MICKEY
I hear Kev yelling my name loudly.
My thoughts are messed up in a tangled knot of confusion.
I feel myself breathing heavily and my heart pounding out of my chest, trying to break free of its barrier.
I hear Ian's name.
I think I just lost my shit.
I lunge forward, breaking free of the sea of arms trying to pull me further away, and I smash the glass over that guy's head.
I swing and my face aches as he hits me back.
I don't know who this drunk asshole is but I'm going to fucking kill him.
"It's not my fault!" I scream.
I'm not sure what's happening right now, but I'm heated and sweating like a pig.
Everyone looks as scared as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs and I don't blame them. It's been a long time since I've lashed out and gone on a rampage this violent.
I hear Ian's name again, but this time from a different fucker.
I stumble over to a rusty table and with all of my strength, which currently isn't much, I flip the table over and a pool of glass and liquor teems my feet.
I thrust my foot out at someone angrily, thrashing and screaming as who I can only guess is Kevin pulls me back, using every ounce of energy he has left.
I scream for him to get off me, that I'm going to kill that asshole who had the nerve to try me.
Honestly, I think the only reason I'm so worked up is that hearing Ian's name while having a shit ton of alcohol in my system is very triggering.
Kev says my name soothingly, but it doesn't soften the rapid speed at which my adrenaline is pumping, my veins are pulsating, my heart is beating, my fists are throbbing.
I kick the wall and it leaves another dent in my already-worn out shoes.
I need some new fucking shoes.
I walk back into the bar. I'm not sure why, but something leads me there.
Maybe it's the feeling of wanting more alcohol.
Needing more alcohol.
The point is to get rid of thoughts, feelings, remembrance. But it's not working. I still remember fucking everything.
But maybe this is something that I'm supposed to remember. Something that I can't forget, no matter how much whiskey I consume.
I grab myself another bottle of Jack Daniels, the fourth bottle I will have downed tonight.
Jack Daniels.
There's something missing. And it clicks.
"I need orange juice." I tell V, or who my blurry vision convinces me to be V.
I've already drank half of the fucking bottle.
I need help.
I look at the orange juice. The Jack Daniels looks lonely without it.
Jack Daniels is lonely without his orange juice.
I want FireCrotch.
I don't care if he's laying in bed depressed or taking pictures of squirrels at 3 A.M. I want Carrot Top. Give me RedHead.
I groan his name, taking the last sip of my bottle and chucking towards that fat fuck who blamed me for what happened.
"It's not my fault!" I scream to the air, trying to cleanse my name and all of the shit that dreadfully hangs over it.
He's turning into fucking Terry. Someone's gotta get him help.
Um. Who the fuck said that.
"I am not turning into my fucking father!" I lie. My body tingles with numbness as I can feel the alcohol start to take control, and before I know it I'm hitting someone. Throwing a bottle at someone else. Throwing a chair.
Someone drags me off as I scream about how I'm nothing like Terry, though no one believes me. The way I've been acting tonight is the most accurate representation of Terry that I've ever portrayed.
Shit, I could be his fucking twin.
Great! I'm not even able to convince myself that I'm not like Terry. I'm turning into a piece of shit like my father.
But I'm not a piece of shit.
Yes I am.
But if I'm a piece of shit then why does Ian love me?
Fuck! I forgot about Ian! Why do I still remember that? The whole point of drinking four bottles of whiskey was to forget! Fuck you Jack Daniels! Fucking liar!
"Mickey."
"How the fuck is he still alive? Still standing? How much did he drink?"
"Four fucking bottles."
"Jesus."
Kevin? Veronica? Jesus?
Wait. Am I dying? I swear I just saw Jesus.
And that's the last thing I see before my vision blurs and I see black.
________________________________
I wake up with the worst fucking headache of my life. It's worse than last week's. Worse than any hangover I've had for the past four months.
My knuckles ache, too. My body feels fucking weak. What the fuck happened?
I throw up and notice another tear in my shoe. When did that get there?
Someone groans and their struggling noise sounds like fucking gunshots being fired.
Then again, I'm outside so it probably is gun shots.
I look over and- what the fuck?
Frank?
Fuck no. This cannot be happening. I always told myself that even if I become an alcoholic I will never wake up on a street corner next to Frank.
Shit. This is something that I did not want to cross off my bucket list.
What the fuck am I talking about? I don't even have a bucket list.
"Shit. Don't kill me." Frank puts his hands up in surrender. "Hey. You know Ian." He points out as I roll my eyes, making my head ache ten times worse.
"Yeah. Dated him."
"No. I would've remembered that." Frank says as I shake my head and it feels like my brain is being tossed inside of my fucking skull and it hurts like a bitch.
"No you wouldn't. You were drunk for most of the time. Like, all of the four years your son and I fucked you were drunk."
"Huh. Well it's not my fault. You try growing up in the Gallagher home. Being the father of all those kids having to be responsible for everything and having to be the man of the house. Women think they can-"
"Fuck. It's too early for this shit." I groan. I stand up and almost fall over as I steady myself and take slow steps towards the Alibi Room.
I make it inside, and what I see shocks me.
Chairs are scattered all about. Windows are broken. Shattered glass pools the floor. A few tables are flipped over with blood smeared on them.
What the fuck happened here?
Kevin walks in and stares at me, giving me a hard look that terrifies me on an uneasy level.
"Uh. What happened?" I ask hesitantly.
"You seriously don't remember?"
"Um. What? No, I guess."
"You lost your shit last night. Downed four fucking bottles of Jack Daniels, kept saying some weird shit about how Jack wanted back his Orange or fucking something. You beat some guys up for telling you that you were turning into your father. Any time someone said Ian's name you went nuts. You made a fucking mess last night."
Holy shit. I did this? I-
Wait. I'm starting to remember now.
"Frankly, Mick, you are turning into Terry. Wether you wanted to or not, you had to hear it at some point. You need help, man. It's been four months since Ian got shot. You hide from your own family, and his too. Just go see him. Get help, man. You're drinking worse than I've ever seen you. Shit, in surprised you're still breathing and standing after how much you drank last night. Just please talk to Mandy or Lip or someone. Everyone's worried about you and we can't keep covering for you. Go see your family, Mickey."
He's right. I hate to admit it but Kev's right.
He probably expects me to yell or freak out, but I nod and toddle out of the Alibi Room.
One thought runs through my mind as I stumble out into the street:
When Mandy finds out about last night, she's gonna be pissed.