blue ; gallavich

16

MICKEY

I wake up and groggily rub my eyes, looking around the living room to see a passed out Mandy on the floor, eyes still blood shot from the night before. I stand up and have to take a minute to adjust as my head throbs and my eyes roll back into my skull. Holy shit am I hungover. I also notice the throbbing sensation in my lower back and I smugly grin, remembering Ian fucking my brains out last night.

I take slow, steady steps into the kitchen and- after vomiting twice in the sink- I pour myself a cold cup of coffee. It's freezing from the night before but it feels soothing as the bitter taste hits my tongue and slithers down my dry throat. I place both hands on the counter and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to relax my breathing and steady my balance so I don't collapse onto the floor. I must've gotten very drunk last night, but not drunk enough to forget the events from the previous day.

I remember the shower sex. How turned on Ian was. Mandy screaming at the screen during Mario Kart. Collin descriptively giving me the details on how he was going to murder and torture Terry. Ian telling me about how Frank made a reference to our undeniable love. And a lot of us saying 'fuck'. But I wish I hadn't remembered Terry, even hearing his name makes me want to hit the first object I see.

I stumble upstairs to the bathroom and turn on the shower, feeling dirty even though I had just bathed last night. Ian got me into the habit of being hygienic; if it weren't for RedHead I would still be smeared in dirt and smelling like a horse's ass. But now I take a shower every day, if I see even the smallest spec of dirt on me I hop in and scrub it off. He also got me into brushing my teeth and my hair, changing my clothes, not eating in bed, wearing socks without holes in them, and almost every other habit I do. Of course, the good habits.

I feel the hot water hit my back as it pours onto my head and beads down my face. Steam starts rising up and I can feel my headache start to fade away as I sigh in relief. I take in a deep breath and tell myself not to think in here; to instead scrub my fucking body like a shower is for, but I've always had a hard time taking my own advice. My mind wanders straight to where I don't want it to- Terry. I shut my eyes and tell myself to think of literally anything else, but that will always lead to something worse.

I make my brain toddle off to another thought- though this time it's gay ass shit- as I start to picture a gay pride parade, what it would actually be like. I always thought they were myths until Ian tried to drag me off to one and I had to fake an injury to get out of it, which did not please him in the slightest. I imagine shirtless guys holding gay rainbow flags and sparkly shit in the air, dancing around like fuckin' fairies as they yell chants like 'it's okay to be gay' and 'gay is good'. I then realize that I can't think that shit anymore, seeing that I now am a gay man and not all of us are foofoo princesses wearing tutus and sprinkling pixie dust around.

My thoughts begin to wander again to something much darker, and I shake my head to make the images go away. I picture an innocent Ian walking down the street, terrified with every move he makes, his head turning each and every direction. Terry pops out of nowhere and stabs him, Ian falls to the ground bleeding and screaming out for help. But I'm not there, I'm at home drinking or not answering my phone. I get the call from the hospital saying-

"Stop, Mickey. Just fucking don't." I growl at myself as I scratch the shampoo onto my scalp, so hard that I might be bleeding. I lean back to rinse it out and take a breath to calm myself down. That won't happen, Mick. Don't think that way. Ian will be fine. I reassure myself as I start to relax up against the wall.

I step out of the bathroom, dizzy again and nearly tumbling down the stairs. "Shit," I cry out. How much did I drink last night? I haven't had a hangover this bad in a long time. Then again, when you're in jail it's somewhat hard to feel like your head is about to explode and you want to die. Unless you eat the food, that is. Then you'll feel like NASA just launched a rocket in your fucking stomach.

Mandy mumbles something in her sleep as she rolls over, falling off the couch, but she still doesn't wake. She's always been such a heavy fuckin' sleeper. I pick up worn-away blunts and beer bottles off of the floor and I hear my phone ring in my pocket, but I ignore it. I'm not in the mood to talk to Iggy or Collin right now, especially if the topic is our shitty excuse for a father.

"What happened last night?" I hear Mandy's voice boom as I jump in shock.

"Jesus, Fuckhead! Gimme a warning first, fuck man." I defend as I rub the bridge of my nose in exhaustion. "We got drunk, smoked some weed, the usual. You got your ass beat in Mario Kart."

Mandy socks me in the arm as I flinch and rub the soon-to-be-bruised area. "Fuck you Doucheface. I can beat you in anything else, Dumbass, so don't even try me Mickey."

"Mhmm. I'd like to test that theory." I reply arrogantly as she raises her eyebrow up skeptically.

"Tonight. We get high and play some Black Ops." She suggest as I nod my head in agreement.

"I'm down."

"Be ready to get your ass kicked. Make sure Ian goes easy on you next time you fuck 'cause that pain won't go away for a long time." She taunts as I roll my eyes.

"You wish." I scoff in response.

"Oh, I know. Imma kick your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a week." She threatens as I laugh.

"In your dreams, bitch. I'll beat your ass so hard that you won't be able to get up." I respond smartly as she scoffs.

"You're stupid as shit." She scolds as she stomps upstairs.

"When'd we get a stampede of elephants?" I mumble rhetorically as she continues to stomp. I look around the room for a second before I realize that there's something missing. It's not my siblings or Terry or an object or piece of furniture. I see the Xbox, the couch and tables and chairs all in place, nothing is absent from its location.

I hear my phone go off again. I ignore it as I ponder what the essential element that I am looking for is. I search the living room, under the couch cushions, in the drawers and cupboards, even in the dishwasher. My phone rings once more, this time being followed by a robotic voice and the realization hits me as the lady reads out:

"Four missed calls from: Ian".