one more troubled soul » petekey

Ten

"Who cares?" Pete sat up and took his hand away, letting it settle in his own lap. "Anyone with their right mind could tell that kid is doomed. Absent mom, absent dad... both my parents loved me a least a little, and I'm still fucked. As far as I'm concerned, he's already dead." Pete spat with brutality, but truth. He had seen it happen in his own hometown. He had been dumb enough to screw with a good relationship he had with his parents, but whether it was the neighbors or the kids from across town, there were plenty who never even were given a chance to screw up. Motherless, fatherless, basically lifeless. Black holes, nothing more. The only difference between them and Pete was that he had crumpled in on himself, and everyone else had crumpled in on them.

"I wish my father had been absent," Mikey grumbled. "I don't know how you can say anything, Pete. How can you look at the people you've met and still think you've got it that bad, huh?" A nerve had clearly been pinched, and Pete was starting to taste the regret that had been churning in his stomach for a while now. He decided to stay silent. His relationship with Mikey was already incredibly sore, and just barely stitched together will dollar store tape. Any wrong move, and the two of them would fall away, and fall apart. Mikey was dangling him over a cliff, all either of them had to do was slip up.

"You're right," Pete bitterly replied. While he had arguments practically pouring from his sleeves, he tucked them back in for the night. "I left my journal in the car. I'll be back." He stood from the bed, feeling a pair of eyes burn his back. He walked deliberately slow to show his discomfort, and then quickly slid out of the room and into the hall. As he made his way to the entrance, he tried his hardest to tip-toe past Ryan, who had fallen asleep standing by the front desk. As he opened the door to leave, Ryan stretched awake gently, rubbing his eyes as Pete slinked out.

By the time he managed to fish his journal out of the new mess in his car, he returned to dim lights and an empty front desk. Voices sounded from down the hall, light peeking from their room. An unfamiliar laugh rang out, followed by one he felt too unworthy to hear. He walked slowly down the hall, cringing as every creaking floorboard.

"If you think you're father is a piece of work, you should see what I've been dealing with," Mikey's voice wafted through the barely open door, smacking Pete and sending chills through him. He was about to push open the door, but stopped, taking a defeated step back. He was what Mikey had been dealing with. He felt his muscles force themselves into an even deeper frown than he was already wearing. "Pete is something else. He's the guy I came here with."

"Oh," Ryan's naive reply followed soon after. "He seemed alright. You both do. What's wrong with him?" Pete had to hold back a scoff, swallowing it bitterly. There was plenty wrong with him. In fact, even after all the terrible things he had done to Mikey, he could probably name even more than him. Where would someone even begin? Where would Mikey begin? Pete braced himself. The silence that was lingering was too much to handle. He wished Mikey would rip off the bandaid already, and let Pete bleed out.

Mikey shrugged. "He's... been through alot, and he's got a lot going on. Sometimes he's so far in his head that he makes mistakes. I don't think he's got a great grasp on reality," he was trailing off, every word becoming quieter and quieter, until, "... but I like him more than I care to admit. For every mistake he makes, there's a million smiles he gives. Every time he makes me angry, I just think of all the good he's given me as well. I'm learning to deal with both until he can clean himself up. I think that's what we're doing here, or at least, why he's travelling everywhere. But I can't be sure." He sighed and Pete heard the bed rattle as he plopped on to it, exasperated. "I don't think I ever will be."

Pete was bubbling. His insides were twisting. The needle in his brain lowered slowly onto his favorite track, and Mikey's brains repeated and spun in his head. I like him more than I care to admit. Pete felt his heart burning and he ached to be able to rip it out, and hand it Mikey with shaking but gentle hands. He felt himself being lifted a bit further up onto the safety of a cliff, and all by Mikey's grasp. He wondered if this is what love felt like. He wondered if it was supposed to make you dizzy, yet oh, so aware. Mikey seemed to go on, his words sounding again, but Pete couldn't comprehend them over the fizzing in his ears. It was as if a thousand cans of soda had been popped in his ears, and they all whistled Mikey's name over and over. Pete heard the words once again. I like him more than I care to admit. Pete wished to rush into the room and tackle Mikey lovingly, and then plant kisses on his neck like seeds in a garden, and he hoped that vines would grow all over Mikey and squeeze him the way he deserved to be his whole life; so that then, Mikey knew Pete liked him as well, though he wished to admit it from the rooftops.