he enters his, she tells him she plans on grabbing something to eat and invites him along. He shakes his head.
Half an hour later, Annie’s knocking on his door with a burger and fries. He would refuse her offering if he weren’t so damn hungry. She sits on the bed and turns on the TV while he rummages through the bag of food. He offers her a beer which she refuses. She sticks to the water bottle she brought.
They end up watching three episodes of Quantum Leap before she wishes him a good night and goes to her room. Mickey again contemplates leaving her here and continuing on his own but decides against it.
He’s not that much of an asshole.
He dreams of Ian. He dreams of chasing after him, running to catch up. Every time he thinks he’s close enough to grab his shirt or touch a wisp of his hair, Ian speeds up and turns a corner. He leaves Mickey behind. But Mickey won’t stop running. Won’t stop reaching. How could he?
Ian’s all he’s ever known.
Mickey wakes up to a banging on his door. He hears Annie calling his name. He groans before standing up and answering the door.
“What?”
Annie’s already showered and dressed, holding her small bag and a cup of coffee.
“It’s 10 o’clock. We have to be checked out by 11.”
She hands him the coffee.
“I figured you might need this.”
He grunts his appreciation before accepting it and heading to the bathroom. By the time he’s ready, she’s tidied his room and has his bag waiting by the door.
Annie remains quiet while he transfers to the 17. She’s never once asked where they’re going, has never expressed the least bit of interest. He’s glad though because he honestly has no idea where they’re headed. He’s thought about Seattle or somewhere in Northern California but hasn’t decided on anything yet. He doesn’t know how much more his car can take.
Mickey’s car breaks down in Phoenix.
He and Annie abandon the car on the side of the road. She’s hesitant about leaving it there, but honestly, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s surprised the car got them this far.
They walk to the nearest motel, but before they go inside, Annie stops him.
“I think we should only get one room.”
“Why?”
“We don’t have a car anymore. I think this is it, Mickey. I think Phoenix is where we’re staying. We need to slow down on spending money until we’re able to find jobs or something.”
This pisses him off.
Somewhere along the line, she’s come to believe that they’re in this together. That they’re going to settle down or some shit.
It’s bullshit. He’s done with depending on others because it got him fucking nowhere. He clenches his jaw before spitting out his words.
“There’s no ‘we’. I got you out of that town like you wanted. Congratulations. Now it’s time for you to go your way and for me to go mine. Good luck.”
He ignores her surprised look and walks away.
Mickey finds himself in a bar surrounded by people whom he assumes also have shitty lives.
He buys three shots of whiskey and then sticks to beer for the rest of the night. The men next to him argue about the Diamondbacks while the woman two seats down cries into her beer. Mickey can’t help but stare at her until she looks up.
“Men are worthless pieces of shit. They take what they want until you’re nothing but a shell.”
Mickey raises his glass to her.
“You’re goddamn fucking right.”
Mickey throws up on the sidewalk outside the bar after last call and somehow stumbles the two blocks back to the motel. He asks the front desk clerk about Annie and there’s something to be said about a place that readily gives up information, no questions asked.
Of course that something is nothing good.
He knocks on her door, and when she answers, he fully expects her to slam the door in his face. Instead she sighs and leads him in, putting him to bed.
The last thing he remembers is her taking off his shoes.
He wakes up to a pounding in his head and a ringing in his ears. He turns on his stomach and hides his face in the pillow, trying to avoid the sunlight pouring around the edges of the drapes. Phoenix is fucking bright.
He hears the bathroom door open and the footsteps of a girl he doesn’t feel up to facing right now. She turns on the TV and he hears the mundane news reports. Mickey feels her standing over him and groans. He turns to his side to face her.
“What?”
Just saying that hurts his fucking head.
“You always get this drunk?”
“Fuck you care?”
Annie looks away and bites her lip.
“What are you running from?”
“I’m not running.”
“People just don’t leave Illinois and drive to Phoenix without some kind of story behind it. What’s yours?”
“None of your fucking business.”
He gets up and walks to the bathroom, slamming the door. Jesus, his fucking head.
Later, he lies on the bed watching some show about how they make Astroturf.
Annie’s fucked off to somewhere. He half hopes she won’t come back, but she left her stuff here so he knows it’s a long shot. Just as he’s contemplating going to the vending machines around the corner, she comes stomping through the door. She slams it shut. Her face is red and her hands are shaking. Anger is not a good look on her.
“Are you running from the law?”
“What?”
“Did you do something illegal? Is that why you left Illinois?”
“Isn’t this something you should have asked me before getting in my car?”
“Answer the question.”
Mickey shakes his head.
“No.”
“Are you an alcoholic?”
He laughs.
“Probably. It would make some shit a lot easier if I was.”
She clenches her jaw and bites out.
“That’s not funny.”
He rolls his eyes.
“So what brought on the interrogation, Annie Oakley? Finally starting to realize that you’re fucking crazy to get in a car with a complete stranger before vetting him?”
“Yes.”
“Regretting it?”
She shrugs.
“I don’t know yet.”
Mickey chuckles.
“Don’t worry. Spend another hour or two with me and you will.”
Annie looks at the floor.
They sleep in the same bed. She’s hesitant at first, but when he offers to sleep on the floor, she just shakes her head and gets under the covers. They watch some third rate crime drama which Mickey hates. Everything is so black and white on these types of shows. There’s always a good guy and a bad guy. There’s no gray, no in-between. That’s not how life works though. Sometimes the bad guy is the good guy.
Sometimes the good guy has it coming.
That night as they lie in the dark Annie whispers to him.
“Why did you leave Illinois?”
He ignores her, but she’s persistent. “
Mickey, why di –“
“Reasons.”
“What ki –“
“Reasons that have fuck all to do with you. Now for fuck’s sake, will you shut up and go to sleep?”
She turns on her side and he stares at her back. For a brief second, she reminds him of Mandy.
Great.
Now he feels bad.
Annie’s really starting to piss Mickey off.
She keeps pushing for him to at least express some interest in getting a job now that she’s determined Phoenix is where they’re staying. She leaves him the classified section to two different newspapers with a cup of coffee every morning. She starts out early every day looking for work and doesn’t come back to the motel until after 5pm, bringing with her some sort of fast food. Annie reports where she was and whom she talked to and what applications she filled out like he actually gives a shit. She gets frustrated with him when he grunts replies or ignores her but never confronts him.
He’s starting to think she’s a bit of a wimp.
Mickey has no idea why he’s sticking around. He’s thought about leaving, about hopping a bus or a train to somewhere – anywhere really – but so far has done jack shit. He tells himself that she’s a naïve kid who needs him around to set her straight, but that’s not entirely true. He sticks around because she distracts him from all the shit running around inside his head. He doesn’t have to think about anything but the immediate circumstances when he’s with her.
And he likes that.
She hasn’t asked him anymore questions about his past since her little outburst last week which suits him just fine. What she does do is bring up little things about herself that he unfortunately remembers.
He knows that she likes 2% milk and four sugars in her coffee. She doesn’t wear jewelry because she feels it gets in her way. She doesn’t know how to walk in heels because she never really had an occasion to wear them. She’s afraid of dolls and stairs. She has “no choice” but to wear bangs because she has a high forehead, and she’s a pretty decent cook. Annie hasn’t told him anything too heavy yet, but he knows if he stays with her long enough she will.
He’s dreading that day.
Two and a half weeks after they arrive in Phoenix Annie gets a job as a hostess. She’s so excited that she jumps around a bit when she tells him and hugs him, throwing her arms around his neck and squealing. He’s uncomfortable and doesn’t hug back. She doesn’t seem to care.
She insists that they celebrate her good fortune and splurge at a sit-down restaurant.
She chooses Sizzler’s.
Mickey throws up in the bathroom before they’re even seated and tries to hide his shaking hands under the table for the rest of the night. Annie notices but doesn’t say anything.
He orders a steak.
Rare.
Almost two months later, Annie finally loses her patience with him.
“When are you getting a job?”
Mickey shrugs.
“Are you even looking?”
He isn’t. He throws out the classifieds she leaves him and doesn’t leave the room unless he needs to buy cigarettes and/or beer.
“You need to get a job, Mickey. We can’t keep living in this motel. I want us to get an apartment soon. I hate staying here. It reminds me of living in a trailer.”
“Then fucking get an apartment. What the fuck you need me for?”
She takes a deep breath in an effort to calm herself.
“I thought we were in this together.”
“Well, you thought wrong, Raggedy Anne.”
Her voice raises, but it’s not quite yelling. He can tell it makes her uncomfortable.
“Then why are you here? Why are you staying with me in this room if we’re not partners in this? Explain it to me. Please. Why is it so hard for you to try?”
Mickey stands up from the bed and begins throwing his things into his duffel bag.
“That’s great, Mickey. Go on and leave. Go drown yourself at the bottom of a bottle. That’s the only thing you’re even willing to do.”
“Fuck you.”
He storms out, slamming the door behind him.
He doesn’t need her critical bullshit.
Mickey spends the next four days in a drunken stupor.
He thinks of Ian only when he’s the right amount of intoxicated, too far gone to tell himself to stop but not enough to pass out. A particular memory has pushed its way to the forefront.
It was their first summer together. Ian had gotten him the job at the Kash and Grab and they spent more time with each other than anyone else. It was unnerving and exciting all at the same time.
He told himself it was just the sex. It was just the way Ian gripped his hips and pounded into him until Mickey had no choice but to see stars.
One night after fucking twice and sharing a six pack and four cigarettes, they walked home together. Ian of course rambled on about the army and ROTC like he did whenever he was buzzed. Mickey looked at his shoes the entire time, swatting at mosquitoes whenever he felt them brush his skin. They stopped at the corner that indicated their parting.
Ian’s hand reached out and ghosted over Mickey’s arm which sprouted goosebumps at the mere suggestion of contact.
Ian smiled.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Mickey watched him leave, he knew. He just knew.
He was in love with Ian Gallagher.
Mickey wakes up on the fifth morning of his binge and stares at the ceiling for an hour, trying to talk himself into getting out of bed.
He’s wallowing; he’s well aware of this. He feels he’s entitled though, considering that his life was blown to shreds by one word.
He’s lost. He’s floundering. And honestly, there’s a part of him that’s okay with that. There’s a part of him that’s done trying. Trying’s not worth it.
But there’s another part of him – a bigger and angrier part of him – that is demanding he cut the shit and get over it. That part is winning.
So he gets up. He showers and gets dress.
Then he ventures out and starts looking for a job.
This is easier said than done. He doesn’t have a high school diploma or even a GED. He has no marketable skills unless someone’s willing to count drug dealing, racketeering, and pimping as skills. He can’t even fall back on scamming because he has no contacts in Phoenix. He’s fucked basically.
He looks though.
And he tries.
Mickey is shit at apologizing.
He’s only ever done it once in his life and it ended up not mattering in the end. So when he goes to see Annie at the motel all he can say is that he’s started looking for work. Annie just stares at him, making him uncomfortable until he asks whether she’s going to let him in.
She does.
Three weeks later Mickey gets a job at a dry cleaner’s.
Mark the owner of the dry cleaner’s doesn’t really care that Mickey doesn’t have more than an 8th grade education. He completely ignores that Mickey has a record and “fuck u-up” tattooed on his knuckles. And this is all because the dry cleaning business is a front. Mark deals pot and cocaine and it’s the good shit too, none of that bullshit of stems and seeds and baking soda. As a result, he’s built quite the following.
Mickey thrives in this environment. It’s what he knows. He has cultivated knowledge on the art of drug dealing since he was five. He’s careful, understanding that even the slightest mistake could end with a 15 year prison term depending on what he's caught carrying.
He’ll be damned if he ends up that way.
Annie knows nothing about what he does. He doesn’t feel the need to tell her, considering it’s none of her business what he does as long as he’s making money. It’s strange, but he feels slightly guilty about this. He doesn’t know how she’d react though and he finds himself caring about that.
After a couple of months of working and Annie watching every penny, it’s determined that they have enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent.
He hesitates when she tells him this. Mickey never really thought they would get this far together. He always just assumed she’d leave him eventually, finally figure out that he was trash and not worth the effort.
But she’s stayed. And now she wants to live with him. He doesn’t know if she’s crazy or just scared of being alone. At this point though, he’s not so sure it matters anymore.
He and Annie scour apartment listings before finding one they can afford in Mesa. It’s a one bedroom which she calls comfortable. He calls it tiny as fuck. It’s got central air though which is the main reason he agrees to it. Arizona’s heat is fucking unbearable. He’s afraid his pasty ass is going to burst into flames at any second.
Moving in is easy considering they have very few belongings.
She cooks dinner with pots and pans she bought at Goodwill. They eat on the floor, balancing paper plates on their knees and using plastic utensils. They remain silent for a bit until he catches her looking around the apartment with a huge grin on her face. She looks at him and bursts out laughing.
Her joy is contagious. He can’t help but join her.
Four months pass and they’ve fallen into a routine, he and Annie. It’s domestic as fuck, and Mickey can’t believe he engages in it. They have set days for laundry and grocery shopping. He agrees to wash dishes since she does all of the cooking. When she works nights, he meets her at the restaurant to accompany her home.
One night, a block away from their apartment, Annie looks over at him.
“You’re a good man, Mickey.”
He doesn’t reply, too caught off guard to even attempt a sarcastic answer.
She doesn’t say anything more.
Later that night, he goes into the bathroom after she falls asleep and lets the tears well in his eyes while he thinks about what she said.
He doesn’t necessarily believe her, but it feels good to hear it all the same.
They’re sitting on their brand new couch watching TV. Although he was completely fine with used furniture, she adamantly refused. She was terrified of bed bugs plus she never had anything new for herself. She wanted to change that.
It goes to a commercial when she turns her whole body towards him and asks a question he expected to come at some point.
“Why don’t I know anything about you?”
He shrugs.
“I mean, you know pretty much everything about me. I tell you a lot of stuff.”
Does she ever.
He knows all about her mother running off with their pastor. Her father turning to drinking to numb the hurt and embarrassment. Her having to endure the whispers and stares of a so-called God-fearing community. About her only having two friends growing up but then being ignored by them once they got boyfriends. And about how he wasn’t the first person she asked for a ride out of town. He was just the first one to say yes.
Her life was nowhere near as bad as what he had to endure to which he’s grateful. If abandonment and whispering were enough to hurt her, he can’t imagine what beatings and rape would have done.
She decides to push a bit more.
“Listen, I know you’re not a big sharer which is okay, but I just want you to know that I’m here. You know, if you ever want to talk or whatever.”
She grabs his head and turns it towards her so that she can look into his eyes.
“I promise I won’t flinch.”
It’s midnight when he turns to her in bed and shakes her awake. She rolls over and rubs her eyes. He takes a breath.
“I was born in Chicago…”
Mickey tells her everything. He tells her about his mom dying, about Terry, about his brothers and sister. Speaks about juvie and dealing – even the current stuff – and pimping. He confesses his reason for leaving Chicago.
“Ian. His name is Ian.”
She keeps her promise. She doesn’t flinch when he describes the beatings. Doesn’t cower when he weaves a tapestry of blood, and guns, and rape, and tears. Doesn’t turn away when he explains his fear for himself, for Ian, when he reveals the wedding and pregnancy and “don’t”.
He recounts the desperation he felt while looking for Ian, and finding Ian, and having Ian. Whispers about his coming out and the brutality that followed.
He voices his frustration with the unfairness of mental illness, of being robbed of happiness, of a loving stability.
He laments about punches and “faggot”. Cries about abandonment, about not being wanted, about “yeah”.
Hates mentioning his depression and begging.
But before he’s done, before he silences his stream of words, he describes a memory he has, one that has plagued him since his and Ian’s ending.
It was a week before his life fell apart. The baby was safe in his crib. Svetlana was sleeping with Nika. And he had woken up without Ian in their bed. He ventured out of their bedroom when he saw Ian kneeling on the couch and staring out the window. A cigarette was between his fingers and Mickey watched the smoke curl in the air. Ian must have sensed him because he turned. They stared at each other in silence before Ian got up, put out the cigarette, walked over to Mickey and kissed him.
“And I knew. I just knew right then and there that it was going to end. Forever wasn’t in the cards for us.”
He stops there. Can’t say anymore.
She wraps her arms around him; he nestles his face in between her neck and shoulder. He feels her voice reverberate through him.
“Love’s a natural disaster. It’s like a tornado. You hear the sirens and you see the clouds, but it still feels surreal. But it comes. And it destroys homes and rips up lives. Afterwards, you look at the devastation and wonder how you made it out alive. But you know what people do after a tornado, Mickey? They rebuild. They shed a tear. They rummage through the debris. And they rebuild.”
Mickey hangs on to her tight and doesn’t loosen his grip until he falls asleep.
Months pass so quickly he finds it difficult to believe that it’s Christmas already. Of course it’s easy to forget it’s winter in Mesa, considering the temperature hasn’t fallen below 75 degrees in two weeks.
He waits at the bus depot, watches as a bus rolls in and his sister disembarks. They hug each other, expressing their joy through the tightness of their grips. He carries her bag and asks how the trip was while they wait for the Metro. By the time they arrive at his apartment, they’ve exchanged enough small talk to satisfy them for the rest of her visit.
Before they go in, Mickey turns to Mandy.
“Okay, so I just want to warn you. Annie can be a bit overenthusiastic. She’s planned this big meal and has been cooking since really early this morning so please be nice. She wants you to like her.”
Mandy rolls her eyes.
“Of course I’ll be nice, fuckwad. When am I not?”
They both laugh.
Mickey opens the door to what smells like a really amazing Christmas dinner. Annie diverts her attention from mashing potatoes to smile at the Milkovich siblings. Mickey makes the introductions.
“Annie, this is my sister Mandy.”
Annie wipes her hands on her apron while Mandy waves at her. Annie of course is not satisfied by this and pulls Mandy into a hug. Mandy peers over Annie’s shoulder at Mickey with clear confusion in her eyes. Mickey just shrugs. Annie finally pulls away.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you, Mandy. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Mandy nods.
“Yeah, I’ve heard about you too.”
“Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes.”
Mickey grabs two beers from the fridge and offers one to Mandy. They both sit down while Annie gets back to mashing the potatoes.
“So, how was your trip?”
“Fucking long. My ass was asleep for most of it.”
Annie laughs.
“We’re really glad you suffered through that though to come.”
Mandy quirks her eyebrow at Mickey and mouths the word “we”. Mickey rolls his eyes.
“Sorry about you having to sleep on the couch. It’s a pull out though and it’s pretty comfortable.”
“Don’t worry about it, Annie. I’ll be fine.”
Finally, it’s time to eat.
Mickey’s right. The dinner is amazing.
Mickey and Mandy take it upon themselves to clean up since Annie did the cooking. She sits at the table and they talk about the mundane.
Mickey had warned her about Mandy’s reticence. After living with him all this time, Annie understands completely.
They watch A Christmas Story and Annie laughs as Mandy tells her about the time Mickey drank so much spiked eggnog at their uncle’s house he passed out in the snow after singing “Jingle Bell Rock” at the top of his lungs on the walk home. She had to drag his limp body for two blocks.
Annie eventually goes to bed after leaving blankets and a pillow for Mandy and wishing them a goodnight. The Milkovich siblings drink their beer in silence. Mandy finally breaks it by punching Mickey in the arm.
“The fuck, Mandy?”
“You playing straight again?”
Mickey shakes his head.
“No.”
“So then what’s with Suzy Homemaker? You two fucking?”
“Jesus, Mandy. No, I am not fucking her.”
“Then what?”
“She’s a friend.”
“You don’t have friends.”
“I don’t have ‘friends’. I have a friend.”
“She’s nice.”
“She is.”
Mandy gets up from the couch to root around in her bag. She pulls out a dime bag and some papers and kneels on the floor to roll a joint on the coffee table. She lights it and then passes it to Mickey once she’s taken a hit. He accepts it gratefully.
“How’s Kenyatta?”
Mandy shrugs.
“Fine.”
“He still beating the shit out of you?”
Mickey has an edge to his voice when he says this. He’s waiting for her answer, knowing that if she says “yes” he’ll tie her to the fucking bed to keep her here with him and Annie.
Safe.
“Fuck you.”
She grabs the joint out from between his fingers.
“He’s not home much. I think he’s fucking around on me.”
“I’m positive he is.”
“Again, fuck you. We can’t all have a platonic companion who caters to our every whim.”
“She doesn’t cater to me.”
“Well, whatever you have going on with her, it’s weird. You’re not even getting fucking laid.”
Mickey laughs and takes the joint back.
“Who says I’m not getting laid?”
Mandy looks at him in shock.
“You said…”
“Fuck, not Annie. There’s guys here.”
“Oh. Anyone serious?”
“One. For a couple of months.”
“What happened?”
“Couldn’t give him what he wanted.”
“Which was?”
“More.”
Mandy nods and takes the joint from Mickey. He looks at her face and knows she has something to say.
“Just spit it out, Mandy. I don’t have all fucking night.”
She averts her eyes, staring at the stained carpet. He’s been meaning to rent a carpet cleaner for weeks now.
“I saw Ian a couple of days ago.”
The room darkens with tension. Mickey huffs.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
Mandy is a relentless bitch though.
“He wants you to know that he’s doing better. He’s on medication an – “
Mickey panics.
“You didn’t tell him where I am, did you?”
“Of course not. You told me not to.”
Mickey sighs.
“Good. Just…don’t tell him, okay?”
Mandy agrees. She may be Ian’s best friend, but she’s Mickey’s sister first and foremost. Blood is thicker than water and all that.
“You think you’ll ever talk to him again?”
Mickey shrugs.
“Who knows? I’ve learned not to look towards the future.”
They finish the joint and Mickey wishes her a goodnight. Just as he enters his bedroom he hears Mandy whisper.
“Are you happy?”
He closes the door.
Mandy stays with them for five days.
He and Mandy don’t talk about anything of importance for the remainder of her trip. She came all this way and neither of them want to ruin their reunion with a fight. Instead, he shows her around. They see a movie, play Call of Duty, visit Annie at work. Mandy remarks about loving their version of winter, thinks out loud about moving to Phoenix. Annie encourages her. Mickey just nods. He knows Mandy won’t do it.
Not until she has nowhere else to go.
When it’s time for Mandy to leave, to return to whatever awaits her in Indiana, Annie and Mickey see her off at the bus station. Annie hugs her goodbye, makes her promise to come back as soon as she can. Mandy agrees.
Annie moves to the side to give the siblings privacy. She knows they don’t do well with expressing their feelings in front of an audience. Mickey grips Mandy’s shoulders.
“You call me when you get back home.”
“I will.”
“And you call me if you need anything. Money, an extra set of fists, whatever.”
“I promise I will.”
They hug. She gives one last wave to Annie and moves to get on the bus. Mickey watches her.
“Mandy!”
She stops and looks at him. Mickey takes a breath.
“Yes.”
Mandy looks confused, but slowly, he sees his response dawn on her.
She gives him a small smile and a final wave.
As the bus departs, Annie throws her arm around his shoulder and kisses his cheek.
Yes.
His answer is yes.