The way Micki sees it, for a girl on the south side, life generally goes one of two ways.
The first way is how Mandy's doing it. The main characteristic of this path is sex - you use sex as fuel, as motivation, essentially as a fucking survival mechanism, rely on showing your tits to get you by. You dye your hair, go overboard on makeup, wear skirts shorter than your underwear, blow guys in the school bathrooms for five bucks a go. You call yourself a Femme Fatale because you want to think you have all the power, but you get knocked up by nineteen and live out life with a string of part time boyfriends who just take, take, take, and wear you out so completely you begin to just fade away.
Believe it or not, this is the preferable option.
The other way to do it is the way Micki is going. In this case, you deny you're a girl altogether. Micki has four older brothers, and she's more like them than she'll ever be like Mandy. This way, you're not messing around. You get the firearms and the beatings and the really hard drugs.
You risk getting called a dyke, which Micki curls up a little on the inside just thinking about.
Of course, all this is just how Micki sees it. She says as much to Mandy one night when they're getting high in front of the TV and Dad's passed out on the floor, and Mandy socks her in the arm.
"Asshole," she says. "Newsflash - there's no huge, magical difference between the two of us. We even share the same fucking clothes half the time. Besides, I can think of a hundred girls from our neighborhood who don't fit into either of those categories."
So maybe Micki's just overly cynical or something.
Times she believes that maybe her narrow world view isn't all there is to it after all include most of the times spent with Ianna. And Micki doesn't want to admit it but they do spend time together, these days, not just when they're fucking - though they do plenty of that - but also at work and when they're ditching school and when Ianna comes over to the Milkovich house claiming to be looking for Mandy and then doesn't seem to be inclined to leave when she finds out Mandy's not there, so she sits on the couch with Micki and gets high. It's times like that, like when they're lying sweaty and fucked out on the ground under the L or in the baseball dugout, that Micki realises Ianna's just different somehow. She's street smart and tough in a way that reminds Micki a little of Mandy, you'd have to be to survive in this neighborhood looking as tantalisingly fuckable as Ianna, but she also has this quiet, wide-eyed naivety that Micki feels contradicting urges to both squash cruelly under her thumb and simultaneously guard like a small flame that could so easily be put out by the wind.
Micki knows she could do either. She could crush Ianna, probably more than anyone else. She wants to, sometimes - most of the time. Has even given it her best shot once or twice. Something keeps her coming back, though.
Because Ianna's different. She doesn't look like she's from the south side, doesn't dress like the white-trash ghetto-bitch you'd expect from someone in their neighbourhood. She dresses like she has nothing to prove. Like she can sit in her own skin and have it be enough. She's not Mandy, who needs the approval of boys drooling down her cleavage and eyeing her bare legs every day. She's not Micki either, she's not trying to make a point, she's not biker boots and dirty ripped shirts, she's not I can be one of the guys too just watch me.
Ianna wears jeans, t shirts, fitted and flattering but not overly feminine, a few hooded sweatshirts for the autumn, a single charcoal grey duffle coat in the winter that was third-hand by the time Fiona had it and is a little closer to completely wearing out every time Ianna tugs it on. And Micki tries not to think about the fact that she can recite Ianna's wardrobe by heart, can conjure up memories of seeing her across a crowded school hallway or working in the Kash and Grab, denies the fact that she actually looked in those moments, looked long enough to remember it however many months later, long enough to figure out that she only has that one coat and three pairs of shoes and the sweatshirt she wears most is the blue striped one, unzipped over a wash-faded shirt.
No, Micki doesn't think about any of that.
But she does think about the fact that Ianna's different, sometimes. The fact that Ianna blows her southside-girls theory kind of out of the water. And she knows there have got to be other girls who don't fit it either, Ianna's sister Fiona is probably one of them (-maybe it's genetic, thisdifferent which makes Micki's skin crawl-), but the fact is that Micki doesn't care about any of those others. And she doesn't care about Ianna either, not really, except that it sometimes sort of seems like she can't get the girl out of her fucking head.
She's not dumb. It's not like seeing all this in Ianna gives her any sort of hope. Ianna might just get out of the south side, that's true, she might make something moderately decent of her life, because that's the kind of person she is. But ninety nine percent of her class won't. Micki won't. She'll either get knocked up or go to prison or maybe even just live out the rest of her days in her father's dirty, falling-down old house until she fades away from disuse, like her mom. Micki's always known that's how life would play out for her. She doesn't bore herself with high expectations.
And Micki would never say this to Ianna because it would sound too much like she maybe fucking gave a damn, but the fact that Ianna's got a ticket out of this hellhole - well, it's just one more reason why there's no point in getting attached.
They're lying under the L one night, sharing a cigarette and making idle conversation about nothing in particular. This is one of those things which Micki would rather lick her own armpit than give a name, but it involves her and Ianna spending time together for no particular reason, only part of which they spend having sex, so yeah, if you were some kind of romantic you could probably class it as a fucked up form of date.
Ianna's not dumb enough to bring up that word though, so Micki can pretend it means nothing, can pretend she sticks around for all her fuck buddies, can pretend she's actually ever had a single conversation with any of them other than Ianna. There's safety in numbers, and the numbers of Micki's pretences are so vast by now she's as safe as a fucking padded room.
"You working tomorrow?" Gallagher asks, which Micki thinks is dumb because they have to know each others' schedules off by heart by now, for how often they talk about it when they're trying to schedule in a fuck. Micki's weeks don't vary all that much these days, bar the odd unexpected job with her brothers.
"Got the early shift," she says anyway, like her job is some big fucking responsibility (-it's not, all she does is crack her knuckles at potential shoplifters and stock the odd shelf of canned goods when things are really slow and there's no chance anyone she knows will see her-). "Dunno, after that."
"School?" Gallagher says in this dumb, almost hopeful fucking voice. Micki had actually forgotten it was Sunday night, maybe even early Monday morning by that stage. If she'd remembered on her own, she might have actually gone in - she does, sometimes, contrary to popular belief. Of course, Micki can't go now, because Gallagher was the one who asked so if Micki turns up it'll seem like she's making some kind of point.
"Fuck off," she says instead, sneering and grabbing the cigarette from Gallagher's lips. Ianna doesn't seem all that cut up about it, the cigarette or the school thing. She's a smart girl - she knows what to expect from Micki, really, even if she sometimes acts like she has grand fucking expectations or something.
A train rattles overhead, and Micki lets Ianna steal the cigarette back from between her lips. Micki's never actually been on the L train. Never actually left the south side, in any of the eighteen shitty years she's been alive. At this point, she thinks it's unlikely she ever will leave. Not even for a day. It's fucked up, but - well, she'd kind of miss the place.
This is something Gallagher will never be able to understand, but Micki just kind of belongs here.
"You wanna do something after school tomorrow?" Ianna asks, once the train is gone and the cigarette they're sharing is back between Micki's lips. "Me and Mandy were thinking about sneaking into a movie or something, you could come with?"
"Wouldn't wanna crash your date," Micki says with a sneer, because teasing Ianna about her nonexistent crush on Mandy never gets old.
"Fuck off," Ianna says, flinging an arm out to hit Micki in the shoulder, a little too half-hearted to be convincing. "She's my best friend, you asshole. Besides, one Milkovich is enough for me."
Micki doesn't really have a response to that, so she double checks they're hidden from view, and then starts peeling Gallagher's clothes off again. This - this is her favourite part.
When Micki finally gets home it's so late it's almost early, so she's not exactly expecting anyone to be up - she figures they'll all either be passed out in their beds or passed out at some party or bar or fuck buddy's couch. Still, she's somehow not so much surprised to see Mandy stretched out on the couch, idly channel surfing and looking a little red around the eyes. A quick sniff of the room confirms it's from weed - she hasn't been crying or anything like that, which is good, because it saves Micki and her brothers the hassle of killing anyone. She's not really in the mood for that.
"Move over, douchebag," she says, shoving Mandy's feet off the couch and sitting down in the empty space before Mandy can retaliate.
"Asshole," Mandy says, but there's no venom behind it. She even relinquishes the remote after only a minute of scuffling and a single titty-twister - weed's always made Mandy a bit too amicable for her own good.
Micki puts the television on some crappy cartoon and grabs at a couple of the cans of beer on the table in front of them until she finds one which still has something in it, drains the contents, lights up a cigarette. She has to work the next morning, is even thinking about putting in an appearance at school - only because it's the cheapest place to buy drugs, she's totally forgotten Ianna even mentioned it by this stage, of course- so she kind of needs to get to sleep about five hours ago, but somehow she can't bring herself to go to bed. She likes being like this with Mandy sometimes. In the in-between times of the day, like now, when it feels like nothing is actually real. Sometimes Micki even feels like she could kind of be herself at times like these.
"Gonna meet up with Ianna after school tomorrow, sneak into a movie," Mandy says, for no particular reason other than to annoy Micki. Micki sort of grunts noncommittally, like she does whenever anyone mentions Ianna's name in any context these days. She can hardly say she knows that already, because Mandy will want to know how, and even making up a lie about her fucked relationship with Ianna is too much effort sometimes.
"Got any more weed?" she asks, partly to change the topic immediately, mostly because somehow kids' cartoons aren't as funny sober. Mandy just laughs.
"Fuck off, I know you have to work in the morning, Ianna told me earlier. You'll get fired if you keep turning up stoned."
Micki feels strangely vindicated for a second - she was right, Ianna does know her schedule, that question earlier was clearly bogus - but shakes it off quickly into just being a little annoyed.
"Whatever," Micki says, turning back to the TV. They sit in silence for a few moments, but then Micki starts to feel sort of bad - she's not exactly giving Mandy much to work with, conversation wise. "What'd you get up to today, anyway?" she asks, because sometimes Mandy looks so fucking happy when someone takes any kind of interest in her that it breaks Micki's heart.
"Blew Joey Lanson," Mandy says, and she keeps staring straight ahead like she doesn't even care but there's a smirk playing around her lips when Micki looks.
"So?" says Micki, "You blow like fifteen guys a day, the fuck should I care?"
"Okay, first off, fuck you," Mandy replies, socking Micki in the arm like usual. "Second off, I don't blow Joey Lanson every day. He's like the hottest guy in school, everyone thinks so."
Micki isn't exactly sure how to respond to that. She's usually pretty okay with being a girl - not in terms of how the world treats girls, but in terms of how she feels in her own skin, yeah, she's fine with it - but very occasionally she'll wish so hard she could have been born a way where she wasn't expected to know who the hottest guy in a school she barely even attended was.
Instead of trying to find something to say, she just grunts. It's kind of her go-to with touchy subjects these days. Luckily, it just makes Mandy laugh again.
"Jesus, I should have known you wouldn't care, you have the worst fucking taste in guys of anyone I've ever met. And I know people who've dated Dad."
So here's the thing about Mickey and guys. She's probably been with as many as Mandy has, maybe even more. If they were rich ass north side kids, the way Micki dresses and talks and drinks and fights would probably make it hard for her to get a guy. Here it just means she attracts a slightly different shade, the grungier guys, the more serious criminals. She doesn't mind that. The more of an asshole they are the more she's off the hook for anything other than a quick fuck. Besides which, it's not like any of the guys in their neighborhood are saints. There's probably no dramatic difference between her pool of suitors and Mandy's, in the end.
So, Micki and guys. She lets them fuck her, lets them go down on her - though she never returns the favour - and finger her and do whatever they fucking like, a lot of the time. And she thanks every god she doesn't believe in that girls don't have to get a boner to have sex, because she's doesn't hate it but really she's just so fucking indifferent that there's no fucking way she could get it up in any of these situations, not even metaphorically. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that fucking around is just the expected thing to do, even if you're a girl like Micki.Especially if you're a girl like Micki. She's been called a dyke more than once because of her hair and her clothes and her general fucking attitude, and that's with her reputation of sleeping with any guy who can score her a beer. If she didn't have that list of fuck buddies to fall back, she's pretty sure nobody would ever believe she was straight. And that would be bad.
If Micki thinks about it, Ianna's one of the only girls she knows who actually doesn't fuck around - well, with guys anyway. It's not like Ianna's out or anything, she'd have to be fucking mad, but she somehow manages to keep herself away from the whole dating scene in general. With the amount of time she spends over at the Milkoviches', people probably think she's dating one of Micki and Mandy's brothers or something. It would definitely explain why nobody ever messes with her like they do with other girls the collective intelligence has deemed a prude.
Micki can't exactly say she's upset about the fact Ianna doesn't parade around on the arm of some douchey guy. Not because Micki would be jealous or anything. Just because - well.
She doesn't even finish that thought in her own head.
After Ianna finds out who the real father of Mandy's baby is, she comes to see Micki. Finds her doing target practice, or what passes for it - using one of her dad's less-than-legal guns to shoot at empty beer bottles lined up on top of a crate under the L. When she hears footsteps behind her she rolls her eyes and empties the rest of the clip in the general direction of the target before turning around. Sure enough, there's Ianna - standing with her hands in the pockets of that dumb worn out grey coat, scuffing her sneakers against the dirt. If Micki were the kind to think such things, she'd think Ianna looked pretty, right then, milk and honey complexion turned red on the tip of her nose from the cold, wisps of autumn coloured hair escaping their braid and whipping about in the wind.
But Micki's Micki, so of course she doesn't think that. Or if she starts to, well - she stops herself as soon as she can help it.
"The fuck you want?" she asks, fiddling around with reloading the gun so she doesn't have to look at Ianna's face.
"Did you know?" she asks, and Micki doesn't look up, doesn't stop what she's doing, doesn't say a word. "About what your dad does to Mandy? Did you know?"
There's a pause. Micki doesn't know what Gallagher wants right now, that's the problem. Does she want to tear Micki a new one for not fuckingdoing anything about it? Or does she just want to feel sorry for them all, want to do her noble fucking shit and try and protect them? Micki doesn't know which one is worse, really.
"Yeah, I knew," she says eventually, because what's the fucking point in lying anymore. "I'd stop him if I was around at the time, y'know, but I'm not always around. So."
Ianna just nods, and Micki turns back to the target, empties another clip, only hits a couple of the bottles - she's not really trying. Ianna's still stood behind her, out of Micki's line of sight, but Micki knows she hasn't left. When the bullets stop firing Micki turns around again, sighs.
"Was there somethin' else you wanted?" she asks, even though she'd kind of give anything for Gallagher to not go away right now, to stand there and watch Micki shoot, to stay frozen in time.
"Does he -" Ianna cuts herself off, looks down, looks like she feels a little sick even saying the words. "I mean, you too?"
Micki rubs her nose. Because it's cold.
"Nah," she says, and it's the truth. "He really does think she's Mom, when he does it. I guess I don't look the part."
"Oh," says Ianna, and she looks kind of relieved and heartbroken all at the same time.
"Fuck, Gallagher." Micki has to give her something here. "Okay, sometimes when he's super trashed he thinks I'm one of the guys, knocks me around a bit. But never. Y'know. Not like with Mandy."
"Okay."
Micki thinks Ianna's gonna say something else, because if there's anything the Gallagher family is bad at it's keeping their noses out of other people's shit, but instead Ianna just walks a few steps closer to Micki and sits down, leaning against one of the big pillars that hold up the railway. She takes a snickers bar out of her pocket and starts eating it. Sort of looks at Micki but not really, like she's not particularly paying attention, like she just wants to be there.
Micki's lips twist into a smile before she can stop them. She schools her expression back to neutral before Gallagher can catch it, though.
Here's the thing - the dumb guys in this neighborhood, even if they had a brain they'd still think with their dicks, and that means they'd probably think it was hot to see two girls make out. If Mandy and Ianna got drunk at a party and got it on in front of everyone, they'd get fuckingapplauded. Even Micki, with her boys' clothes and dyke hair, could probably get away with it once or twice, as long as she didn't look like she was enjoying it too much. It's a fucking double standard because if they were guys they'd be six feet under before their lips could ever touch, but there it is.
The problem is, though, when it becomes more than that. If you want to hook up with girls just because you think they're fucking hot, rather than to impress some drooling shitheads with the oh-so-desirable Y chromosome. The problem is when you do it with the same girl too many times, when it starts to turn into a fucking relationship. It would be worse if they were boys. They're girls. And if anyone finds out, they'll still get killed. Because that's their reality.
More than likely they'd get killed for real, but there's always a chance it would be in subtler ways instead - Micki's dad would kick her out, Ianna would get ostracized so badly she'd never end up graduating high school and getting the fuck away like she was supposed to. They'd get tormented and judged and harassed, and it's not like they would even properly be together anyway, because they're not a couple, they've never been a couple, neither of them ever pretends they're not fucking other people and enjoying it just as much. So if people found out - well, it would all be for fucking nothing, wouldn't it.
Somehow, Ianna doesn't seem to get that. She says she does, but then she asks things of Micki, asks to hang out, to see each other, to do things together, to talk. All the things Micki is trying so fucking hard to keep separate from anyone she's sleeping with.
What's worse is that Micki's starting to go along with it. Not all the time, and she still gives Gallagher a hard time about it, but she can no longer count on one hand the amount of times they've got drunk together just because, or played video games at Micki's, or their fucking in the storeroom of the Kash and Grab has run into some kind of meal time so they've grabbed some free food from the store and fucking eatentogether. Everything Micki has tried to make this thing be falls apart, because Gallagher starts telling Micki thing about herself. Worse still, she starts learning things about Micki.
People just don't know things about Micki. Simple as that. They know she's tough shit in biker boots, a drugged up asshole, another Milkovich slut, whatever. But they don't know things. Don't know that she wanted a dog more than anything when she was a kid, but she knew asking for one wouldn't get her shit so she didn't bother, just took to sometimes feeding the old stray that sometimes wandered behind the house. Don't know that she reads the city newspaper when she can steal one off next door's porch, and not just the obits to find houses to rob like her brothers either, actually reads it, likes knowing what's going on in the world. They don't know that her favourite thing to eat is squares of chocolate sandwiched between two doritos, and her second favourite is pears, which - yeah, nobody would even think to guess that, she's a Milkovich, they eat what they can steal and they only steal things where at least 50 of the ingredients are artificial, but whatever, Micki thinks fruit is fucking delicious. People don't know these things, because these are the things that make Micki human, and that is the part of herself she tries her absolute fucking hardest to hide.
So that's why Micki feels so weird when Ianna starts finding out. She comments on how Micki's eating habits make her want to vomit (-"sweet and salt were never meant to mix, it's just unnatural"-), and tells her when she sees a mongrel sleeping in the alley behind the dry cleaners, and starts setting aside a copy of the local paper when she unloads them at the Kash and Grab every morning, without even saying anything about it. She starts acting like she gives a fucking damn about Micki. And Micki - well, sometimes, before she can catch herself, she finds herself unthinkingly doing similar things back.
Micki's not sure she's ever understood the word love. Thinks maybe her suicidal druggie mom and asshole rapist dad fucked her up enough that she might not ever get it. But recently, in the dead of night when she's on the brink of sleep and can no longer pretend to herself, she's started wondering if it feels a little like what churns inside her stomach when she's laughing under Ianna Gallagher.