Chapter 3
When Mickey woke the next morning, he had to convince himself that it hadn't all been some insane dream.
He had asked a prostitute to pretend to be his boyfriend. He was going to take a prostitute to his parents' house. A prostitute was going to be his date to his parents' anniversary party.
He had clearly lost his mind.
Mickey groaned into his pillow. He had definitely hit rock bottom. The worst part was that he simply couldn't imagine himself backing out and arriving at his parents' door alone. Maybe hiring a prostitute made him desperate and pathetic, but fuck it, he would go through with it.
No one had to know that the man he took there as a date wasn't Ian.
No one had to know he had to pay to actually have a date.
Mickey groaned again, feeling his self-esteem shrink more with every new thought that crossed his mind.
His snooze alarm went off again, letting him know he had to get up now, or be late for work, so he reluctantly slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Next, he needed a gallon of coffee, because it was going to be a very, very long day.
When he returned to his bedroom, showered, shaved and with the first cup of coffee in his hand, he considered what to wear for the day. He unplugged his phone and found a text message from an unknown number waiting for him.
Here's my number in case you need to contact me. Let me know where and when you want to meet today.
There was only one person that messaged could be from. Mickey was about to save the number, but then realized he didn't know the man's name. Adding him to his contacts as "Prostitute" didn't really seem right.
From: Mickey
I can pick you up at your place, if you want. We'll be leaving around 4 to be in Westerville on time for dinner. You haven't told me your name yet, by the way.
He put the phone down on the nightstand and turned back to his closet to choose his outfit. It buzzed with a new message just a few seconds later.
I'd rather meet you somewhere else.
Mickey frowned. He guessed it made sense for the man to be careful, but if he was going to be so guarded Mickey was doubtful they could pull this off. Mickey didn't really need the man to trust him completely – and hell, Mickey wasn't going to trust him that easily either. He knew absolutely nothing about the man, other than he provided his services for money – but he needed him to at least be comfortable enough around him for everyone to believe they were a couple.
He had a foreboding feeling that this whole thing was going to explode in his face in the end.
From: Mickey.
What about meeting at the Starbucks downtown? We'll get some coffee for the road.
This time the man's buzzed his phone with just a simple "Ok."
Mickey took a deep breath to stifle his reservations.
From: Mickey.
I would really like to know your name. It would make things easier.
Mickey was already dressed and halfway through his second cup of coffee when the phone vibrated in his pocket. He had had already begun to suspect the reply would never come.
It's Ian.
Mickey was smiling as he added the number and name to his contact list. Somehow, this little victory felt like a sign that things might work out okay, after all.
He typed one last message and then left for work, patting Nayla's head goodbye on his way out.
From: Mickey
I'll see you at four, Ian.
All the kids in Mickey's class were excited about the impending break. Mickey stopped on his way to work at a little bakery and bought a couple dozen cookies to share with them in a little party to start the break with a bang. They talked about their family's plans, made pretty drawings, sang some songs, and then Mickey read them a book about a boy's adventures during a camping trip. Everyone was excited for the weekend to start by the time their parents arrived to pick them up at the end of the day. At least, everyone except for Mickey.
"We didn't ask what you're going to do during the break, Mr. M!" Little Sarah exclaimed, clearly horrified, as she hugged his leg.
I'm going to take a prostitute to my parents' house and try to pass him off as my date, oh my god. "I'm going home to visit my family," he answered, trying to smile brightly.
"Oh! You're going to have a great time, aren't you? And you're going to miss us, right?" She asked, big green eyes looking up at him.
Mickey bent down to kiss the top of her head. "Of course I will. I always miss you guys."
Sarah smiled and waved over her shoulder as she ran to meet her mother, who was waiting for her at the door.
Mickey took a deep breath when the classroom was empty. It was easy to pretend he wasn't nervous when he was surrounded by his kids, but now that there was nothing to occupy him except for cleaning up the mess they had left behind, Mickey began seriously doubting what he was about to do.
He walked around the classroom, picking up drawings that had been left behind, putting the crayons back in the box where they belonged, and tidying everything up, knowing he was trying to buy time that he didn't really have to spare.
He didn't know why he didn't just call Ian, back out of this deal and cancel this whole thing.
Was there really a point to all this? Wasn't it much easier to just admit to his family that he had been dumped again?
He wished that he could just hide under the blankets in his bed and disappear, but despite the heavy feeling of dread weighing on him, Mickey turned his classroom's lights off and walked out of school, resigned to going through with it.
Mickey arrived a little late at Starbucks, at ten past four. It wasn't usual for him to be late, but some last minute packing decisions and a Dalmatian that had decided she wasn't in the mood for a car ride had made everything take longer than it should have. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel one last time, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could definitely do this.
He looked out the car window at the people passing by the coffee shop entrance. It was a very busy time, because the door kept swinging open and closed as more people went for their caffeine fix, blending into a sea of men and women in blue, black and grey business attire. For a moment he thought Ian had gotten lost among them. But when Mickey's eyes finally fell on him, just a few steps away from the door, he couldn't believe he hadn't spotted him, standing out among the crowd.
Ian looked so different here, in the sunlight. Mickey had barely perceived him in the dark night, but here, he could see every detail: the way the sun reflected on his pale skin, the exact chestnut shade of his hair, the deep blue of his eyes. If Mickey had found him stunning last night, then there was absolutely no word to describe how truly attractive Ian was now.
His back was against the wall, deliberately posed to look casual and carefree, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, seeming endless in those tight white jeans. He was wearing a soft-looking red sweater that fell from his shoulders perfectly and a pair of black boots that hugged his calves, making his legs look even longer. Mickey wondered, for just a split second, if those were the same boots he had worn the previous night, but then he shook the question away, resolving to ignore that image.
Ian was smoking, the cigarette touching his lips almost teasingly, seductively, as if contact with Ian's mouth was something to be savored.
And then Mickey saw right through his façade. Ian's eyes were anxiously sweeping the crowd around him, searching. He was holding a black duffel bag, his grip so tight that Mickey could see his whitened knuckles. There was no authenticity to Ian's icy untouchable attitude. And as he sat there watching him, Mickey couldn't help but ask himself another question: what could've possibly happened in Ian's life to put him in the life he was leading now?
A million other questions followed that one. Does he have debts? Is this really his only job? Is he only on the streets until he finds something else or does he go out there at night because he wants to? Does his family know what he does for a living?
Ian flicked the cigarette away and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Mickey could see hesitation in the way his shoulders shifted, how he was already considering walking away, just as insecure as Mickey.
Mickey wasn't certain of a lot of things, but he knew he couldn't let Ian walk away, not when he needed him.
With one more searching look around, Ian sighed, shoved the phone back into his pocket and stepped away from the wall, obviously done waiting. Mickey had to rush out of the car before he could actually leave.
"Ian, hey," he called after him, a little breathless.
Ian turned with a quirked eyebrow. "You're late."
Mickey could hear the resentment in his voice, for making him doubt that he was going to show. "I know, I'm really sorry," he said with an apologetic smile. "I had to finish packing after work and I thought I would make it here on time, but..."
"I thought you were backing out of our deal." Again, Ian's fingers tightened on his duffel bag, the only visible sign of anxiety. Mickey would've missed it if he hadn't noticed it before, from the car.
"I need your help, don't I? I asked you to help me for a reason," Mickey shrugged, and then fished an envelope out of his pocket, and extended it to Ian. Ian knew that it contained half of his payment, as they had agreed. "I'm not backing out." Even though I know I'm insane and I should back out...
Ian didn't say anything as he took the money. He simply stared at Mickey with those intense blue eyes that seemed to pierce through his skin. Time stretched thin, but Mickey didn't break their gaze. It looked as if Ian was looking for something deep inside him, trying to read him to decide if he should actually go ahead and get into this guy's car.
Finally, Ian sighed and shoved the envelope into his bag. "Okay, then. Let's go."
Mickey sighed too, exhaling in relief. Apparently he had passed whatever test Ian had given him. "I'd like to get a coffee first, if that's okay?"
Ian raised one of his shoulders in a shrug. "Yeah, sure, whatever."
The line at Starbucks had decreased considerably by the time they both walked inside. Ian was fidgeting uncomfortably next to him as they waited, pointedly avoiding looking at Mickey, which gave Mickey another chance to get another good look at him.
Up close, Mickey could see how tiny his waist was, how his sharp hipbones were easy to distinguish even through the layers of clothing. Ian was almost too thin, and Mickey's caring instincts seemed to kick in as they got to the counter.
"Hi. I'd like a medium drip and..." He looked at Ian, waiting for him to fill in.
"Oh. A, uhm, non-fat mocha?" He ventured, as if he was asking permission to order that.
Mickey smiled brightly at the barista. "Medium drip, a grande non-fat mocha and a couple of blueberry muffins, please."
As they waited at the end of the counter for their drinks, silence fell between them, and Mickey realized Ian wasn't exactly eager to chat. Mickey wasn't sure how he was going to make this work if Ian didn't even try to interact with him.
The weekend was bound to be a disaster.
He guided Ian back outside and towards his car, where Nayla had evidently gotten bored and fallen asleep on the backseat. Ian stopped in his tracks when he saw her.
"You brought the dog," he said accusingly.
Mickey smiled brightly, convinced that Ian just needed to meet his dog to love her. "Yes, her name is Nayla!"
"You didn't say you'd bring the dog," Ian arched an eyebrow as he looked at the beautiful animal sprawled over the seat.
Mickey's smile faded a bit. "You don't like dogs?"
"I don't like any living creatures," Ian answered.
"You are a living creature, too, you know," Mickey commented, trying to tease him to lighten the mood.
It didn't work.
"Exactly," Ian murmured, as he got into the car, sitting on the passenger side without another word.
Mickey swallowed and took a deep breath before following.
It was going to be a very long ride.
While they drank their coffees, the lack of conversation didn't weigh down on them. But as soon as the cups were empty, the silence seemed to choke them; it was awkward, and not even the radio playing softly in the background helped.
Surprisingly, it was Ian who broke it. With a sigh, he shifted in his seat to (finally) look at Mickey. "So... I guess you'd better tell me more about your family and yourself if you want this to look realistic."
"Oh, right. Yes, of course!" Mickey exclaimed, relieved that Ian had thought of that. "Well, uhm, it's my parents' anniversary and they are throwing a party, so that's why we're going. My dad's a pediatrician, and my mom has a clothing boutique. My brother will be coming, too. He's an actor and lives in LA."
"Really," Ian murmured, failing to sound impressed. "Has he done any movies I might recognize?"
"Not really. He's done mostly commercials. But he's been recently cast in a TV show. They're currently filming the pilot. He has the lead, so if it's picked up, it will be his first big break since he moved there. He's really excited, so I'm sure you'll hear all about it from Iggy," Mickey explained, a fond smile on his lips.
"And what about you?" Ian asked.
"I'm a kindergarten teacher," Mickey replied, still smiling.
One of Ian's perfectly lined eyebrows quirked. "Seriously? You're a kindergarten teacher?"
"Yes," Mickey confirmed, frowning. "Why?"
"Nothing. I'm just imagining the trouble you could get into if the parents of your tiny little students found out you hired a prostitute."
Mickey stepped on the brakes almost violently, making the car shudder to an abrupt stop. Luckily, there weren't any cars around to pile into them.
Mickey turned to look at Ian with wide eyes. He was gripping the dashboard with Mickey's sudden stop, speechless with surprise. "Was that some kind of threat? Are you planning to ask me for more money to keep your mouth shut about this?"
Ian crossed his arms over his chest, defensively. "Excuse me? Just because I'm a whore it doesn't mean I'm a criminal..."
Ian sounded deeply affronted and Mickey immediately regretted his accusation. He ran a hand through his hair, awkwardly.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just so incredibly nervous about this going well. I know it may not make a whole lot of sense to you, but I need this week to go smoothly. I-I've never in my life hired anyone like you for anything before... but I don't want to be disrespectful. I'm sorry, Ian."
The silence stretched between them for a few more seconds, Nayla's quiet breaths audible as she napped in the backseat. Ian wasn't looking at him anymore – his cold blue eyes were fixed on some point outside the car, almost stubbornly.
"You should keep driving or we'll never get there," he finally said.
It didn't feel like Ian was accepting his apology, but Mickey guessed that was the best he was going to get, so he complied.
Relief washed over Mickey as soon as they got to Westerville. The entire ride with Ian had been uncomfortable, to say the least. They had been silent most of the time, neither of them exactly sure what to talk about. Every time Mickey opened his mouth, he felt as if he was walking on a mine field, anxious he'd set Ian off again.
Ian, on the other hand, seemed to prefer the silence. His blue eyes focused on whatever was passing his window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Mickey glanced at him a few times, but he just couldn't figure the other man out: Ian was unreadable. Mickey tried turning up the volume of the radio on a song that Ian obviously liked because he was moving his foot with the rhythm, but he stopped as soon as he realized Mickey had noticed.
Mickey had no idea how they were going to pass as loving boyfriends when they couldn't even engage in a conversation or look at each other.
The Milkovichs lived in one of the nicest neighborhoods in Westerville. As Mickey drove down the street where he had grown up, the houses became more luxurious with every one they passed. His parents lived in a beautiful two-story greystone house with an imposing oak double door. It was obvious Mickey's mother had been spending time in the garden, because there were newly planted flowerbeds under the windows, giving the front of the residence a more colorful appearance.
As soon as Mickey parked in the driveway of his parents' magnificent house, Ian finally uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his seat, wide eyes fixed. "Holy shit."
"Uhm," it was Mickey's turn to shift uncomfortably on his seat. "They're expecting us, so we should…" He paused and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Listen. I know this must all seem stupid to you… but please, do your best to help me out."
Ian moved the rearview mirror so he could fix his hair, without sparing a glance at Mickey. "Don't worry yourself about it. You're paying me, and I always deliver good value for my money."
Mickey swallowed, wondering if he was crazy one last time, and opened the door to exit the car.
He let Nayla out of the vehicle and, by the time he handed Ian his bag, his mother was stepping outside the front door with a welcoming smile, making warmth flood through Mickey. For a moment, he was five years old again and all he wanted to do was lose himself in her hug, close his eyes and forget about all his problems.
Grace Milkovich was a petite but stunning woman. Her ebony hair was held back in an elegant twist and her bright hazel eyes reflected her happiness to see her youngest son. She opened her arms wide, waiting for Mickey to walk right into them.
"Mickey, dear!" She exclaimed. Her smile was so wide that it made crow-feet appear beside her expressive eyes, but she was still gorgeous. "I'm so happy you're here!"
"Hi, Mom," he said, with the first authentic smile in days, as he put his suitcase down and hugged her. The familiar delicate floral scent of her perfume comforted him instantly.
She pulled away after a few seconds, but kept an arm around him as she turned to Ian, who Mickey had completely forgotten about. "And you must be Ian! It's so great to finally meet you, darling!"
Ian's smile was a bit strained and nervous, but it could've easily passed as anxiety over meeting his boyfriend's mother. He held his hand out politely. "It's wonderful to finally meet you as well, Mrs. Milkovich."
Grace used his hand to pull him into a hug as well. "Oh don't be silly. You're family already. Just call me Grace."
Ian seemed stunned to find himself in some strange woman's embrace. His eyes seemed ready to bulge out of his skull and his arms were flailing awkwardly at his sides. Mickey could see Ian's muscles tense. It was almost as if Ian didn't even know what getting a hug was like.
Grace let go of both of them to lean over to greet Nayla with a scratch behind her ears, leaving Mickey and Ian looking at each other. Ian still seemed a bit freaked out, so Mickey decided to distract his mother so Ian would have time to shake off whatever was upsetting him.
"So, uhm, where's dad?" Mickey asked, grabbing his suitcase again.
Grace gestured for them to follow her inside. "He's been in his studio for the last couple of hours, doing God knows what. You know how he is when he gets caught up with something… oh, here he is!"
Terry Milkovich was a tall, handsome man. He had penetrating blue eyes and thick, dark brown hair threaded with silver. While Mickey took after his mother, Iggy, Mickey's brother, was nearly Terry's double. They were so similar that you got a very accurate idea of how Iggy would look in twenty years or so.
Terry smiled happily as he approached them. "Good to see you, son," he muttered as he pulled Mickey into a hug and patted his back affectionately. "How was the drive?"
"It was alright," Mickey cleared his throat and looked at Ian. "Dad, this is Ian. Ian, this is Terry Milkovich."
"Pleasure, sir," Ian said, once again holding his hand out. To his relief, Terry didn't hug him.
"Relax, Ian. We've heard so much about you already that we feel like you're one of our sons!" Terry exclaimed jovially. "Besides, anyone who makes Mickey as happy as he's been since you two met, definitely has nothing to worry about from me!"
Mickey glanced at Ian almost pleadingly. He needed him to relax and act as normally as possible or everything would collapse.
Just the thought of it made Mickey's stomach churn with guilt.
Ian seemed to have gotten the message because he shifted closer to Mickey and possessively wrapped an arm around his waist. His fingers tightened on his hip and pulled him closer, until their bodies were glued together. His breath hit Mickey's ear when he spoke and a smirk was clear in his voice. "Not as happy as this gorgeous man makes me."
Mickey gulped and tried to force a smile on his face. Ian's words had been a bit suggestive and the way they were touching felt too intimate considering his parents were watching them.
He laughed nervously and tried putting a few inches of distance between he and Ian. "Well, I think we should go upstairs to freshen up…"
"Oh, yes, yes, of course! You must be tired, driving all the way here after work!" Grace said. She pointed up the stairs. "Mickey, your room is all ready for you two. If there's anything else you need, just let me know…"
"M-my room is ready?" Mickey babbled. He hadn't really thought about where Ian would sleep…
"Of course, silly! You're not a kid anymore and neither of us is going to pretend you two don't share a bed on a regular basis anyway!" Grace laughed as Terry shook his head fondly. "You're an adult now, Mickey."
Mickey rolled his eyes and laughed as well, as if he couldn't believe how stupid he was. "You're right. I guess being home makes me feel like I'm a kid again…"
Terry patted each of them, on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, boys. Go get comfortable and we'll let you know when dinner's ready."
Leading Ian down the hallway to his old room was just as silent as the drive from Columbus. He could hear Ian's steps trailing behind him, but neither dared say anything, until Mickey closed the door behind them.
"Oh, shit, shit, shit! This was a huge mistake!" Mickey mumbled, leaning against the door and dropping his face in his hands.
Ian put his bag carefully on the bed and turned to look at him. Once again, it was impossible to read his feelings. "It could've gone a lot worse."
"Worse?" Mickey's eyes fixed on him and his hands went down in defeat. "Ian… you can't just hold me against you like that and say those things…"
Ian sighed. He threw his arms over his head, exasperated. "Well, then what the hell do you want me to do, Mickey?"
"I need you to act more like a boyfriend who's comfortable around me and less like a total stranger I'm paying to be here!" Mickey answered, careful not to raise his voice too much.
"I'm a prostitute, not an actor," Ian spat drily. "You know, this is a very far cry from what I usually do with my clients."
Mickey sighed, equally as frustrated. "Okay. We both need to calm down a little." He ran a hand through his hair, tangling his curls, and looked at Ian with pleading hazel eyes. "Look, Ian… you don't have to like me. You don't even have to talk to me when my parents aren't around. You can ignore me and I won't complain. But when we're with them… they need to believe that we're in love. They won't buy it if you go from glaring at me to practically feeling me up in front of them."
Ian pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned away to ransack his bag until he found a package of cigarettes. At Mickey's disapproving glare, he went to the window, opened it and sat on the edge before lighting the cigarette. He took a long drag out of it and exhaled slowly, aiming the smoke outside. "I don't think I've told you this yet, but I think you're very stupid for doing something like this."
Ian wasn't exactly agreeing to do what Mickey needed, but it wasn't a no, either. Mickey sat down heavily on the bed and watched Ian as he filled his lungs with toxic smoke. "I think I am, too," he said tiredly.
Ian followed Mickey into the dining room, and felt like he was in a waking dream. He had gotten so used to eating nuked meals, that he had forgotten how the smell of homemade food made him think of home, how much it made him ache for days that were long gone.
He looked around to distract himself from his rekindled grief. The big mahogany table was meant for more than the four people that would be sitting for dinner tonight, but it still managed to look cozy and welcoming. Nayla was lying under it, her tail wagging slowly, as she watched Grace walk in from the kitchen carrying a basket of bread, ever optimistic that she would drop a piece. The walls, painted in a soft shade of green complemented the view of the backyard coming.
Family pictures were scattered here and there. Ian saw the two boys on a family picnic, in their best clothes at a party, sitting next to the Christmas tree, covered in mud after a soccer game. Little Mickey had a head full of curls and a huge smile in all of them. He looked happy and loved. Ian had wonderful memories of his own childhood, but they were smudged and distorted, painted over with the bad stuff that had come afterwards.
"Ian, are you coming?" Mickey's voice said from behind him, distracting him from staring at the pictures, while everyone else was already at the table. Mickey had pulled a chair out for him, and was waiting for him to take the seat.
Ian stifled his surprise at Mickey's chivalry, unused to anyone treating him like that. Mickey probably pulled out chairs for everyone, not just his boyfriends.
He smiled as genuinely as he could. His fingers brushed Mickey's on the back of the chair. "Thanks, darling," he muttered, remembering to keep the usual purr out of his voice. He was used to saying those words to his customers after taking their cash, looking at them coyly from under his eyelashes to make them believe he'd had an amazing time.
"I made Mickey's favorite lasagna," Grace announced, as Mickey took his own seat, looking relieved that Ian was cooperating. She served the lasagna onto the plates and passed one to each of them. "I always try to make it when he comes home."
"And that's the reason I wish I could come home more often," Mickey said with a warm smile as he accepted the plate she passed him. "Nothing will ever compare to your cooking."
"I hope you're not living on take out again," she reprimanded him softly. "You need to eat properly, Mickey. You're not a kid anymore."
"I promise I'm eating as healthy as I can. I cook pretty much every night and I only order take out on Fridays when I'm just too tired to even care," Mickey protested and then took the first bite off his lasagna. He closed his eyes blissfully and moaned around the fork in a way that made Ian blush, and he made men come for a living. He had heard a lot of embarrassing sounds coming out of them. "Mom, this is fantastic."
"I'm glad you think so, dear," Grace laughed. "What about you, Ian? Do you like to cook, too?"
Ian thought back to the days when he had tried teaching his dad how to make a soufflé. He thought about his mother's recipes books and that summer when he had been completely obsessed with French cuisine. He thought of Burt's suspicious frown at whatever gourmet dish he had wanted to try that week, every time Ian put a plate in front of him on the kitchen table.
He swallowed his mouthful of lasagna with difficulty.
"Not very much," he answered simply, once again banishing the memories to the back of his mind. "Only rarely, when I'm in the mood."
He was incredibly relieved when Terry changed the subject and asked Mickey about his job. Mickey immediately launched into a story about something one of his students had done that week. Ian allowed himself to relax and eat – and damn, was he hungry. He had only had a Mocha and a muffin all day.
"Mickey said you are a receptionist at a hospital, Ian," Terry said once Mickey was done with his story, to include his son's boyfriend into the conversation. "Do you like working there?"
Had Mickey told him anything about Ian's job? Ian couldn't remember. He was working at that desk job while he was supposed to be getting a Master's Degree or something… "It's okay, I suppose. It was rough, uhm, at first, getting used to seeing all those… wounds. And, uhm, blood and… pregnant ladies."
Grace and Terry stared at him strangely. Ian wished he could disappear, knowing he had screwed something up. Mickey nudged his foot under table, signaling him to shut up before he dug himself a deeper hole.
"He means cats. Pregnant cats and dogs," Mickey interjected quickly to save the situation. "There was a cat that had a horrifying labor this week. He's still a little sensitive about it." Mickey patted his hand and gave him a fondly sympathetic look.
"Oh, did the poor thing and her kittens come through it alright?" Grace asked, visibly concerned.
"Yes, she was okay, once the kittens were out," Ian looked down at his plate, hoping no one would ask him any more questions and put more food in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk.
He would seriously need to ask Mickey for more information about this Ian guy.
The sound of running water in the adjacent bathroom was all Ian could hear in the silence of the night. Mickey was taking a shower, after insisting gallantly that he would be fine sleeping on the couch and that Ian could take the bed. Ian was lying on his back under the blankets, staring at the ceiling. Even though the bed was incredibly comfortable, he was tense. He couldn't help it.
He and Mickey hadn't spoken much after dinner. Mickey's parents suggested they could go to bed if they were tired, after such a long day. Ian had immediately taken them up on the offer. He didn't feel like sticking around for coffee and dessert. He needed some time, to think, to mentally prepare himself for the next day, to process everything that had happened in just a few hours. He couldn't ruin this for Mickey. There was an envelope with money in his duffel bag that meant he owed it to him to get this right.
He had found it terribly difficult, sitting at the table and pretending he was used to normal family dinners. He spent his nights standing on a dark corner waiting for someone to fuck him. He wasn't used to making sparkling conversation about how well the wine complemented the lasagna, or how nice the garden looked. It wasn't his world. It had stopped being a possibility for him when his father's heart stopped beating.
Once upon a time, when he was young and naïve, Ian had wanted to live like this. He had wanted the handsome boyfriend with the warm welcoming family, the linen napkins and the discussions about whether the new Russell Crowe movie was better than his last. But he couldn't picture himself there anymore. The only way to accept the way he lived was to permanently let go of those dreams. He refused to resurrect them and go through that misery again.
Ian heard the water turn off in the shower and tensed even more. His fingers crumpled the edge of the sheet in a death grip and he could almost feel his heart pounding in his chest.
When Mickey opened the door and walked into the bedroom, Ian closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He couldn't help hold his breath, as he waited anxiously. He heard Mickey moving quietly around the room, as if he didn't want to wake him. Ian knew that, any moment now, the mattress would dip as Mickey slipped into bed with him, that he would feel callous hands on his body, his pajamas would be roughly pushed down and he would be flipped over and held down, helpless to stop him.
Mickey had told Ian nothing sexual was expected of him and didn't seem like the kind of guy who would go back on his word, but Ian knew better than to trust him. He couldn't trust anyone. How could he believe Mickey would be any different, when he had only ever been abused and hurt by everyone?
There was a rustle of fabrics, and when he didn't feel anything, Ian dared to open his eyes a little. The bedroom was now in darkness and the only light came from the street lamp outside the window. He could see the outline of the couch and Mickey turning to get comfortable. He punched his pillow a couple of times, dropped his head onto it and then lay still.
Ian realized he was getting faint from still holding his breath and let it out, shakily.
It took a long time for him to fall asleep, listening to Mickey's even breaths, to be sure he wasn't pretending to be asleep. It took hours to allow himself to believe he was safe here.
There was only one reason men ever wanted him around, and it was only a matter of time until Mickey realized he was paying him more than enough to get whatever he wanted from him. And he wouldn't ask – no one ever did – he would just take it, as if Ian's body was his to use.
There wasn't anything else that could be possibly taken from him. They had already taken it all.