Micky visited Samantha and Ami the very next day. While Micky was feeling a little nervous about telling his ex that he and Mike were back together, he was still feeling so happy that his life finally seemed to be getting back on track.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries, the former couple sat down in the lounge with their daughter - who Micky had sitting on his knee.
"You seem different." Samantha commented as she watched Micky bounce Ami on his lip with a big, happy smile on his face.
Micky looked up. "Different?"
"Yeah," Samantha said, narrowing her eyes. "You seem... happier. It's as if you're lighter. I can't put my finger on it."
Micky scratched his head. "Well... you're right, actually." He sighed. "I am happier. But I'm not sure you're going to like the reason why."
Samantha's face immediately fell. "Oh god... you're not- you're not back on drugs again, are you?" She asked in horror.
"Wha-? No!" Micky replied, his voice rising in pitch. He watched Samantha breathe a sigh of relief. "No, no, I'm not back on drugs," He reassured her. "But... but I am back with Mike."
Samantha's initial relief seemed to pass, and Micky could see his ex-girlfriend visibly stiffen. "O-Oh..." She said. She was silent for a moment. "When did this happen?"
"Literally less than 48 hours ago." Micky replied. "He just turned up the night before last and we talked and... yeah."
Samantha nodded slowly.
Micky smiled painfully. "I thought I should be up front with you." He said. "I didn't want to lie to you again."
Samantha started playing with her hair. She looked shocked and a little vacant. "Thanks."
Micky sighed, feeling rather uncomfortable. He noticed Ami looking at him as he'd stopped bouncing his legs, and he couldn't help but smile sadly at his daughter, a pang of fear inside that Samantha would stop him from seeing Ami now that he and Mike were back together again.
"I know you're never going to be happy about this." Micky said, looking up. "And I don't expect you to be. But I'd really like it if you could support me."
Samantha was silent for several moments as she stared ahead in deep thought. "No, you're right. I will never be happy about this." She finally confessed, causing Micky's breath to get a little caught in his throat. "And I'll try to be supportive, but... I don't know if I can be."
Micky swallowed hard. "W-Why not?" He asked.
"Because I can't have things going back to the way they were before." Samantha replied, turning to look at Micky. "What if it all goes wrong again, Micky? What if you two break up again? Then what? I can't have you dealing with it in the same way you dealt with it last time. Or didn't deal with it."
"What, so you think if things don't work out with me and Mike then I'll start screwing my life up again?" Micky asked, a little offended.
Samantha looked at him blankly. "Can you really blame me for thinking that?" She asked. "We nearly lost you."
Micky sighed, rubbing his face. "That's not going to happen. Me and Mike are strong now, we've sorted everything out... we're not going to break up." He said. "And...and even if we did, I will never go back to that place again, not ever. You've gotta believe me."
Samantha didn't look so convinced.
"So much has changed since last time." Micky continued, looking down at Ami. "I'm a dad now, for a start. And I would never do anything to mess this up again." He looked up at Samantha. "Not ever."
Samantha rubbed her eyes, sighing deeply. "I just don't want him to hurt you again."
Micky smiled sympathetically. "He won't." He assured her. "It was just as much my fault why we broke up last time as it was his. But this time is different; we're on the same page... He knows I'm here telling you this, and he's okay with it. Everything is so much different to how it was before."
Micky watched Samantha as she closed her eyes and sighed. It wasn't a sad sigh, or an annoyed sigh - it was sort of a defeated sigh, or a sigh of acceptance.
"Thanks for being honest with me." Samantha finally said.
Micky nodded slowly. "I promised you I would be." He said. He looked down at Ami again and stroked her light blonde hair. "This won't...this won't change how much I get to see Ami, will it? You're not going to stop me from seeing her..?"
Micky managed to look up, and he could see Samantha had her head tilted to the side. "Do you really think I could do that to her?" She asked, nodding towards Ami. "Just look at the way she's looking at you. I would never take you away from her, just as I'd never take her away from you."
Micky closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath of relief in. He pulled Ami closer to him and cuddled her to his chest. "Thank you." He said.
"As long as your relationship with Mike doesn't hurt Ami, then we don't have a problem." Samantha said firmly. "And as long as your relationship doesn't mess your head up again then we'll be okay, too."
Micky smiled gently. "You have nothing to worry about this time; I'll never do anything to hurt Ami." He assured her. "And me and Mike are gonna be just fine."
Monday, 18th May.
It had been 10 days since Mike and Micky had gotten back together, and the two men had spent pretty much every day together since - apart from the two weekends that had passed, where Mike spent those with his children instead.
Micky had stopped taking his pain medication and was feeling much better in himself; the scar that was left behind from his operation six weeks before continued to heal nicely, and it very rarely caused him any discomfort anymore - much to Micky's relief.
Although Micky was feeling much better now, he and Mike still hadn't been intimate - although Mike had a feeling that they would take their relationship to the next level again pretty soon. Very soon, in fact.
Mike and Micky had spent the afternoon together after the weekend apart, and they were enjoying a relaxing evening at Micky's house. It was only 11pm but they had opted for an early night; Mike was in bed reading a magazine while Micky took a shower, but as soon as the curly haired man emerged from the bathroom, Mike became distracted from the article he was reading.
Mike's eyes fixed themselves on Micky. As delectable as Mike always found his boy, there was something about Micky fresh from the shower that drove Mike wild. Mike liked the way Micky smelt, and he loved the way his curly hair seemed to have a mind of its own after it'd just been washed. Micky looked gorgeous - absolutely divine, in fact - and Mike was unable to take his eyes off of him.
Micky was oblivious, though. He'd already dressed himself in his striped pyjamas in the bathroom, and now he was busy putting some clean laundry away. But Mike sat his magazine on the nightstand and decided to watch Micky instead. Micky was in his own little world as he carefully folded some fresh clean clothes from the laundry basket and put them away in the drawer, but he seemed to feel Mike's eyes on him and looked up.
"What?" Micky asked, a small smile on his face as he noticed the Texan watching him.
"Nothin'." Mike shrugged innocently.
Micky gave his partner a funny look before resuming his chore. After putting away another clean t-shirt, he lifted his head to notice Mike was still staring at him.
"Why are you watching me like that?" Micky asked, a little giggle passing his lips.
"Because I think you're gorgeous." Mike replied casually.
Micky smiled, and Mike thought he saw Micky's cheeks flush pink.
"Oh." Micky said, looking down almost shyly.
"Why don't ya leave that until the mornin'?" Mike suggested, pulling the covers back to reveal Micky's side of the bed. "Come get in here."
Micky continued to smile as he did as Mike suggested, walking over to the bed and climbing in beside the Texan.
Mike instantly closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Micky and pulling him close. "You smell so delicious." Mike purred, kissing Micky's neck gently. "I could eat you up."
Micky giggled, running his fingers through Mike's hair. "You smell good too. You always smell good."
Mike lifted his head to smile at his partner. He stroked Micky's slightly damp, curly hair and beamed down at the boy underneath him. Micky's face turned more serious as Mike leaned down and pressed their lips together in a kiss that started off sweet but gathered heat rather quickly.
Mike had a feeling tonight would be the night. He wasn't sure why, but he just felt like now was the time. He felt giddy and excited and also really, really horny. Mike had actually found it a little bit of a struggle to be around Micky so much and do no more than just kiss, but he understood that Micky had needed a bit of time to recover from his surgery and there was no way he'd ever want to pressure Micky into doing something he wasn't ready for.
But Micky had seemed much better for a while now, and Mike was keen to take things up a notch. Mike hadn't even seen Micky naked since they'd been back together, and Mike was looking forward to having that intimacy with the man he loved again; it wasn't just about the physical act of sex, but Mike really wanted to be as close to Micky as physically and emotionally possible.
The two men kissed passionately as Mike could feel his heart start to pound in excited anticipation. Mike's heart wasn't the only thing that was responding to his and Micky's passionate embrace; Mike's crotch was starting to respond, too.
Micky's arms were slung loosely around Mike's back as the Texan moved his lips to Micky's neck. He sucked the skin gently as he started to grind his growing erection against Micky's leg. Mike moved his hand down Micky's side and slid it underneath Micky's pyjama top, revelling in the feeling of touching Micky's bare flesh. As Mike started to slide his hand up, bringing the fabric up with him, he felt Micky's hand grab his wrist.
"Stop." Micky said seriously.
Mike lifted his head and could instantly see a look a panic and horror on Micky's face.
"What's wrong?" Mike asked in puzzled-concern.
Micky was silent. He stared up at Mike with wide, almost scared eyes. "I-I can't do this." He stuttered.
Before Mike had a chance to respond, Micky pushed Mike away and slid out from underneath the Texan, jumping out of bed and rushing back into the bathroom where he slammed the door behind him.
Mike sat himself up and stared at the bathroom door in complete disbelief at what had just happened. Mike run his fingers through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts, and once he seemed to process what was going on he leapt out of bed and approached the bathroom door cautiously.
"Micky?" Mike called through the door gently. "What- what's the matter, babe? Are you okay?"
Mike suddenly started to panic that Micky wasn't as better as he'd said he was and that he'd somehow hurt the scar on his boy's stomach.
"Did I- did I hurt you?" Mike asked - to which there was no response. "Micky, what's the matter, darlin'?"
"Go away." Micky's shaky voice called back.
Mike instantly frowned, worry starting to bubble in his stomach. "Are you sick, baby?" He asked. "Do ya need me to get ya somethin'?"
Mike wondered if perhaps Micky felt sick or suddenly was in desperate need of the bathroom, but when Mike pressed his ear to the door he could hear nothing going on inside.
"Mick, will you please tell me what's wrong?" Mike called through, his worry turning to frustration. "Did I do somethin' wrong?"
Micky's silent response was what made Mike think that this wasn't because Micky felt sick, and it didn't seem like it was because Micky was in pain, either. If Micky was either of those things, surely he'd just say?
Mike run his fingers through his hair as his concern started to grow and grow. "Mick, please talk to me. I ain't goin' anywhere until you talk to me."
Silence.
Mike rubbed his eyes - this was so unlike Micky. Mike didn't like being shut out - both literally and metaphorically - and it was starting to make the Texan panic. Mike walked away from the door and sat himself on the edge of the bed as he wondered how quickly things had gone so horribly wrong - even if he had no idea how or why.
Mike decided that hounding Micky through the en-suite bathroom door didn't seem like the best option, so instead he decided to give his boy some space and just wait. Mike sat there silently picking at his fingernail, and after a while he decided to pull on some sweatpants as he didn't feel particularly comfortable sitting there in just his boxer shorts.
After about 10 minutes, the bathroom door came open. Mike instantly stood, and when Micky came into view Mike could see that he was visibly shaken by something.
"What's the matter, Mick?" Mike asked gently, taking a step forward.
Micky stood there unable to look at Mike. He had his arms folded as if he was trying to protect himself from something. Micky looked scared and small and tired and fragile, and Mike started to feel sick with worry at seeing his partner in such a state.
"Micky," Mike said gently, tilting his head to the side. "What happened? Did I hurt you?"
Micky shook his head slowly, still unable to look at the Texan. "N-No." He replied quietly.
"Then what the hell is wrong?" Mike asked, taking another step forward. "Look at ya - you're scaring me."
Micky still didn't say anything.
Mike rubbed his face, taking another step closer to Micky. "Please, darlin'." He said, reaching out to touch Micky's arm. Micky flinched, pulling away instantly, and Mike's fears intensified. "Why don't you want me to touch you?" He asked gently.
Micky's eyes remained fixed on the floor. "You wouldn't want me if you knew." He replied quietly. His voice was shaking.
Mike instantly frowned. "What?"
"You wouldn't want me if you knew." Micky said again.
"If I knew what..?" Mike asked, his mind starting to race with thoughts of what Micky could possibly be talking about. "I don't understand, Mick... What are you talking about?"
Micky didn't answer.
Mike swallowed hard. "Mick... What are you talkin' about?" He repeated desperately. "I wouldn't want you if I knew what?"
"That I'm disgusting." Micky whimpered angrily, hanging his head in what looked to be utter shame.
Mike was mortified. "Disgusting?" He repeated. "What... Mick, you ain't disgusting. Don't- don't talk about yourself like that."
"You don't know." Micky said, his voice a little louder than before.
"I don't know what?" Mike questioned, desperately trying not to lose his patience. In the state Micky was in, Mike felt that if he lost his temper Micky would crack completely.
"You were meant to be the only one." Micky whispered helplessly. "You don't know what he did to me."
Mike had a nasty suspicion he knew what Micky was talking about. "Is this... is this about Tony?" He asked tentatively.
Micky's head finally snapped up and Mike could see his eyes were watering. "H-How do you know his name?" He asked defensively.
"Davy told me." Mike replied. He was beginning to feel a little nauseous.
"W-What else did Davy say about him?" Micky questioned - he looked totally paranoid.
"N-Nothing." Mike replied nervously. "Just that he was your- your drug dealer. That he was the one giving you cocaine."
Micky's eyes moved away from Mike's. They were wide and watery and looked scared. He walked a little further away from Mike as he was unable to look at the Texan. "You've never asked me about him." He stated. "You've never talked about- about what you saw."
Mike wasn't sure what to say. No, he hadn't questioned Micky about what he saw that night in Tony's club before Christmas, but that was because he had no idea how to bring it up.
"You never talked about it either." Mike replied. "I-I didn't want to upset ya."
Micky was now playing with his hands nervously, and when Micky lifted a hand to scratch his face Mike noticed that he was shaking.
Mike swallowed hard. "What did he do to you, Micky..?" He asked.
Micky stared at the floor.
"Did you... did you.. sleep with him?" Mike asked, the words getting caught in his throat.
"It wasn't just him." Micky replied, his eyes still fixed on the carpet. "There were loads."
Mike swallowed hard. He was starting to feel sick. "Women..?"
Micky's silence answered Mike's question. No.
"Ho-How many?" Mike questioned.
"I don't remember." Micky replied flatly. "There were- there were a lot. I don't remember how many."
Mike's mouth was beginning to feel rather dry.
"I didn't care." Micky continued, still unable to look at Mike. "After what I did, I didn't care anymore."
"What did you do?" Mike asked. "Did Tony do something to you?"
"He wasn't the first." Micky said. His voice was still trembling. "There was another guy first, but...but he was nice. He was okay. But then- but after Tony, I- I was disgusting. I was gross."
Mike swallowed hard. His palms were beginning to feel clammy and his heart was starting to race. "What did he do to you?"
"I-I did coke for the first time," Micky begun, walking a little further away from Mike. "H-He took me back to his house and gave me cocaine. And-and I was drunk and I- and I didn't know what I was doing. M-My head was spinning. But it wasn't just him, there...there was another guy, and they- they both... they both..."
"They both what?" Mike pressed impatiently.
Micky managed to look up, his eyes filled with bitterness. "They shared me." He confessed.
Mike felt sick. "Sh-sha-shared you?" He choked.
Micky nodded before looking away. "I was a slut." He said bitterly, his voice shaking. "And after that I was- I was a slut. I-I didn't care anymore. I was fucked up and I didn't care. I was worthless, I-I was a piece of meat. But I kept going back to him even though he made me feel dirty."
Mike put the back of his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat - he felt like he needed to vomit.
"Why... why did you keep going back?" Mike asked, his own voice unsteady as thoughts of Micky and Tony started to fill his head.
"Because he had cocaine." Micky replied. "And sometimes he'd say nice things to me, but...but I know he didn't care. He just- he just wanted to degrade me. I was just a toy to him and he'd give me- give me coke, and I'd- I'd give him what he wanted."
Mike buried his face in his hands. He was disgusted and furious to learn what had become of Micky after they split up and the guilt he was feeling was becoming overwhelming.
"It wasn't just that one time they- they did that to me." Micky trembled, causing Mike to look up. "The last time, it was- it was the night before you saw me. I was never gonna go back, but...but everything fell apart the day after I-I was with him. I was with him and-and two other men and they...and they all... They weren't very nice to me."
Mike took a step forward. "What did they do to you?" He asked - although he was fairly certain he knew what the answer would be.
Micky tugged at his hair. "They pressured me, b-but they didn't force me. I-I could've said no, but...but I wasn't sure and I was so messed up and-and I'd done so much coke and I'd been drinking so much, they just kept giving me more and more to drink and I... I didn't know where I was or-or anything but I did know and I went along with it and... and it was disgusting. I let them do things, and... and I wasn't a person. I wasn't- I wasn't a man or a person. I was just there. I was a toy, and...and they made me feel so small. But I liked being wanted, but...but when they started it was horrible."
Mike felt like he needed to vomit, and he kept swallowing as his formally dry mouth kept filling with saliva.
"He just watched as I...as these two guys... they-they were doing stuff to me at the same time..." Micky continued, his lip wobbling and his voice dripping in disgust. "And I just let it happen. Because I didn't care anymore, I just let them do it because I felt like nothing. Because I am nothing."
Micky covered his face with his hands, shielding it from Mike's view as he stood there helplessly. Mike clasped the side of his face in horror at what he had learnt, and he continued to keep swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in his throat. He felt sick and shocked and hurt for his boy, but he knew he needed to try and hold himself together.
"D-Don't say that." Mike said desperately, quickly approaching Micky so he was standing right in front of him. "This-this isn't your fault."
Micky was still unable to look at Mike. Instead he just stood there shaking.
Mike took a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. "S-So... Tony was one of them, but who were the other guys, Mick?" He asked.
"I-I don't know." Micky whimpered.
"Do you remember their names?" Mike questioned.
Micky pulled his face out of his hands and stared at Mike blankly.
"I need you to think for me, darlin'." Mike said, stepping forward and taking Micky's face in his hands. "I need you to remember who they were."
"W-Why?" Micky asked quietly, his voice high and soft.
"I just need you to tell me." Mike stressed, holding Micky's face firmly in his hands. "You must remember somethin'."
Micky took a step back, pulling away from the Texan's touch. "I-I don't remember b-but why do you need to know?" He asked nervously.
Mike was beginning to get frustrated. "I just need you to think, Micky." He said firmly. "I need you to tell me who they are."
"No." Micky said. "I-I don't know who they are and even if I did I wouldn't tell you because you don't need to know."
"I do need to know!" Mike said, raising his voice.
"Why?!" Micky hit back.
"So I can find them and break their fucking necks!" Mike yelled, grabbing the back of his head and pulling at his hair in frustration.
Micky's eyes were wide in horror. "N-No." He shook his head desperately. "Y-You can't."
Mike stepped forward and grabbed hold of Micky's arms. "I just need you to tell me, darlin'. They need to pay for what they did to you." His voice trembled.
Micky shook Mike off again. "I did this to me, not them!" He shouted in dismay. "Don't you get it? This was all down to me. These were my choices, my mistakes. This isn't about them!"
Mike was horrified. "How can you say that?" He asked, totally aghast. "They took advantage of you! You said yourself your head was a mess. You were drunk and on drugs and they took advantage of you. Look at the state of you!"
Micky's lip started to wobble and he stared at Mike helplessly as tears filled his almond-shaped eyes.
"They can't get away with this." Mike said desperately, much calmer than before. He stared at Micky as if he was pleading with him. "I can't let them get away with this."
"But I kept going back." Micky stressed, staring Mike straight in the eye. "I knew what they wanted of me and I went there anyway. This is my fault."
Mike turned away, covering his eyes with his hands. His head felt like it was going to explode and he still wanted to vomit as he pictured a smug-looking Tony taking advantage of Micky and pressuring him into doing things he didn't want to do.
"I should've finished him there and then when I saw him with ya." Mike's voice cracked as he spoke.
"And then what?" Micky asked. "You beat him to a pulp and then what? You either get arrested or-or he sets some of his friends on you. That still wouldn't change what he did. What I did."
"I wanna fuckin' kill him." Mike mumbled into his hands. "I wanna kill 'em all."
"Don't say that." Micky whimpered. When Mike heard the fear in Micky's voice he looked up. "I'm not having you get into trouble because of me. I-I'm not having you get yourself arrested or-or worse because of the stupid things I did."
"But they hurt you." Mike whispered, gazing at Micky helplessly.
"I hurt myself." Micky stated quietly, chewing his bottom lip. "Everything that happened happened because I made it happen. These were my bad mistakes and I'm paying the price by feeling so shit about myself."
Mike buried his face in his hands again.
"Please tell me you won't go after Tony." Micky pleaded. "P-Please. It won't make it better. It won't change what happened. Y-You can leave me or never look at me again but d-don't do anything stupid because of me. I can't have you in danger because of me. Please, Mike. I love you."
Mike felt like he was going to explode with a combination of hurt, guilt, anger and fear. Mike had never felt such a mixture of emotions and he literally felt like he was going mad. When he managed to look at Micky and saw the look of desperation on his boy's face, he wanted to cry even more. He wanted to scream and shout and squeeze Micky until he burst.
"Promise me." Micky whispered.
Mike rubbed his eyes before tears could escape them. "I-I promise." He said, knowing that was literally the only thing he could do right now.
Micky continued to watch Mike before hanging his head. A silence filled the room as Mike tried to piece together his jumbled, fucked-up thoughts.
"You don't have to stay." Micky said quietly after a couple of moments silence.
Mike looked up and noticed Micky's tired eyes were back to staring at the floor again. Mike watched Micky for a moment before slowly approaching him again.
Mike stood right before Micky, staring him straight in the eye. "I'm not going to leave you." He whispered.
Micky managed to look up. "How can you still want me?" He choked.
Mike felt his lip start to wobble, and he tilted his head to the side. "Of course I still want you."
Micky looked to the floor again.
Mike took a step back, and he turned away from Micky. Mike looked to the ceiling and blinked hard. "I-I need some air." He said, desperate to clear his head. "I'm gonna take a walk."
"W-Where are you going?" Micky asked in a small voice.
Mike rubbed his head that was starting to pound from the inside out. "I dunno." He mumbled before facing Micky again. "I won't be long."
Micky stood there chewing his lip.
Mike quickly approached Micky and pressed his lips to the curly-haired man's forehead in a firm yet swift kiss. "I need to clear my head," Mike said, instantly turning away - he was no longer able to look Micky in the face. "But I'll be back soon."
"O-Okay." Micky stuttered.
Mike grabbed his shirt that was slung over the couch and didn't look back before he left the room. Instead he walked, walked, and walked some more. Before he knew it he was out of the house and half way down the road. Mike was grateful Micky lived in a quiet area, not that the world around him seemed to matter anymore. Nothing really seemed to matter to Mike at that point in time, but also everything seemed to matter to him, because Micky was everything.
Mike wasn't sure how far he'd walked before he found himself stop, and the next thing he knew he was bent over and dry heaving over the bushes next to the road. Nothing came up which surprised Mike considering he felt sick to his stomach.
Mike spat into the greenery as he stood up straight again, running his hands over his face and up into his hair. He had never before felt so utterly disgusted, although Mike wasn't disgusted with Micky; he was disgusted with the men who had hurt him.
Everything Micky had told him seemed to be bouncing around Mike's brain like a bouncy-ball, batting the insides of his skull as if it was desperate to escape its enclosure. Mike had always been curious about Tony, but never in a million years could he have expected that man to have fucked Micky up so badly.
Mike couldn't help but picture it. He tried desperately hard not to, but he couldn't help it. The images seemed to be as clear as day in Mike's head and it only succeeded in fuelling his anger and making the sickness in his stomach grow stronger.
Mike could see Tony's smug face while two men mauled Micky; touching him, fucking him, laughing and enjoying themselves while Micky just laid there intoxicated. The thought made Mike want to smash up everything in his sight. He wanted to find Tony and smash him - the desire was almost overwhelming. If Tony hadn't have given Micky drugs in the first place, Micky wouldn't have been in a vulnerable enough position to do those things, and allow those things to be done to him. This was more than just meaningless, fucked-up sex; god knows Mike had had some of that in the past, and he knew Micky had had plenty of that with women in the past, too. But the way these events had affected Micky emotionally proved that it was far more than just sex. Those men had made Micky feel cheap, dirty, degraded, and 'un-human'.
And that was what hurt Mike the most.
Mike was absolutely beside himself. He felt wretched with guilt; if he hadn't have left Micky, none of this would've happened. Micky would've been safe. He would've been okay. He never would've touched hard drugs and he'd never have gotten mixed up with Tony and his friends.
Mike started to get wrapped up in his guilt. The emotions he were feeling seemed to come in stages and levels; there seemed to be different zones of horrible feelings, and Mike was feeling them all. After guilt came jealousy. Selfish, self-indulgent jealousy. Mike was jealous. By god, he was jealous.
"Micky is mine." He thought. "Nobody can touch him but me. No one is allowed to touch him but me."
Mike started to tear his hair out. He wanted to tilt his head back and scream at the night sky, but he couldn't. And when the Texan got over his moment of self-indulgence, everything came back to Micky again. Just the way it had always been in Mike's life, everything was about Micky. Everything. Always.
So Mike kept walking. He kept walking in hope that somehow he could figure out the answers to all of Micky's problems. Mike hoped he would stumble across a time machine so he could go back and take away everything that had led to Micky getting himself into such a mess. Mike wanted to somehow wipe Micky clean; not his body, but his mind. Mike wanted to take away the demons that were so clearly in Micky's head, and Mike was starting to realise that it was obvious something had been up with Micky from the moment they had gotten back together.
Besides the fact that Micky hadn't exposed any of his body to Mike in any way, shape or form, there was something about Micky's manner that had seemed different as well. The way he held himself, perhaps. And Micky was making a lot more self-deprecating remarks; a lot of jokes about himself, and he was putting himself down a lot more than he ever had before. That aura of confidence - even if it used to be exaggerated - wasn't there anymore. Micky had always done a top job of putting on an act, projecting himself to be this wacky, funny, fun-loving guy without a care in the world. While Mike knew there was far more to his boy than that, he always admired the way Micky put himself across to the public and even his friends. But that persona seemed to have left Micky now - for the most part anyway - and Mike hadn't been sure why; until now.
Everything started to make sense. The look on Micky's face when he found him with Tony in the club before Christmas made sense. That vacant, troubled and lost look made perfect sense. Everything made sense.
Things started to make sense for Mike, too. His head started to clear. He kept walking and walking until he felt exhausted; emotionally, physically - Mike was totally spent. But when the Texan looked at his watch, panic returned to him once more; it was 1:30am. Mike realised he'd been gone for almost two hours after promising Micky he would 'be back soon' and 'wouldn't be long'. Mike had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he'd completely lost track of time.
Mike rushed home. Thankfully he somehow wasn't even far away from Micky's house despite the fact that he'd been out for about two hours. Mike was panicking that Micky would think he wasn't coming back at all, and the thought of distressing Micky even more made Mike feel even worse.
When Mike burst through the front door he immediately noticed the light was on in the kitchen, and he figured Micky was probably waiting up for him. Mike walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, and when he stepped through the doorway he stopped in his tracks.
Micky was sitting there, a half-empty bottle of vodka on the table next to him. Micky hadn't even seemed to notice Mike come in; instead he was staring blurry-eyed at something on the table in front of him, and when Mike's eyes followed Micky's gaze his heart leapt into his throat - Micky was staring at a bag of white powder.
Mike's hands immediately went to the back of his head. "No, no, no, no." He said as he rushed into the room and over to where Micky was sitting.
Micky turned to look at the Texan as Mike crouched down beside him. "Mick," Mike said desperately, taking Micky's face into his hands. "Please tell me you haven't taken any. Please."
Micky's watery, blood-shot eyes stared at Mike. "I didn't." He replied weakly.
"Are you tellin' me the truth?" Mike questioned, almost squeezing Micky's face in his hands. "I need you to tell me how much you've done, darlin'."
"I haven't done any." Micky slurred.
Mike released Micky from his grasp and stood up straight. He picked up the bottle of vodka and held it up. "Was this full, Mick?" He asked.
Micky shrugged his shoulders. "I-I don't know."
Mike set the bottle back down on the table and rubbed his face in distress.
"I'm sorry." Micky whispered. He hung his head.
"Hey," Mike said, crouching down beside Micky again. "You ain't got nothing to be sorry about."
Micky looked up at Mike. "You don't want me anymore." He said. He was totally pitiful.
Mike shook his head vigorously. "That ain't true. That ain't true, Mick. Of course I want you. I'll always want you."
"I ruined everything." Micky whispered.
"No." Mike gasped, shaking his head slowly this time. "No you ain't."
Micky looked away and started staring at the bag of cocaine again.
Mike hesitantly picked up the bag. He studied the table closely and couldn't see any remnants of the stuff, and the bag he was holding seemed pretty full. His mind started to spin once again as he wondered where the hell Micky had gotten this stuff from in the first place.
"I didn't use any." Micky told him again.
"Where did you get it, babe?" Mike asked gently.
"I kept it." Micky replied, slowly drawing shapes on the table top with the tip of his finger. "I hid it away just in case."
"Just in case of what?" Mike pressed.
Micky shrugged slowly.
"But you swear you ain't done any?" Mike questioned again, paranoid that Micky wasn't telling him the truth.
Micky didn't respond at first, but he eventually nodded his head. "I wanted to... but I didn't." He answered.
"But you have had a bit to drink?" Mike wondered. It was a dumb question that Mike didn't need answering; he could see Micky was clearly drunk.
Micky was now staring straight ahead. He looked totally vacant and spaced out. "I didn't- I didn't think you were coming back." He said.
Mike felt horrible. "I'm so sorry." He said, bobbing down next to his partner again. "I'm so sorry, baby. I lost track of time, I- I don't know how it got so late. But I was always gonna come back, I swear."
"I won't make you stay." Micky said quietly, still looking ahead. His words were slightly slurred but he could've been worse.
"I want to stay." Mike stressed. He placed his hand on Micky's thigh. "Micky, look at me. Look at me, darlin'."
Micky slowly turned his head to face Mike.
"I am never going to leave you." Mike assured him. He took Micky's face in his hands again and held his head in place. "Do you understand me? I ain't going anywhere. Not ever."
Micky's gaze faltered and he unable to look the Texan in the eye.
"But I'm dirty." Micky whimpered.
"What did I tell you? Don't talk about yourself like that." Mike pleaded. "That ain't true, Micky. Don't- don't say things like that."
Micky still couldn't look at Mike.
"You ain't dirty." Mike assured him, horrified that he even had to say those words. "I would never think that of you. Please don't think that of yourself."
Micky's hands went to his face and he rubbed his eyes. "I'm so stupid." He sniffed. "You- you think I'm a freak."
Mike closed his eyes slowly. "Please stop talkin' like that." He pleaded, opening his eyes to look at Micky's fragile state again. "I don't think that, Mick."
Micky pulled his hands away from his face and looked at Mike hopelessly.
Mike reached out and put his hand to Micky's cheek. "I love you so much." He whispered. "And nobody is ever going to hurt you again. I promise."
Micky stared and Mike before he appeared to have a moment of clarity. "I'm drunk." He stated.
Mike smiled sadly and sympathetically. "Yeah, you are." He agreed. He rose to his feet and looked down at the cocaine he was holding in his left hand. "I'm going to get rid of this." He told Micky.
Micky looked up at Mike with an expression the Texan couldn't read before he took the little bag of powder from Mike's hand. "No you're not." He said quietly.
"Micky..." Mike said, swallowing hard. He held his hand out to Micky. "We need to get rid of it for good."
Micky stood up and looked down at Mike's open hand for a moment before walking straight past the Texan. Micky walked to the kitchen sink and stood in front of it, gazing out of the window.
"You're not getting rid of it." Micky said. He opened the bag and looked down into the sink. "I am."
Mike watched as Micky poured the entire contents of the bag into the sink. Micky set the water running and washed all of the cocaine away. Mike closed his eyes and sighed in relief, and when he opened them he saw Micky staring into the sink like a lost little boy.
Mike slowly approached his partner, and Micky looked up at the Texan with eyes filled with sorrow.
Mike reached his hand out to Micky. "Come on, angel." He said gently. "Let's go to bed."