Chapter 2
If someone had told sixteen-year-old Ian Gallagher that he would end up a prostitute, he would have probably tittered nervously and say that they were crazy, because sixteen-year-old Ian Gallagher was absolutely terrified of sex. He couldn't picture himself doing that, even in a loving relationship, much less with a bunch of strangers for money.
But he should've known that life never worked out the way it was supposed to. Not his life, at least.
A week after his eighteenth birthday, when he was very close to finally finishing high school, when he could almost taste his freedom; when he was dreaming of New York and Broadway, his dad had a second heart attack. This time, no matter how much Ian squeezed his hand and begged and pleaded with him to wake up, Burt Gallagher didn't open his eyes again. This time, when Ian walked out of the hospital, he had absolutely no one left in the world.
For a while, he lived in a heartbroken daze. He woke up, went to school, tried to survive each day as best as he could, before he came back to an empty house. Then he went into his dad's room, and cried himself to sleep on his bed. There, where it still smelled like him, he tried to convince himself that nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
Burt Gallagher had owned a car repair shop, their name proudly painted over the entrance. He had started it from scratch and with hard work and dedication, turned into a decently profitable business. However, the garage was losing business, now that Burt wasn't there to run it, but Ian kept it going for a few more weeks, because he didn't want to lose his last link to his dad. When he started getting letters threatening to seize his assets to pay the hospital bills that had piled up while his dad had lingered, he knew he had to give up and sell the place. The day he locked the doors for the last time, it felt as if he had lost his father all over again.
He paid the bills, kept a small sum to survive, and then saved the rest away for college, even though his dreams didn't seem important anymore. He wouldn't ever go to New York now. He couldn't leave Ohio. Everything Ian had in the world, everyone he had ever cared about, was buried in Lima's Memorial Park Cemetery. Both his parents were there now.
And though he knew they wouldn't notice if he was gone, Ian had no more strength left to fight, no wish to follow the life he had always wanted. What was the point, anyway? Life was such a swift, fleeting thing. It didn't matter where he was living… New York, Ohio. It was all the same, in the end. Dreams were stupid, remote; unreachable.
Ian applied to OSU, the last place he had pictured himself applying, so he could stay in Lima, and applied everywhere for a job, but no one would hire the only 'out' boy in town. When a letter from NYU, where he had applied months earlier for early admittance, arrived in the mail soon after, saying he'd been accepted, he forced himself not to cry and threw it in the trash.
It wasn't as if he had any more tears left in him, anyway.
Twice Ian had to take money from his college fund to buy food, and to pay the bills. He had to find a solution to his financial problems or he would starve to death, but he was so lost, so tired, so done...
The decision on how he could earn extra money was made for him. Ian had been staring wretchedly at a picture of his father with his arm around his shoulders, hanging in his locker, when he realized the hallways were empty, most of the other students already in class. He was rushing to get to his next class when Ian was stopped in his tracks by David Kash suddenly appearing in front of him, blocking his way.
He felt cold fear grip him, because he had lost count of the times Kash had pushed him against lockers. He had once trapped Ian in the locker room and kissed him. Ian had been horrified by his assault, but he didn't tell anyone, not a word. Not only because Kash said he would kill him, but because the only person who might have cared enough to help was his dad, and he had just come out of the hospital after his first heart attack. He just couldn't put that weight on his dad's shoulders.
So Ian kept Kash's secret, and Kash took his silence as permission to harass Ian every single day, not really caring that he was turning Ian's life into a living hell.
Today wasn't going to be any different. In fact, today things would take a sudden turn for the worse.
"What are you doing wandering around the hallways all on your own, Lady Gallagher?" David said, smirking.
Ian didn't reply. He looked down at the floor, hoping that if he didn't acknowledge David's presence, he would leave him alone.
Even after all these years, Ian was still so terribly naïve…
Kash's hands were suddenly on Ian's shoulders, pushing him violently against the lockers. Ian closed his eyes, the familiar pain shooting down his spine. Kash's hot breath hit Ian's ear when he leaned closer to speak into it.
"Were you looking for me? I bet I'm the only one who ever touches you. I bet I'm the only one who's ever been this close to you. You like it, when I get all over you, don't you?"
Ian swallowed thickly, trying to keep the nausea at bay.
"Who in their right minds would actually want to touch you?" Kash spat furiously. "Who could ever want to be near you?"
Ian didn't say anything, even though he wondered why Kash got so close, if he found him that repulsive.
"The ones who act all shy and innocent, just like you do, are always the worst ones," Kash whispered in a cold voice, right into Ian's ear. "You like this, don't you? You like it when someone pays attention to you. You like it when someone touches you. You act as if you hated it, as if you didn't want it, but deep down inside… you're a slut for it. You love it, don't you Gallagher?"
Ian had to take a deep breath to stop himself from throwing up all over Kash, which would have only made things worse.
"I can see you're asking for it," David murmured, one of his hands trailing down Ian's shoulder to his chest. "And even though you don't deserve it… I'm gonna give it to you…"
His fingers closed around Ian's arm in deathly tight grip, and dragged him, forcing him to follow. Ian tried to fight it, but Kash was so strong, so much bigger than him, there was no way to resist it. He panicked when he saw where David was taking him. The last time they had been alone together in the locker room, David had stolen his first kiss.
Was he planning to do it again? Terror washed over him, as he struggled and tried to yell, but David shoved him through the door, and the impact cut it off.
Once they were in the locker room, Kash released him, with one last push. Ian lurched, off balance, and landed on his hands and knees on the cold, dirty floor, trying to catch his breath. He heard David's steps, approaching him slowly, taking his time.
"That's how you like it, don't you? On your hands and knees?" His voice echoed against the walls, stabbing Ian everywhere, sending pangs of absolute terror all over his body.
He breathed out shakily and made himself look up, to find David's eyes, and fix his on them. "Please…" He murmured, hoping for a scrap of humanity to surface in David. "Please, let me go. I just want to get to class…"
"Why should I let you go?" Kash asked, tilting his head to the side, and coming to a decision. He crouched in front of Ian. "Really, Gallagher, what do you have to lose? Don't you know how guys like you end? Whether you kill yourself because you can't take any of this anymore, or you find a way to survive. And you know what? I'm offering you a way out."
Ian blinked in confusion, but didn't dare to ask what he was talking about. Images of himself lying cold and dead in his coffin, and ending all this misery suddenly invaded his mind, and they didn't look bad at all. He had already lost everything, so what did he have left to lose?
"Don't you want my help? Don't you want to walk around this school without being afraid all the time? Wouldn't you like that?"
Ian bit his lip. That sounded too good to be true, but the price he'd have to pay for it wouldn't be cheap. "W-what do you want from me?" He asked in a tiny voice.
David smiled, slowly. He stood up and unzipped his jeans. "I want you to be the good, little slut I know you are."
Ian's eyes went wide with fear and a cold sweat broke out over his body, as he watched Kash pull his pants and underwear aside and take his cock out. He wondered distantly if someone would come in and help him if he screamed.
He wondered if it was even worth trying.
Why would anyone help him?
"Come on, Gallagher. Put those nice lips to use," Kash said in a hoarse voice, and then reached for the back of Ian's head, tangling his fingers in his hair to pull him closer, until the head of his cock was pushing against his lips.
Kash's grip on his hair became tighter, until Ian opened his mouth to cry out in pain, and suddenly his mouth was crammed full of hot hard flesh. He felt himself choking a few times, as David tugged on his hair to thrust into his mouth. The locker room filled with Kash's groans, and then tears began raining down Ian's cheeks.
And that was when Ian knew he was broken beyond repair. Everything had been taken away from him, and fighting didn't seem important anymore. What was the point in fighting when he could never win? So, instead, he gave in, he let David use him until he came in his mouth, and he just sat there and took it without protest.
Kash was tucking himself back in as Ian slumped paralyzed on his knees, eyes unfocused and lost, when the locker room door opened and one of the boys from the football team walked in, and then stopped in his tracks, staring at the scene before him with wide eyes.
"Kash, what the hell? Are you a fag too, now?" He asked scandalized.
Ian could see Kash panic for a second, but then he forced a smile on his face as he finished fixing his clothes. "Are you kidding me? Never. But have you seen Gallagher? He's almost a girl, and with a mouth like his, it's like being with one. Can you believe he came onto me in the hallway and told me he'd suck me off for twenty bucks?" He fished a twenty from his jeans pocket and threw it at Ian. "There you go, Lady Gallagher." He laughed and started walking out of the room, patting his friend on the back as he passed by him.
Ian was still in the very same spot, a bitter taste in his mouth, feeling dirtier than he had ever felt. He realized the other boy was still there, and for a second, he wondered if he was going to hit him for corrupting one of his straight friends.
"So, twenty bucks for a blowjob?" The jock asked, and Ian looked up to see he had moved closer. He chuckled, buried his hand in his pocket, and threw more money at Ian. "You'd better make it worth every cent, then, Gallagher."
As he heard the sound of a zipper echoing in the silence of the locker room for the second time in less than half an hour, Ian bit back his tears and accepted the way things were now. And once his secondcustomer of the day was also gone, smiling and satisfied, Ian stood up on wobbly legs, with forty dollars in his fist, and made his way out of the school and back to his house as quickly as he could.
As soon as he walked through the front door, he finally allowed his legs to give in, and he collapsed on the wooden floor, where he started emptying the contents of his stomach.
At first, Ian didn't notice anything unusual when he arrived at school the next morning. It took a little while for him to realize no one was harassing him, or throwing him against lockers, or calling him names.
He was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch, when a guy he'd never seen before wearing a McKinley's marching band uniform, stood in front of him, stopping Ian in his tracks. He stared at him, without saying a word and with a twenty dollar bill in his hand.
Ian looked down at the money for a few seconds, then slowly nodded and followed him into one of the bathrooms, his stomach clenched with disgust.
From that day on, Ian began carrying condoms in his messenger bag, and spent most of his free time in the last stall of the boys' bathroom, earning enough money to get by, without having to touch his college fund.
No one ever really talked about it, but everyone knew that Ian Gallagher was the school's whore.
Even Ian himself knew it.
When Ian left McKinley behind, he thought he would also leave those memories behind too.
A week before starting classes at OSU, he packed his things, sold the house he had grown up in, and drove to Columbus to start what he hoped would be a new life.
A small, still hopeful part of him still dreamed that with a major in Voice and Performance Arts, he would work on Broadway one day. Just because he was stuck here in Ohio now, depressed and emotionally broken, it didn't mean he couldn't start preparing for that day.
The problem with college life was that all students are broke. Ian wasn't the exception. He had barely enough to pay tuition, but he couldn't make ends meet, even with a job as a waiter in a diner. After starving for a couple of weeks, he went to one of his dorm's parties and looked for the drunkest guy he could find. He whispered in his ear, in a sultry voice what he would do and what it would cost… and five minutes later he was on his knees in a closet.
Ian hated himself for giving in, he really did. He hated that he had allowed others to break him, to take his self-respect away from him, the only thing that he had salvaged from his childhood. He hated what Kash had done to him, and all the boys at McKinley had made of him.
But mostly, he hated himself because he had allowed it to happen. Because he had another way out, but he was too much of a coward to take it.
And now, he tried not to feel anything anymore. He just moved through life, let random guys fuck his mouth or his fist, and that was that. Nothing mattered anymore.
For the first time, Ian was glad his father was dead. If Burt could see him now, he would be so disappointed in his son…
Ian didn't allow himself to think of his dad anymore. It hurt too much. And hurting meant he felt things. Ian was so done with feeling anything at all.
He just wanted everything to stop hurting.
The first time Ian allowed a stranger to fuck him, he cried. His power was about to be turned off, he had had no food in three days, and the guy had offered him fifty bucks. He had hit rock bottom, and even though he'd lost everything, giving this last vestige of his innocence felt like the final violation.
He had barely managed to graduate college, but he was too drained to consider starting over in New York. He simply could not rally the effort to get there, just to fail again. What was the point in trying? What was the point in going to New York now? He was a whore in Ohio; he would be a whore in New York. There were no other options for him.
He lived in a crappy rundown apartment all by himself, because that was all he could afford, whenever the weather got dismal and his customers stayed home with their wives. He had no friends, and he had never had anything close to a boyfriend. He had no hope for his future. When he wasn't letting strangers use him, he drove back to Lima to parents' grave, and let the misery scour him hollow.
Most men just wanted a quick and dirty encounter and left before anyone saw them, but one night, a customer took his bitterness out on Ian, because he hated that he was continually driven to fuck men, and intentionally hurt him. He threw the money at him and left him, barely able to crawl home.
But as soon as he was able to move again, he went to the cemetery. He sat there and cried, and asked his dad to forgive him for what he was doing, asked them both to come back even though it was useless.
He was sick of crying and goddamn done with feeling sorry for himself. He had to just accept that this was his life now.
What was the point in crying? What would feeling sorry for himself change? Why couldn't he just accept, once and for all, that this was his life?
He dried his tears with the sleeve of his coat and stood. That was the moment when Ian Gallagher's heart turned into stone.
It was so much easier that way.
When Mickey stood before him that night and offered him more money than he usually made in a month, and then assured him that he wouldn't have to do anything sexual, just pretend to be his boyfriend for a week, Ian had to make a huge effort not to show his skepticism, because he couldn't believe what this guy proposed. Mickey's offer sounded like a dream to him, though he'd stopped believing in happy endings long ago.
He didn't really believe that he meant what he said, but that kind of money and a whole week off the streets, not having to let any disgusting strangers touch him? Ian couldn't remember the last time he had taken a whole week off. Not working meant he didn't eat, and only made it harder to go back. So he seldom allowed himself time off, except when he was sick.
He could tell Mickey was nervous. He was twisting his dog's leash between his hands, looking at Ian eagerly, as if Ian was the only one who could save him.
Ian forced a flirtatious smirk on his face and moved a little closer, placing his hand on Mickey's arm. "Who could say no to you, mm?" He murmured with a purr. "Darling, I'm in."
He would've laughed at Mickey's sigh of relief if he wasn't secretly just as relieved.
Mickey walked away after giving Ian his card, watching with a gaping mouth, as he slipped it into his leather shorts with a smirk. Ian decided he could just as well call it a night, if his rent was paid for the month.
The scratch of the card against his hip was comforting, as he moved quickly along the streets, keeping his eyes down and his arms wrapped around himself. It was chilly, and though he was used to being lightly clothed outdoors at night, he could never quite stop the tense shiver running down his spine. He fished a cigarette out of his back pocket, hoping it'd give him some warmth until he made it to his apartment.
Ian lived in the cheapest part of town, which meant it also wasn't the safest. He was used to walking down his block and hearing jeers and shouts directed his way, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant. A group of young men gathered around an old car (were they stripping it or working on it?) turned their attention towards him when Ian neared.
"Hey, slut! Did you suck any dick tonight?"
"Or did someone suck yours?"
"What are you talking about, idiot? He probably doesn't even have a dick!"
They laughed obnoxiously. Ian exhaled the smoke of his cigarette, trying to look detached, superior, and untouchable. He turned the next corner and couldn't hear them anymore, so he exhaled shakily and swallowed his terror.
His father had told him that he was better than anyone, and that as soon as he finished high school, he would take the world by storm. Ian thought the ignorance and the criticism wouldn't matter anymore. No one would be screaming their hatred at him as he walked down the hallways or across the parking lot towards his car. Everything would change for the better.
Nothing was better, and things had actually changed for the worse.
Ian lived in a tiny studio apartment. The walls were painted in a muted grey reminiscent of the Dior grey of his bedroom when he was a teenager. The heating seldom work, the bathroom was so small he could barely turn around without hitting the wall, and the only window faced a brick wall. There was a bundle of blankets and a pillow on the couch where he slept, and leftover Chinese food on the coffee table. There were very few personal items or photographs because Ian couldn't bear seeing his father's smiling face staring back at him. He didn't want his dad to see the way he lived, not even through paper eyes.
He sat on the edge of the couch and began unlacing his boots, wriggling his toes in relief, and then slipped on socks to warm up. He took off the rest of his work clothes, and put Mickey's card on the coffee table. He looked at it for a few seconds, before he dressed in loose sweatpants and big Gallagher Tires and Lube sweatshirt that had belonged to his father that still had a grease stain he'd put on the sleeve. He padded the three strides that separated him from the kitchen area, and chose a can of soup to warm for dinner. There was a time when he would've thrown a hissy fit if his father even suggested eating canned food, but Ian didn't really enjoy cooking anymore. Not having anyone to cook for made it a lot less rewarding.
He went back to the couch when the soup was hot, cupping the bowl between his hands and letting its heat seep through his bones. He sat with his knees to his chest and reached for one of the blankets, wrapping it around himself. He didn't know why, he needed extra comfort and warmth today.
The card was still on the coffee table. Ian's eyes couldn't tear themselves away from it, from the seven little numbers written under that name, Mickey D. Milkovich. On one hand, the man's offer meant security – having enough money to eat for weeks (fuck, even months). He could stay off the streets for a whole week, not having to smell the alcohol on his clients' breaths, when they offered him money to do what they needed from him, before they went home to their wives and children, guilt eating them alive.
But on the other hand… this felt too good to be true. Something was bound to go wrong. Pretty boy probably wouldn't show up or something. Opportunities like this didn't fall onto Ian's lap. He ruthlessly squashed the quiver of excitement he could feel trying to revive in him. But something about Mickey's offer made him tingle with anticipation.
Even if he did show up, what would happen if he couldn't play his part believably? Mickey had to be desperate, because a guy like him was nobody's idea of a boyfriend. No one in their right mind would ever take him home to meet their parents, holding his hand proudly. Ian had once dreamed of acting, becoming a star with his name in Broadway lights, but now the dream was dead.
He was a prostitute. He was prostitute and he was broken in too many pieces now, to ever put back together. As soon as Mickey realized that, the deal would be forgotten, and Ian would have to go back to being a broken little toy everyone played too roughly with, before they threw him away.
Ian closed his eyes, forbid the tears gathering in his eyes to fall down his cheeks, and ate his dinner.