Chapter Seven: You're Paying
Going to work the next morning sucked. Ian was so exhausted that he could barely think straight. It was a Sunday, and Linda had asked him to pull a double because she was going to be busy all day. Because Kash had come back into town finally. Ian was sleepy because he had slept in a recliner beside of Mandy's hospital bed all night. Lip had stayed as well, but not in Mandy's room. His brother's arm had been broken enough to require surgery. From which Lip would recover fine, the doctors said. So Lip had spent a night in recovery. Ian had, of course, stayed in his brother's room with the rest of his family on and off, until visiting hours were over. Today Lip was coming home. Mandy wouldn't be released until tomorrow.
Ian sighed as he stepped foot into the Kash and Grab. He had entirely too much on his mind. Mandy's sprained neck and slight concussion. Lip's busted up elbow. Terry Milkovich just in general. And when Mandy had been awake periodically, Ian had asked her what was going on at home. For once Mandy had been straight forward. Had told Ian about Mickey's confession, and how his words had sent Terry off the deep end, into a spiral of whiskey and heroin. Ian had insisted that Mandy not return home. She insisted that she honestly had no choice; that Terry was going to come around looking for her regardless.
Linda stood behind the register, face screwed into her usual impatient frown. He greeted her and waved as he strolled to the back room to store his book-bag and slip on an apron. When he walked back out, Linda was already on the move towards the upstairs. She stopped in front of him for a second to apologize for asking him to pull a double shift. Ian could tell that his boss was stressed out because of Kash's return. And if her nerves hadn't been obvious before, the mood was made clear when she told Ian to grab something to eat from the store, on the house. But only the once, and to not take more than was necessary. He thanked Linda, and the took his place behind the counter. Not thirty minutes later, Linda and her children were breezing down the steps and out of the store.
Ian was beyond joyful that the store was nearly dead today. He was too tired to do much but sit on a stool behind the counter, reading magazines and eating a bag of chips. His intentions had been to study up for the test he had coming up tomorrow, but Ian had given up on that. Now his schools books were stuffed back into his book bag in the other room. Eventually, Ian had to piss majorly. Probably from the three energy drinks he sucked down through the last four hours he had been standing around. It was almost nine o'clock at night, and Linda had told Ian to close up early, around ten instead of eleven. So he had only an hours of suffering left before he could run home and crash. But he had to piss like a horse, so Ian darted out from behind the counter and rushed to the bathroom in the back. When he'd finished relieving himself, Ian zipped up on his way out of the bathroom door. Unfortunately, he heard a ding, and jerked his head up, alert.
"Shit," he muttered to himself, hurrying to get in plain sight. He had forgotten to lock the door on his way to the rest room. Because he was so fucking tired, no doubt. Ian hoped no one had stolen anything because Linda would have his head on a stick if she watched the security cameras and saw. She wouldn't care about any excuse Ian might try pulling out of his ass.
When he stepped into view, Ian hurried to the register, noting that whoever had entered was rummaging around in the back isle, out of sight. Ian leaned on the counter, trying to peer around the bags of chips blocking his view. His eyes widened when Mickey Milkovich stood up, food and drinks tucked under his dirty arms. He was wearing the same t-shirt and shorts, now even filthier, that Ian remembered seeing the night Mickey had cut him deep on the front stoop. Had called his pathetic. Ian's chest ached at the memory. He swallowed hard, watching Mickey with a deep frown. Ian crossed his arms as Mickey looked over two different jerky sticks, obviously trying to decide which one he preferred.
Ian fucking hated Mickey in that moment. He stared hard at the older boy's scuffed face. Mickey's cheeks and nose were pink. His hair stood up stiff. Ian knitted his brow, looking Mickey over in detail while he had the chance. Curiously, his eyes followed Mickey to the end of the next isle, where Mickey openly pocketed a tube of sunscreen. What the hell?
"You have to fucking pay for that," Ian bit out, tart, loud. Practically fuming. At the same time his stomach churned.
Mickey froze, his back to Ian. He scratched the back of his pink neck. "Yeah," Mickey dragged, "get fucked, Ian." His tone was angry, but Ina thought Mickey sounded as tired as Ian felt. It was hard to tell now that he couldn't see Mickey's face.
Ian ran a hand through his hair, uncrossing his arms, exasperated. He exhaled long and slow. "You know, Mickey," he began, still watching Mickey pocket another tube of sunscreen, this time with some aloe vera, "there was point when I thought maybe you had the smallest bit of empathy." He paused as Mickey turned around, glaring at him, daring. Still Ian pressed on. Because fuck Mickey Milkovich and all of his bullshit. The redhead leaned on the counter, palms flat, and kept his face hardened. "But it's clear to me now that you're just like Frank. A selfish coward," he said evenly, holding Mickey's gaze. "I can't believe you just left her there, Mickey," Ian went on still, even though Mickey had sat down most of his food and drinks, save for a bag of chips and a bottle of Pepsi. Even though Mickey had taken a few steps forward. "But then," he said, serious, as Mickey stepped behind the counter, "you always have been great at running away and disregarding the well-being of others in favor of yourself." As he finished speaking, Ian stood from the stool and turned to face Mickey, who now stood directly beside of him behind the register.
Mickey sat his chips and drink on the counter, then turned his full attention back at Ian. His face was mostly blank but his eyes were hardened. Ian's chest pounded because while he had lashed out verbally, Ian was suddenly very unprepared for a fight with Mickey. In all honesty, Ian had only been in two fist fights with the boy before him. On had ended in sex and the other had been half-assed on Mickey's part. Like everyone else in their neighborhood, Ian knew how fucking crazy Mickey was when he fought. Because Ian had witnessed a real fight between Mickey and another kid from school, just before Mickey dropped out in the ninth grade. It had been a little terrifying. So as he stood only a few inches from Mickey, reeling in the short boy's body heat, dizzy from the tension, Ian almost wanted to rewind the last five minutes of his life.
Thumbing his bottom lip, Mickey looked Ian over. To Ian, Mickey seemed about to pounce. Instead, Ian watched as Mickey's hard exterior cracked right before his eyes. Mickey sighed and looked down at the counter, his stuff, as if it were offensive. "What are talking about?" Mickey asked, honest.
Ian knitted his brow and bit down hard on the back of his lips to gain composure. He blinked at Mickey, studying his profile. "Mandy," Ian said, voice shaken with confusion now. "You don't know?" he asked, harsh.
Mickey turned quick, his eyes wide with fury. "Clearly not," Mickey spat, his words full of acid, the said, "Why don't you enlighten me."
Trying not to falter, Ian waited a few second, watching Mickey's fists with trepidation, then sat back on the stool. When He decided that Mickey wasn't an immediate physical threat, Ian exhaled loudly and propped his elbows on the counter top, nudging Mickey's items over. He ran his hands through his short red hair and stared off into space. He hated his inner conflict. How weak he felt even though he tried his best not to let his feelings show. His hurt. Confusion. Anger. Care.
"Fucking spit it out already," Mickey growled, shoving Ian's shoulder slightly and withdrawing his hand as if Ian had burned it.
Ian jerked forward because of Mickey's shove. He ignored the action for now and shifted in his seat. Without looking back at Mickey, Ian told his once lover about Terry and Mandy. That Mandy was in the hospital until tomorrow. To Ian's shock, Mickey gasped out a stunned and bitter laugh. Seconds later, money flew out and hit Ian in the face, then dropped to the counter in front of him. Some of the change clattered to the floor. Ian jerked up then, eyes wide and mouth open slightly as he watched Mickey grab his stuff and leave in a rush. Ian stared at the door even after Mickey had gone, had disappeared into the night. Finally, Ian looked down at the wad of damp money. He closed his mouth to swallow and grind his teeth. He tasted sand and some of it crunched between his teeth. Ian frowned down at the money and wiped at his mouth, where the cash had smacked him.
