A/N: I blame this entirely on whoever wrote a fic in which Mickey could draw. Idk I can't seem to find it anymore but it was awesome and it gave me the idea for this. It appealed to me because drawing is actually a thing I can see Mickey being really good at. Also, I don't know what happened to Mickey's mom so this is me trying to make her part of his life without specifying what happened to her.
The title is from the song '9 Crimes' by Damien Rice which is beautiful and heartbreaking and everyone should listen to it.
I am not a native speaker and I didn't have a beta so if you spot any mistakes please point them out (I know, my punctuation is terrible ugh). If one of you are willing to beta for me I'd love you forever.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
He would never admit that he likes to draw. Drawing is for kids and girls and faggots. So it's only at night that he takes out the tiny stub that is left of his pencil and the notebook he stole from Mandy when he was 10 because she wouldn't have any use for it anyway. And after he is done drawing whatever the fuck was on his mind he puts it back between the chest of drawers and the dirty white wall of his bedroom.
What he draws completely depends on his mood. It's always something that means something to him though. Like he is drawing his fucking life, putting his memories on a white blank page because no one in his fucking family ever even owned a camera let alone think about taking pictures. So it's his own way of keeping images and moments locked in a book the way other people did with photographs.
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The first animal Mickey ever draws is a dog. It was his neighbor's dog and its name was Kenny and he looked so miserable that Mickey could barely stand walking past it every day on his way to school. Kenny wouldn't grow very old, that was clear at the get-go because even a dog can only stand so much beating. When he lay motionless in the front yard one day Mickey wasn't even surprised but he ran inside a little faster to hide the tears from his brothers.
But Mickey didn't draw Kenny right away. It was three weeks later that his dad beat him up like never before because Mickey had took the last clean towel he could find in the house. And Terry was furious because he had the fucking right to have the fucking last clean towel after a long day of hard work. When the belt hit Mickey on the back he didn't scream, he didn't even cry. And when he lay in bed that night and the pain pierced his entire body, he thought of the only living thing that had an even shittier life. The first drawing he ever did filled the entire two pages of the notebook and Mickey wished that when he died someone would remember him the way he remembered Kenny.
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The first person Mickey ever draws is his mom. Never the way she looked when he saw her last or when she had a black eye because his dad couldn't fucking contain his rage. She would always turn out the way he saw her, loving and happy and beautiful, no traces of drugs or alcohol or abuse on her face. When he was in elementary school she used to never be home before 9pm, working shitty shifts at a grocery store. But she would come into his bedroom anyway and kiss him good night and when he got up the next morning there was always a muffin or bagel or pop tarts waiting for him and he thought he would never love anyone as much as he loved his mom. So Mickey draws her with care, trying to get every single inch of her face just right.
When Mickey was younger he thought there was no one as beautiful as his mom. She laughed too much and talked too much and she was way too nice for his dad. Mickey never understood how two so different people ended up together. And she took him for ice cream every Sunday after her shift and he would get to pick their flavors and they would walk home all the way back, trying not to touch the cracks on the sidewalk with their shoes. Can you keep a secret? She would whisper in his ear when they were sitting at the kitchen table and she was making him a sandwich for school. He nodded, inhaling her words, his eyes fixated on her. You are my favorite. It was four words that would stick with him forever, four words that made the difference, made him fucking special. And she touched their foreheads and wouldn't speak of it again.
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The first friend Mickey ever draws is Kyle. Because he is funny as hell and at least a foot taller than Mickey and his brother takes him everywhere he goes. Mickey was only at Kyle's house once and he still wished he never was. It smelled like piss and meth and his mom wore nothing but her underwear, smoking one cigarette after the other. Two years later Mickey figured out why Kyle's mom kept getting visits from men that weren't Kyle's dad and why he found a bloody syringe in the bathroom sink.
Kyle dies on a Wednesday and if Mickey didn't hate Wednesday before he surely does now. On Thursday morning Kyle doesn't show up at the street corner where they usually met and Mickey shoves the snickers bar he brought for them back into his jeans. He walks to school quickly, almost runs, avoiding eye contact with older students that have their hands on knives hidden in their pockets. His guts tell him something is wrong before his teacher explains that Kyle won't be back and Mickey keeps his eyes trained on the clock on the wall and tries to ignore the lump that is forming in his throat.
Mickey never cries during the funeral, not once. The sun shines too brightly as if it was mocking them and he sweats in the long sleeved black shirt his mom put him in. He watches Kyle's family and he fucking hates them for pretending to like each. And Mickey draws Kyle's coffin that is as black as his shirt and Mickey thinks how strange it is that black is the color of funerals and the night and of tunnels that the L goes through underground. And he wonders why anyone would pick a black coffin if you could have it in blue so it could shine right through all the dirt and grass that it will be covered in. He hopes when he dies his coffin will be blue and everyone at the funeral will not just pretend to like each other and wear colors as bright as day.
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The first of his siblings Mickey ever draws is Mandy. Because she reminds him of mom in the best and worst possible ways and when she cries she doesn't try to hide it from anyone. Mandy is fucking strong. One day at the playground Mickey tells her that in this neighborhood she has to get used to taking shit and getting beaten up. So he prepares her for the worst and when he hits her in the jaw she doesn't even flinch when she gets back up. And when they get home he puts a pack of frozen peas on the left side of the jaw where her skin is already bruising.
Her eyes are green with traces of brown, exactly like their mom's eyes, and sometimes Mickey hates the way they give away everything she feels. Like she is an open book. The day it was clear their mom was gone for good, Mandy is the first to know and she screams and locks herself in her room and doesn't come out for two days. And Mickey sleeps in front of her bedroom door and counts the times Mandy wakes up screaming their mom's name. When she finally does come out of her room her eyes tell the story of her life and their loss. And he draws her eyes and prays to a god he doesn't believe in that he'll never have to see that look again and when he closes the notebook the pages are still wet from tears he denies he has ever shed.
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The first objects he ever draws are a pair of ugly ass pink sketchers. They are the shoes of his girlfriend Erica whose voice is so high pitched Mickey thinks he'll go deaf listening to her for longer than an hour. His brother whistle when Erica comes over to hang out with Mickey and they ask him about her boobs. In middle school everyone has a girlfriend and no one seems to talk about anything else. So Mickey spits on the ground and tries not to roll his eyes when he asks Erica out. But it isn't like everyone promised it would be and touching boobs is not even exciting at all. But whenever he tries to get around having to touch her again, she wants to talk or cuddle or asks him what he likes about her. And he sighs and wonders how he fits into any of this. Because girls like horses and long white wedding dresses and guys who hold the door for them. And Mickey doesn't think he could give her any of that.
After a couple of weeks of dating Erica, he doesn't know how to get out of it anymore. And so when she tells him about her day, rambling on and on, he doesn't even pretend to listen anymore. His eyes are fixated on her shoes because he can't even stand to look at her face. Memorizing every single detail about her shoes, he presses the pencil down hard on the piece of paper, trying to pour all his memories of her onto the paper. But it doesn't work and so he tells her to fuck off the next day when she throws her arms around his neck. When Erica's brother punches him in the face it hurts like a fucking bitch and his eye is swollen shut for two days. But at least he won't have to see her look of expectancy again, pleading him to give her things he never could even if he wanted to.
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The first time Mickey has sex with a girl he is nervous. Nervous because he doesn't even really know the girl, can't even remember her name, and because he doesn't know what to do. His brothers said it was fucking time for him to get some and so they asked a random chick over to do the honors. There is no privacy in the Milkovich house but the girl doesn't seem to care. Once she is naked Mickey swallows hard and the next thing he knows she is laying on him and her skin is burning holes in his in all the wrong places. And it all kind of passes in a blurr and Mickey thinks about the tree on his street that is hollow and dead because it got hit by lightning once.
As a kid Mickey used to stop to look at the tree everytime he passed it. And it fascinated him how it never changed. Never. Not even when all the other trees shed their leaves and prepared for winter or when the leaves began to grow with the first hint of spring in the air. It always looked the same. And he asked his mom why they just let it stand there, looking out of place. Because it's special,baby. Like you. Special things are rare in life. And she was off to work, the touch of her lip to his head.
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The first time Mickey has sex with a guy he feels sick. Because it isn't right. That's what his dad had taught him. Fucking faggots. Not the way God had intended. Every single faggot should burn in hell. Mickey doesn't even remember how he got there, the beers he had making his brain foggy. And then there is a guy who is touching his arm and Mickey wants to brush him off but can't. Because the touch makes his skin tingle in all the right places and while his brain says no, his body speaks a different language. And when the guy is thrusting into him it's like everything fits together and he thinks about the tree on his street that is so different to everything else he knows. Five minutes after they both pulled up their pants Mickey throws up in an alley behind the club.
Four months and three guys later Mickey gets drunk almost every day. And he fucks a fat chick called Angie to keep up his reputation and to hide the inevitable. On the inside he feels dead and hollow like that tree and he wonders how long you can feel like this before you go insane. But he remembers that the tree can't go anywhere, just stands there crooked and dead, surrounded by trees that grow beautifully and straight and he doesn't think he can go anywhere from here. So he draws the tree like it is burned into his brain, with its dead branches and hollow trunk, and he adds a noose, dangling from one of the branches, inviting someone to fucking use it.
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Mickey rarely draws people. Except his mom and Mandy. He for sure doesn't draw guys because that would be extremely gay and would also get him into a shit load of trouble with his brothers or worse, dad, if anyone ever found his notebook. He is careful with what he does and smart enough to hide his feelings inside the hollow trunk of the tree. Mickey never draws any of the guys he fucks. Except Ian fucking Gallagher who doesn't know the difference between fuck buddy and boyfriend. Who wants to become an Officer as if that title is even worth shit anymore and who fucks Mickey like noone has fucked him before. Ian Gallagher whose smile Mickey swears he hates because it stole itself into his life, making everything less dead and hollow.
Mickey draws Ian's hands, the way they grab his waist when he comes in the moonlit alley behind the Kash & Grab. The way they fit right there, like nothing has ever fit in Mickey's life before, the way they leave small bruises and burning skin. Between the ring finger and the pinky he draws the tiniest mole Mickey has ever seen. When he first saw it he could have sworn it was just dirt or one of Ian's fucking freckles that seem to cover every inch of his body. But he kept looking at it and it never moved or even faded. Sometimes he would just have to look at it to keep himself rooted in place, to not run away and do something stupid. And he fucking wishes he could put his fingers right over the mole, to cover it, to hide it from everyone else. Because he wants it to be special, to be something only he gets to see.
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He would never admit that he likes to draw. Drawing is for kids and girls and faggots. He only draws when the house falls silent and the street lights shine in through his dirty bedroom window. And when his art teacher in fucking high school tells him that he is really talented he shrugs it off and pretends not to listen to her instructions on how to get someone's facial expressions just right. Once Mandy went to bed and his dad is snoring loudly on the couch he takes out the notebook and draws faces for the first time.
It's his mom's concentrated look at the piece of paper in front of her when she teaches Mickey how to draw silhouettes, stroking the paper so carefully as if she is afraid to get even the tiniest thing wrong. It's Mandy's look of terror seconds before his dad's hand hits her cheek. Another hit on her arm and she tumbles and Mickey can see her frantic eyes searching the room for someone to help her. Someone to give a fuck. Someone to make it all go away. It's Gallagher's face falling when Mickey tells him he is nothing but a warm mouth to him. One minute his eyes pleading for Mickey to stay, to do the sensible thing, and the next his eyes full of disappointment. Like he knew something Mickey didn't, like he was in on something Mickey couldn't possibly understand. And the meaning of it all was somehow missed by Mickey, as if he could give anyone anything but pain.