All Around the Fucking World.
"I'm done with you!"
The words sting - fuck they sting - but it isn't anything I haven't heard before. And, really, what else was I expecting, coming here two years after he'd dropped me by the first street lamp he'd seen after he'd dragged my fucked-up ass back to Portland? A happy welcome? A nice, warm hug like the old days?
Ha. Some 'old days'. Standing by the side of the road trying to make a quick buck off of some poor bloke's life in the closet. Especially for him, having to drag my narcoleptic ass around everywhere because everything was too stressful for me.
This is too stressful for me. Everything's going black. He's yelling at me; I think he's telling me to 'get out of his fucking house' before I pass out. He doesn't need that stress. And, y'know, I almost make it to the door before I'm out cold, twitching on the ground like some fucked up epileptic. I almost get out, because, even after all the shit I've gone through these past two years, I still love the fucker and I don't want him to be pissed at me. I want him to be happy.
I wake up to comfy sheets and a downy duvet and my first thought is; "who did I fuck?" But then things come back to me, and I remember the look on Scott's face - Scottie's face. My Scottie.
"Fuck," I groan, rolling over in the bed and pulling the sheets tighter around me. Through the fabric and the stuffing I can hear angry voices, a woman yelling at a man who refuses to compromise. I guess they're out of the room, because I hear the door click open and the voices get louder for a moment before it's closed again. I scrunch my eyes up as I hear the creaking of a floorboard; whoever came into the room is coming closer to me.
I brace myself.
"Mikey?"
His voice is as soft as it always was, as silky smooth even after all that shit we smoked way back when. I don't move, because I'm terrified he's going to explode again, and I'll end up with a few more bruises than what I already have. I hear him sigh, and it's a more pain-filled sound than any I've heard before.
"I'm sorry, Mikey. I'm so fucking sorry. I just... Life is bad, Mikey, it's bad. And I can't say a thing, 'cause it's not done. I'm meant to be happy. I'm meant to roll over and be good 'cause it's what I promised. But I missed Bob's funeral, Mikey. I missed it - he was like my goddamn dad, Mikey. He was like my goddamn dad and I missed his funeral for my father's. And now, I'm expected to run around and beg when they tell me 'cause I promised that I would. But I don't want to, Mikey. I want to run away with you and make it all better for you. I want a fucking fairy tale ending, but what do I get? I get a life of fucking obedience and I can't even be with you, Mike. That's all I want. All I... Want..."
His voice trails off as he notices my eyes open, squinting against the brightness of the early day. He sighs again.
"I thought you were asleep."
"I was."
He gets up, stalks away, hands buried in his hair. Stalks back. Away and back - fuck, it's just a little too close to home, there.
"And... And you heard all that?"
I can't answer right away, and that's all the answer he needs. He swears, and walks away again. I feel as if he's going to leave.
"Don't go, Scottie. I'm sorry I came; I just needed to see you, I guess... I'll leave."
I fumble to get up, tangle myself in the sheets, fall back down. And there's a hand on my chest, holding me down, keeping me from rolling out of the bed and onto the floor. A warm hand. Cosy hand. Hand. Hand. Hand.
"You're not going anywhere, Mike. God, after I go and pour my heart out to you? After all that shit, you're gonna leave me hanging? Huh?"
I want to tell him that he left me hanging. That he didn't do a damn thing after I told him I love him. But, he did. He held me that night - not in the way of a lover, but he still held me. A warm hug, all night long. I guess he wants his all-night hug this time.
"What do I do, Scotty? How do I fix you and me?"
"Fix? Fuck, Mike, you can't fix it. There's nothing left to fix. I fucked it up - or don't you remember me leaving you by the side of that god-forsaken road? Mike, I... I fucked up. And I'm sorry. I wanna make it better, but I've fucked it up too badly."
"But I want it to be better, too, Scotty... I want... No. No I don't want. You want. It's your turn to want, Scott. Please," I mumble, hand reaching up to grip his hand on my chest. My eyes are drooping - aside from my narcoleptic episode, I haven't slept in days.
"Sleep, Mikey," I hear him say through the fog. "Sleep and we'll talk later."
The door opens, but I know Scotty hasn't left 'cause I'm still holding his hand. The other person approaches us, and I want to yell and scream for them to get away, because this is my Scotty, my Scotty, and nobody else can have him. I need my Scotty.
"Need.. M'... Scotty..."
"He's still here?"
The woman's voice reaches me just as I'm slipping away, and the last thing I hear as I fall into the blackness is Scotty's voice.
"Yeah, he is. And he's not going anywhere."
Sleep takes me, but I know it'll be okay when I wake up, because Scotty's hand is still in mine. And I get the feeling it always will be.