blue ; gallavich

28

MICKEY

The house is silent when I wake up. I look over to check the time; 2:00. Jesus I slept the whole fuckin' day away. Then again, there's not much else to do when your arm is as stiff as a brick wall. Shit, Karma, I knew you were a bitch but I never thought you'd put me through that much pain. The past few days have felt like fucking shards of glass digging into my flesh, and with Ian's absence from my grungy room any sort of movement causes an unbearable torture that feels like one thousand needles are being jabbed into my arm, all in the same fucking spot.

My phone rings in my pocket as my alarm goes off, and I groan as I hoist myself up. That was the one minute I needed to get through the day, I think to myself as I hobble downstairs and make some toast, since that's all I have. My fridge is empty, the Taquitos are gone, and there's no butter for my bread. Fuck me in the ass, of course there's no fucking butter. I'm not aloud to have that one simple thing in life, something that can make my burnt bread somewhat tolerable.

I decide to text Mandy to tell her to run to the store for me, and when I take out my phone I see an email about the court date. I ignore it, not giving enough fucks to read it, and frankly not trying to make myself in a bad mood- or a worse mood than I'm already in. If I would've had fucking butter than I would've been fine.

I need some coffee.

I also need a life.

And some pain killers would help.

Sleep, too.

And butter.

Run to the store and get me butter, I send to Mandy.

No bitch go take a fucking shower. And get your own butter I'm not your slave, she replies as I grunt in frustration.

I just took a fuckin shower last night asswipe. The fuck would I take another one? It only been like 14 hrs, I argue, the last part bringing back the logic my statement.

Bcuz you have a double date today dumbass. And your fucking arm shit isn't getting you out of this, she responds. Fuck, I forgot about the double date.

I don't even wanna fucking go, I protest.

Just do it for Ian, she instructs, knowing that it will get me.

Fuck you. Fine. But get me butter. I demand as I turn off my phone and stomp upstairs to take my shower.

________________________________

My nerves have me sweating like a pig, leading me to taking a second shower, and I even drink some old, nasty tea shit Mandy got me to calm down. I'm not sure why I'm so anxious right now. It's not like this is my first date with Ian.

But it kind of is.

Not in the sense where we watch action movies and fuck on the couch, but an actual sit-down date. Last time we did that-

Oh. That's why I'm nervous.

I'm fuckin' terrified that Sammy or Terry or fucking someone is going to come ruin everything again. They always do. And this time, if bad timing does take its course, I will lose my shit.

Think of the positive, Mickey.

You're right. Or I'm right. I don't fucking know.

I lay out the only ironed shirt I have, a white button up, and the most sophisticated pair of pants I own, circulation-cuttingly tight black skinny jeans. Trying to match, I grab a black tie and attempt a few times to tie it, resulting in my surrender and a few frustrated grunts. Or stressed grunts, I can't tell which. I check my phone and huff loudly as I notice that it's already 5:30 and I have thirty minutes to get to the Gallagher house. I rush out of the room, tie loosely dangling from my neck and my suit jacket wrapped around my arm as I struggle to get my shoes on.