Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

15: No Homo Means I Love You In Fuckboy

And Mikey Way knew that this was nothing but his fault, but his head and his heart seemed to be in two entirely different dimensions right now, so surely it couldn’t be his fault, could it?

But it was, and he was unfortunate in the reality that there was no one to drag him back down to earth as he slammed the door behind him: oblivious to cold, even in only a shirt and the pair of jeans that he'd worn the past three weeks straight now.

He was something like drunk, and something like stoned too, but he wasn't really either, just in between, and far too okay with that fact, because he was dying inside, but he couldn't quite feel it, and Alicia was nowhere in sight, and it was all perfectly okay as long as he could get his head to stop spinning for more than a second at a time.

He couldn't.

It was tragic, but he got over it.

He got over everything: his life was a collage and a compilation of could have beens and should haves, but he had no regrets - none but that, anyway. And his head was spinning, and he was crazy, and it was far too dark for him to even recognise his surroundings now.

Alicia was 'working late', and it was something close to midnight now, and Mikey was out in the part four streets down: stumbling and running like he was being chased by some sort of invisible being until he found a bench and threw himself onto it: the pain rendered irrelevant as he set his eyes upon the horizon - moonlight crawling up from the horizon and into the inky blackness beyond, but still, there was a definite absence of light, and it reflected the absence of sanity in Mikey's head.

Coke did bad things to bad people: playing on guilt and everything less, and Mikey felt like skin and bones and veins: addiction full through, and a nosebleed that had stained his upper lip that he hadn't quite cared to wipe off.

He was a perfect picture of a fuck up, and really, that fuck up brother looked like a saint next to the crack addict stumbling through the local park in the middle of the night, but he kept seeing shadows and shapes in the dark, and he remained far too on edge to even consider reality and the how the world was affecting him.

Alicia seemed almost unreal: a missed call in his pocket, and a worry pushed to the back of his mind, because she'd fix this eventually: he knew she would, because Alicia wasn't stupid and Alicia would find out and Alicia would scream at him for hours, until his ears started to bleed, but he'd be okay.

He'd always be 'okay'.

Mikey Way was nothing but 'okay'.

Okay said in a condensing tone by an elementary school teacher in relation to the awful fuss kicked up by a bruise on a knee. You're okay.

And the words echoed in his head as they slowly started to mean something, but as to what, Mikey was unsure yet, and perhaps he just didn't want to find out, because perhaps, he just didn't need to know.

After all, there was an awful lot that Mikey Way didn't know, and a perfect example of that was the fact that Alicia wasn't working late at all, but found herself at Pete's again, with Lindsey, of course, and they were having far gayer conversations than Mikey would have ever liked to no, but he didn't, so that was okay: temporarily, at the very least, but with the coke and the vomit in a trashcan several hundred metres behind him, Mikey was very much living in the temporary: living without a single though to his actions and the repercussions they inevitably held.

Another thing that Mikey Way didn't know was the fact Pete Wentz had grown tired of Lindsey abusing his life to talk to Alicia, and not even bring him beer for the trouble - it was something about her starting to worry about just how much he was drinking, but Pete didn't care, and it was out the backdoor, and walking for at least twenty minutes across town, and a park he didn't frequent visiting, and some raving lunatic curled up on a bench.