A cool breeze blows in thru the cracks in the windows. Brushing the growing curls behind my ears, I take a sip from the coffee cup and feel the sting of the booze as it passes my lips. Mickey and Svetlana are sitting across the table, waiting for the rest of the family to pile in. One by one, they tumble in, in various states of undress. Another wind blows and I pull the sleeves of my sweater closer to my arms, grateful that I'm able to cover up without drawing suspicion. Once everyone has found a spot to sit or stand in the cramped kitchen, Mickey clears his throat. "So, uh, its not a big deal," he starts, skipping the coffee cup and reaching for the bottle of bailey's. "But, uhhhh... Svetlana is pregnant." Somebody let's out an audible gasp. Mickey gulps the booze and avoids eye contact with me. Shocked but unaffected, I take another sip. "Congrats," I say, lifting my coffee cup in a mock toast. To my left, Collin squirms a little in his seat. Nobody says anything; I start to feel uncomfortable. Finishing the rest of my drink, I look at Mickey. "If you're worried about me running off and getting high and crying over this," I begin, taking a cigarette from the pack on the table and getting up. "Jokes on you; I was gonna do that anyways." Laughter fills the air and I excuse myself to my room. Shuffling footsteps sound outside my door, signaling that the big announcement has commenced. Turning on the CD player, I turn on Nine Inch Nails and lay on the bed, pulling over the tray of weed and rolling papers next to it. The bedroom door opens and Collin heads over to the dresser. "Wanna talk?" He's facing away from me. Focusing on the joint in my fingers, I shake my head. "What's there to say? Mickey's a fucking father. Dope." Collin stands at the dresser, so I go on, "It's been an entire year, and what do I have to show for it? A heroin addiction I have no fucking control over and am emptiness that I have no hope of filling." At this, Collon flinches. "You have me," he starts. Realizing what I've said, my cheeks burn red hot. "Collin," I begin, but he interrupts me. "Sorry that's not enough, bit it's gonna have to be." Turning to face me, I see an anger etched across his features. "You're right; its been a year. And instead of finding out who invaded our home that night or instead of trying to, to, FIX the situation, you're fucking right: we became fucking junkies. But thru it all, thru all the breakdowns, and the silent treatments, jail stints, withdrawals, everything, I'VE BEEN HERE." His face flushes and a righteous anger floods his voice. Tossing the baggie of dope onto the mattress next to me, he makes toward the door. "I'll leave you to be with the one thing that's gotten you thru this 'rough time'; you aren't the only one who lost a son, but you sure as fuck act like it! Do you ever ask me how I feel about it? What I cry about when no ones listening? NO. You're too busy focused on ... well, Jagger, I dont even know anymore." Grabbing his jacket from the closet door, he opens the bedroom.
"Where the fuck are you going?!" I scream after him; his boots squeak on the floor and I hear the front door open and shut. An engine roars to life in front of the house and tires squeal away. "Hurt" fills the room, and I let the tears stream down my face. Apart of me knows that Collin is right; I've never asked him anything about how he felt, not in a whole fucking year. It was always my pain, my consumption, my undying need to not feel. Shaking some powder onto the mirror, I handle these thoughts the best way I know how, hating myself all the more.
What have I become? My sweetest friend...
Everyone I know goes away in the end...
And you can have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt.
The house becomes quieter and quieter the closer it gets to Mickey's wedding date. Mandy stays at the Gallaghers; Terry drinks himself into a coma every night; Mickey is always out; and Collin and I barely speak. It's a couple days before his wedding and Svetlana is moving in all her shit. Mickey and I sit at the table, lit cigarettes gracing our finger tips. Disdain consumes his eyes as he wat has her struggle with a heavy duffle bag. Collin comes from our bedroom, looks and takes in the scene. Turning to this brother, has asks him if hes gonna help. Mickey ignores him and takes a drag. Collin, ignoring me altogether, stalks over to Svetlana, takes the bag from her, and Carrie's it into Mickey's room. Flicking the ash from his cigarette, says to nobody in particular, "Well. This is awkward." Putting out the smoke, he turns to me. "Get dressed. I need some help moving the last of this dope."
We reconvene in my car. Both of us shove our pistols into our pants and drive off. Rolling my window down, I allow the hint of winter winds to wash over me. Keeping my head out the window, I ask Mickey, "getting nervous?"
"What? Fuck no; I've sold to thos asshole a thousand times."
Laughing, I shake my head. "I'm talking about the wedding, stupid."
"Oh." Mickey keeps his eyes on the road and avoids the question. "So what the fuck is going on with you and my brother?" Taken aback, I dont respond immediately. "Not that I give a fuck," Mickey smirks, glancing at my briefly before turning back to the road. Clearing my throat, I rub the crook of my arm, and start slowly, "I'm just... an incredibly selfish person."Mickey snorts. "Join the fucking club." A chuckle escapes me. Figuring out how to articulate it, I pause for a moment longer, then tell him, "I really havent been there for Collin the way I should be. Like, not just as a wife, but as a person. And I didnt realize... or even ask... how he was feeling..." My sentence hangs in the space in between us. Mickey nods then says to me, "My two cents? Not that I give a shit, but you and Collin have been up each others' asses since middle school; obviously, there's a-" he waves his hand in a circular motion, looking for help. "Love?" I offer, raising an eyebrow and chuckling. He points his hand at me, "Yup. That's the one." Turning back to the window, I nod my head. "Yeah, there's a love, alright..." a sudden urge to unload on Mickey hits me; a sudden need to tell him how far down the rabbit hole I've fallen. How everytime i try and quit, I just can't. How I used to think my mom, Terry, the crackheads we sell to were just weak as fuck, but that I've come to understand why it is people like them- like me- do what we do.... swallowing the confession, I turn to Mickey. "You don't love this bitch." He snorts, and quips, "Yeah, you fucking think?" Opening the glove compartment, I pull out a baggie and pour the powder into the flat spot between my thumb and pointer finger. Sniffing, I offer some to Mick, knowing he will decline. Once he does, I put the baggie away, wipe my nose, and go on to say, "You know, Mickey. You're the scariest motherfucker in the Southside. You could love whoever the fuck you wanted, and nobody would say shit." I sense him getting defensive, so I say nothing else and just let the sentiment linger. Mickey makes a couple more turns, pulls up in front of a falling down house and tells me weve arrived. Killing the engine, he pulls put his gun just as I'm cocking mine. "You ready?" he asks me. "Let's do this shit," I grin.
