The man drove himself and Micky to a house about 15 minutes away. Micky had felt a little uncertain about getting into a car with someone he'd hardly said two words to, but his curiosity and his drunken mental state allowed him to bypass all sense of reason and rational thinking.
The car journey had been a quiet one, and Micky had been the first to speak by asking for the stranger's name, which he discovered was 'Tony'. Instead of telling Tony that his name was George the way he had done with Jack, Micky blurted out his real name without a second thought. Thankfully Tony didn't seem to be up on his pop-culture and didn't seem to realise that Micky was in fact a Monkee.
Tony let himself and Micky into his house, and Micky was instantly struck by Tony's expensive taste. The house wasn't huge but it was very smart and modern, and Micky could tell right away that Tony had money; he'd already had a pretty big indication of that from the moment he saw Tony's car.
The front door opened directly into the lounge and Micky casually walked around the room marvelling at the expensive-looking art that was hanging on the walls. Tony went to a mini bar and poured two drinks before approaching an intrigued looking Micky.
"Here," Tony said, handing Micky a glass before gesturing to the couch. "Take a seat."
Micky eyed Tony curiously before sitting down next to the stranger on the couch. Tony moved closer to Micky - a little too close for comfort - and Micky felt slightly uneasy as he sipped his drink.
"Do you do this often?" Micky blurted out.
Tony looked amused. "Do what often?" He questioned.
"Invite strangers back to your house." Micky slurred.
Tony wore a sly smile. "Not unless they're something special." He said.
Micky looked at Tony before sipping his drink again - he had no idea whether he was flattered or disturbed by that remark.
"I'm going to make a quick call." Tony said. He lightly pressed his palm against Micky's thigh before rising to his feet and walking towards the phone which sat on a small table by the front door.
Micky looked around the room nervously as he sipped his drink. Micky then leaned back and rested his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes to stop the room from spinning.
"...Yeah, I've got a good one." Tony said to someone down the phone. "Oh yeah, he is." Tony laughed. Micky opened his eyes to look at the stranger, and Tony was still staring directly at him. Tony laughed again. "Yeah, I'll wait. But get here soon, yeah?... Okay. See you soon."
Tony put down the phone and walked back towards the couch. "Sorry about that." He said, sitting down close to Micky again.
"Who was that?" Micky questioned.
Tony laughed. "You like asking questions, don't you?" He said. He placed his hand gently on the top of Micky's leg and crazed it lightly. "I could tell just from looking at you that you're lively."
Micky frowned. "Why did you want me to come here?" He asked nervously.
"So we could have a good time." Tony said, his eyes fixed on Micky as he continued to graze Micky's thigh. "The same reason you agreed to come here."
Micky only then seemed to realise the hand on his leg, and he swatted Tony's hand away as if he was a fly. Tony only laughed in response - it was a patronising laugh that made Micky feel quite small.
Tony leaned forward and pulled open a little draw in the coffee table in front of them. Inside was a small tin which Tony removed, and when he opened it Micky could see there were two small bags of white powder inside.
Micky sat back and watched as Tony poured four lines of what was obviously cocaine on to the table in front of them. Tony proceeded to snort two of the lines himself with a straw before he turned to Micky once more.
"Those are for you." Tony told Micky, gesturing to the other two lines on the table.
Micky shook his head. "No, I don't do that." He said.
Tony leaned back, twisting his upper body to face Micky properly. "Come on, you'll enjoy it." He said, reaching a hand up to touch Micky's hair. Micky flinched and instinctively pulled away from Tony's touch. "Don't pretend to be shy," Tony continued. "Try some. I promise you'll enjoy it. It'll make all your troubles go away."
Micky frowned. "I don't have any troubles." He snapped defensively. "You don't- you don't even know me."
"But I want to get to know you." Tony said, undeterred by Micky's mood. Tony reached up and touched Micky's hair again, only Micky didn't pull away this time. "Try some. You'll like it."
Micky had always been weak when it came to peer pressure. Ever since he was a teenager he'd always been one to give into pressure quite easily and do more or less anything his friends suggested. He'd been offered cocaine in the past which he'd always politely declined, but the little pressure that Tony was putting on him - especially in his current state - was enough to make Micky crack.
Micky leaned forward and looked over the lines of white powder in front of him.
Tony handed Micky another straw from his little tin. "Just try one to begin with." Tony said in a tone that made Micky feel like he was being treated like a child.
Micky glared at Tony. "I'm not a fucking kid." He spat. "I've done loads of drugs loads of times. I've dropped acid with people you could only dream of knowing. I've done all sorts, so fuck you."
"But you haven't tried cocaine?" Tony questioned.
Micky looked at him blankly.
"This is the best drug of all." Tony smiled. "And I have a lot of it that you can have any time you want."
Micky stared at Tony through bleary eyes. Without a second thought, Micky dipped his head and snorted a line straight off the table, much to Tony's delight.
Micky didn't quite complete a full line before he pulled his head back. His eyes started streaming and he sniffed uncontrollably - it was a horrible feeling. Tony simply laughed as Micky pinched the top of his nose and wiped at his eyes almost frantically, coughing a little as he did so.
"It gets better the more you do it. In a few minutes you won't have a care in the world." Tony reassured him.
Micky sat back and closed his eyes, sniffing hard. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his cheeks hard.
"Good boy..." Tony said in slow tone that was far from comforting.
Micky emerged from his hands and glared at Tony again. "I want to listen to some music." He said in a pretty obnoxious way. "You said you wanted fun well-well you can't have fun without music."
Tony smiled. "What do you want to listen to?" He asked.
"I don't care." Micky replied, rubbing his watery eyes again.
Tony proceeded to cross the room to his record player. He put a record on quietly in the background while Micky laid his head against the back of the couch again. Micky felt totally out of it, and as the minutes passed he started to feel more and more peculiar. His mind was racing so fast that he couldn't even think straight. Micky was only snapped out of his mind by a knock at the door. It was only a quiet knock but to Micky it sounded like someone was pounding on the door with a sledge hammer.
Tony answered the door and greeted another man of similar age and style to Tony. Micky watched curiously as Tony invited this new strange man into the house and locked the door behind him.
The new man's eyes fell on Micky and a hungry smile crossed his lips.
"There he is." Tony told the man as he looked in Micky's direction, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
The new man walked a little closer and frowned. "What's the matter with him?" He asked Tony on the quiet.
"He's fine, he's just had his first taste of cocaine." Tony replied with a little laugh.
The new man grinned devilishly before approaching Micky on the couch.
"Who are you?" Micky blurted out.
The new man glanced at Tony and raised his eyebrows before turning to Micky again. "I'm Tom." He replied. "And what's your name?"
Micky didn't answer; he just stared at Tom through uncertain eyes.
"This is Micky." Tony answered for him.
"Hello, Micky." Tom said. He sat himself down right close to Micky which made Micky feel even more uncomfortable than he did already.
Micky grabbed his drink from the table and downed the whole thing in one go.
"Wow," Tom laughed, looking up at Tony who was standing over them both. "He may not have done coke before but he can clearly handle his drink."
Micky slammed his glass down on the table. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here." He spat. "I'm-I'm right here."
"Oh, we can see that." Tom was clearly amused. "You're quite aggressive, aren't you?"
"I think he's playing hard to get." Tony laughed.
Micky stared up at Tony through his watery eyes. "I'm not playing anything." He replied.
Tony was standing right in front of Micky, and he begun unbuckling his belt before unfastening his jeans. It took Micky a moment to process what Tony was doing.
"Do you like sucking big dicks, Micky?" Tony asked.
Micky was mortified when he saw Tony pull his erection out of his pants, right in front of his face. Micky virtually leapt off of the couch and pushed Tony out of his way.
"Fuck you, man!" Micky shouted. "I'm not fucking sucking you off."
"Now come on, don't pretend to be shy." Tony said as he approached Micky. "You don't need to act innocent with us."
"I'm not- I'm not fucking innocent." Micky slurred, swaying on the spot as he tried to focus on the man in front of him.
"I know you're not. That's why you agreed to come back here." Tony said with a smirk on his face. He took a step closer to Micky and traced Micky's bottom lip with his thumb. "You have a big, wide mouth that just looks like it was made for sucking big cocks."
Micky smacked Tony's hand away. "I've sucked way bigger dicks than yours." He said arrogantly as he glanced down at Tony's cock in disgust.
Tony looked far from pleased by that comment, although it clearly amused Tom who let out a little laugh as he sat observing the scene in front of him. Micky had in fact only ever sucked one cock - Mike's cock - but it was true; Mike's dick was a lot bigger than Tony's.
"There's no point playing hard to get." Tony said, clearly irked by Micky's mood - although he wasn't letting it deter him too much. "We both know why you're here, so you may as well drop the act and enjoy yourself. I know what boys like you are like."
"You don't- you don't know me. You don't know anything about me. You don't know what boys like me are like because you don't know who I am or what I want or-or anything like that." Micky said at lightning-speed, pointing his finger accusingly at Tony as he swayed on the spot. "And I'm not a boy, I-I-I'm a man. I'm a fucking man. And you can't tell me what to do. You think because you have money you can tell people what to do but you can't because I have money too so fuck you."
Micky sniffed hard and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. Tony simply looked entertained by Micky's outburst, but Micky was completely out of it.
Micky stumbled back over to the couch and sat down next to Tom, who was also looking amused by Micky's rant. Micky grabbed the straw again and swiftly snorted the remaining line of cocaine off of the table.
Tom laughed. "That's it, man." He said, rubbing Micky's back as he snorted the coke. "Just let yourself enjoy it. We just wanna have fun tonight, that's all. You're gonna have fun."
Micky pressed his fingers against each of his eyes to try and stop the watering. His mind was completely gone - he was absolutely wasted.
Micky leaned back on the couch and all he could feel was someone rubbing the top of his leg - for a moment it almost felt comforting. Micky then became aware of another presence beside him and he realised that he was now sandwiched between both Tom and Tony on the couch.
"Just let all your troubles go away." Tony said in an almost calming voice that seemed to be echoing around Micky's scull.
Micky was starting to feel a rush of adrenalin that was beginning to pump through his body, and he was getting a twisted thrill out of clearly being desired by these two men.
"Let's have some fun then." Micky said.
When Micky woke up the next morning, he was laying on his stomach on his own couch in his own living room. He felt absolutely wretched - his head was pounding and his hangover felt like it was attacking his entire body.
It took Micky several minutes for him to realise that he was at home. He eventually rolled himself onto his back before slowly moving into a sitting position. Micky clutched his head and tried to remember what had happened the night before; his memory was patchy at the very best.
Micky sat staring blurry-eyed at absolutely nothing as small memories returned to him. Micky remembered seeing Mike and Phyllis at the club - a moment he wished he didn't recall - and he remembered storming out. Everything after that became a little hazy and uncertain.
When Micky eventually stood up he realised right away that he'd had sex - or more specifically, that he'd been fucked. He felt uncomfortable and a little bit sore. It hadn't been uncommon for Micky to feel slightly uncomfortable after rough sex with Mike, but the sex was always so great that he'd feel way too good to care about a little discomfort.
Micky walked like a zombie to the kitchen, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the events of the night before. He poured himself a large glass of water before heading upstairs to take a shower.
As Micky begun to strip off his clothes, he felt something in the left pocket of his jeans. Micky stuck his hand inside and pulled out a little bag of white powder. Micky's stomach flipped when he saw it; he wasn't stupid, and he knew exactly what it was. Suddenly a series of memories started to drift back into Micky's mind; he remembered Tony and going back to his house. He remembered Tom and doing cocaine.
Micky stared at the white substance for several moments before hurrying to his bedside table and shoving the little bag into the draw and slamming it shut. Micky couldn't believe he'd had cocaine on his person, especially as he had no recollection of how he'd gotten home - did he stagger home drunk? Suppose he got stopped by the cops and caught with a bag of cocaine on him? That would've been the last thing he'd need, Micky thought.
Micky spent ages showering. He found himself scrubbing his skin almost violently as he tried to remember exactly what had happened after he took that second line of coke. Micky felt angry with Tony and Tom, but mostly with himself - how had he managed to get himself into that situation in the first place?
When Micky got out of the shower, he had the shakes. It was common for Micky to shake from cold when he'd had too much to drink. This time it felt even worse though, and Micky was absolutely freezing.
For a bedroom that was always a total mess there was one thing that Micky kept neatly folded away, and that was Mike's shirt that he'd left behind after they broke up. Micky picked up the Triumph t-shirt that had been folded up and draped over the back of the chair - he didn't want to put it away amongst other things in case it lost the Texan's 'scent' - and he pulled it on over his head.
Micky never usually wore the t-shirt, although he had worn it when he and Mike were together. Instead Micky would usually just look at it, or sometimes when he was feeling particularly low he would sleep with it like it was a comfort blanket. Today though, Micky just had to wear it - he wasn't sure why, but it felt comforting to him to wear something of Mike's.
Micky pulled on some warm sweatpants before climbing into bed and pulling the covers completely over his head. Micky pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered under the duvet. Micky wished so much he had Mike's strong, loving arms wrapped around him, keeping him warm and hugging all the pain away.
Instead, Micky was alone - totally alone - feeling ashamed and cheap. Micky couldn't really remember having sex the previous night, but it was the fact that Micky couldn't remember exactly who he'd slept with that bothered him most. Something about the whole night left Micky feeling more than a little uneasy. He mentally kicked himself for doing cocaine - a drug he always said he'd never do - and for getting himself into that situation in the first place.
Later that afternoon, after a few hours sleep, Micky ventured downstairs. He stood in his living room for a while trying to remember how he'd even gotten home, but still nothing was coming back to him. Micky ended up crashing out on the couch, drifting in and out of an unsettled sleep until he heard a knocking at the door.
Micky ignored the knocking - he didn't care who it was because he didn't want to see anyone. But the knocking persisted, and continued on and off for what felt like hours. In actuality, it probably only lasted 30 seconds, but Micky was certainly relieved when it eventually went silent so he could attempt to go to sleep again.
"Oh, so you are here."
Micky's heart leapt up into his mouth and he virtually jumped off of the couch in fright.
"Jesus!" Micky shouted as he saw exactly who the voice had come from - Davy. "What the fuck, man! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!"
"Sorry." Davy replied, standing beside the couch - Micky hadn't even heard him come in. "You left your door unlocked again. You should be careful, you know, you could get any ol' stranger coming in off the street."
Micky plopped down on the couch again and put his face in his hands - his heart was pounding in fright. "So you thought you'd just let yourself in, did you?" Micky asked in annoyance. He pulled his hands away from his face and glared at Davy. "What the hell did you do with your time before you started stalking me?"
"Take it easy, drama queen." Davy replied, rolling his eyes. "I've come to see how you are after last night, haven't I?"
"What do you mean, "after last night"?" Micky asked defensively, looking up at Davy in dismay.
Davy looked totally confused. "Well you were upset, weren't ya? After seeing Mike and Phyllis." He replied, looking down at Micky suspiciously. "What do you think I meant?"
"Nothing..." Micky muttered, staring at nothing again.
"So what happened last night then?" Davy asked, sitting himself down in an arm chair opposite Micky.
"Nothing happened last night." Micky said quickly. "Nothing happened. I just came back here."
Davy eyed Micky suspiciously as if he wasn't totally convinced, but he let it go for now. "You know, you're gonna have to learn to face him." He said, referring to Mike. "I know we don't usually move in the same social circles as him but you're gonna end up crossing paths with him now and then. You need to learn to face it."
Micky stared straight ahead, virtually ignoring what Davy had said.
"So you're saying you come straight home last night?" Davy asked, snapping Micky out of his trance.
"Yeah, why?" Micky asked defensively.
"Because you look rough as fuck." Davy replied frankly.
"Thanks." Micky responded sarcastically.
"Well you do. There's no point beating around the bush about it." Davy said in his typical no-nonsense fashion.
"I got drunk here on my own. That's allowed, isn't it?" Micky asked sarcastically.
Davy tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Micky as if he had spotted something.
"What are you looking at?" Micky asked, leaning back on the couch to move further from Davy's gaze - he felt totally paranoid.
"You were on your own, you say?" Davy asked slowly and suspiciously.
"Yeah, I just told you I was." Micky replied - he was totally confused.
"Then why do you have a love bite on your neck?" Davy questioned.
Micky's heart almost stopped and both his hands automatically went to his neck in horror, covering it from Davy's view. Micky leapt off the couch and hurried over to a mirror that hung above his mantle piece, and when he looked at his reflection he noticed Davy was in fact right; there was a mark on his neck that was most certainly a love bite.
Micky was mortified as he started to rub aggressively at the mark in some vain hope of wiping it away.
"Are you alright?" Davy asked in concern of his friend's strange behaviour. "Micky, what are you doing?"
Micky continued to frantically rub at the mark, which only succeeded in making it look even more predominant. Micky took at step back as he stared at his reflection, and Davy was right about something else too; he did look rough. He looked absolutely terrible. Micky realised he hadn't actually taken the time to look at his reflection much these days, and he was almost taken aback by how dreadful he looked.
Micky's eyes became fixed on the mark on his neck until he could look at it no longer. Micky walked slowly back to the couch and sat himself down - memories of the night before were returning to him in full force, and he found himself transfixed on absolutely nothing as he sat back down opposite his friend.
Micky was now in a trance as he remembered exactly what happened the previous night. Earlier on, Micky was mostly hung-up on the fact that he couldn't remember which of the men he'd had sex with, but now he realised that he'd willingly allowed himself to be fucked by both of them.
Micky suddenly felt like he'd been shared like a bowl of potato chips at a party. It wasn't nice, and it certainly wasn't fun, but Micky let it happen all the same. Micky had willingly sucked Tony off, too - something he'd initially refused to do.
Little things kept coming back to him, slowly but surely. He remembered Tony calling him a slut and being rough and hard while he fucked him. Micky hadn't enjoyed it, but he never tried to stop it, either. And even when Tony had finished with him, he let Tom take a turn too.
Micky wondered why he'd allowed himself to be treated like a piece of meat, but then it hit him; at the time, he didn't care. He was fucked up. He was drunk and stoned and he simply didn't give a shit what he did or what was done to him. Another part of him realised that in some twisted way he had wanted it; maybe not quite like that or in that way, but Micky was strangely flattered that he'd been wanted - even needed - at that point in time.
Micky shuddered at his own irresponsibility and lack of shame. He was absolutely disgusted with himself that he'd allowed himself to be used like that. But he remembered snorting the coke and how nothing seemed to matter once it had kicked into his system - what Tony had said was true; it really did make all of his troubles go away.
"Micky? Micky, are you listening to me?!"
Micky returned to planet earth and his head snapped into Davy's direction.
"W-What?" Micky asked in a soft voice.
Davy was staring at Micky with worry written all over his face. "Are you okay, man?" He asked gently.
Micky looked ahead again. "Uh..." He scratched his head.
"Who were you with last night, Mick?" Davy asked. "Why did you get so freaked out about that love bite?"
Micky continued to stare ahead as his mind tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for his behaviour. "I uh, I don't know. I think I'm still drunk." He lied.
"Bloody hell, Micky." Davy sighed. "This seriously needs to stop. Things are getting out of hand now, man."
Micky finally looked at Davy. "What do you mean?" He asked, grateful that Davy had seemed to forget about questioning who he was with for the time being.
Davy sighed again almost anxiously. He looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "There's a few things you need to know." He admitted. Micky continued to look at him expectantly. "Firstly - and please don't freak out about this, but Linda knows. What I mean is she knows about you... about you and Mike."
Micky stared at Davy in horror. "W-What? You told her?!"
"She's been asking questions about you for a while, and after you stormed out last night I just had to tell her the truth." Davy replied a little guiltily.
"Why? Why couldn't you have made something up?!" Micky asked in dismay.
"Because she wouldn't have believed me!" Davy hit back. "She's known something is wrong for weeks."
"That's because you've started constantly calling me and hanging around me like you think I'm going to throw myself under a train or something!" Micky said, rising to his feet.
"Well excuse me for being a little rattled after finding you face down in your own vomit that time!" Davy hit back. "And who else have you got looking out for you, Micky? You're acting like a mad man and you clearly need someone keeping an eye on you, and whether you like it or not that person is me."
Micky paused before slumping back down in defeat. "I'm sorry." He said gently, putting his hand to his head.
"Linda's not going to say anything, okay? We can trust her." Davy assured him. "She knows what a big deal this is."
Micky buried his face in his hands.
"But she also knows something else that I think you need to know too..." Davy said a little cautiously.
Micky emerged from his hands. "What is it?" He asked.
"She's friends with Samantha, you know. And girls talk." Davy said. "Samantha isn't happy, Micky. She thinks you're getting cold feet about the baby and that you're not interested in being a father anymore."
Micky was horrified. "Why would she think that?" He asked.
"Why do you think? Because you haven't bothered with her in weeks, that's why!" Davy replied.
"That's not true, I called her- I called her the-the other day." Micky desperately tried to remember the last time he called his pregnant ex-girlfriend.
"When?" Davy questioned. Micky opened his mouth to speak but closed it right away. "You can't even remember, can you? And you wonder why she thinks you aren't interested?"
"I've had a lot to deal with, Davy!" Micky said with a raised voice as he stood up again. "I don't need you hassling me!"
"I'm not hassling you." Davy said, standing up also. "I'm on your side, remember? I'm warning you that Samantha isn't happy and you need to do something about it before you stuff it all up for good."
Micky rubbed his face with his hands.
"This needs to stop, Micky." Davy snapped. "Look at the state of ya. It's been two months and you seem to be getting worse instead of better. You clearly don't deal with things very well, do you?"
Micky looked up. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means." Davy replied. "You're a mess, Micky. People are starting to talk about you, they're wondering what the hell is up with you going so wild all the time."
"I always used to go wild and nobody cared before." Micky hit back.
"Not like this." Davy said. "If you carry on like this any longer then people are seriously going to start to worry about you. I'm surprised you haven't let the cat out of the bag already with the state you've been getting yourself into."
"Why won't you get off my back, Davy?" Micky snapped. "Can't you see I don't need this shit right now?"
"I told you that I'm trying to help!" Davy said in frustration. "I just told you that your pregnant ex-girlfriend is worried about your commitment to your baby and you don't even seem to care!"
"Of course I care!" Micky shouted.
"Then sort it out!" Davy said, stepping forward. "I'm trying to help you, man. I can see you're struggling and I want to help."
"I'm not struggling." Micky lied almost desperately. "I'm fine."
Davy scrunched his face up. "You're not bloody fine." He said. "But you need to try harder to get your act together before this gets too far out of hand. Loads of people have to deal with break-ups, Micky, but not everyone acts like you're acting right now."
"I'm not everyone." Micky hit back with attitude. "And I'll deal with things my way."
"You're not dealing with it at all." Davy said, folding his arms. "Is this how you were after your dad died?"
"Don't talk to me about my dad!" Micky shouted, stepping forward and glaring down at the shorter man. "You don't know anything!"
Davy held his hands up defensively. "Micky, calm down. I wasn't having a go." He said quickly.
Micky turned around and run his fingers through his hair. "You should just go, Davy. You're not my therapist. I don't- I don't need you trying to babysit me."
"I'm worried about you, man." Davy said calmly.
"I'm fine." Micky said. He took a deep breath and looked towards the ceiling. "I just had a rough night, that's all."
"What happened?" Davy pushed carefully.
"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it." Micky replied.
Davy sighed dramatically. "I don't know what to do with you, mate."
"I don't need you to do anything." Micky turned to face Davy again. "I told you that I'm fine. Please stop hassling me."
Davy stared at Micky for a moment before giving in. "Fine." He said bluntly. "But talk to Samantha, will you? You're going to be a father in a couple of months for Christ's sakes."
Micky slumped down on the couch with his arms folded, ignoring Davy's remark.
Davy rolled his eyes. "I'll see you later." He said.
"Whatever." Micky sulked childishly.
Davy tutted loudly before leaving the house. Micky sat on his own again, annoyed that Davy had given him something else to worry about. Micky felt like his mind had thousands of little people running around inside of it, banging against the inside of his skull attempting to get out. Micky clutched his head almost desperately - he felt like he was going to explode.