"There's like, a rumbling sound in the engine or something."
Mickey wrote the woman's words down on the clipboard and nodded. "How 'bout you turn the car on so I can hear it myself?"
The woman nodded and got in the car. Mickey turned his head and squinted his eyes in the afternoon sun, a small smile playing on his lips when he saw Casey. The sound of a loud, ear piercing rumbling cut through Mickey's grin as he turned his attention back to the car, eyebrows furrowing. He went back to the hood of the car, looking through it to find any congestion or something like that. He glanced up at the woman as she got out of her car. "I'm thinking you gotta oil these pipes, and stop pressing down so hard on your accelerator. You jammed up the engine pretty good from that. You been drag racing lately?"
Mickey meant it as a joke, but the woman went red and gave a guilty smile. "Seriously?"
"It's an addiction," she bit the inside of her cheek. "When can you have it fixed by?"
Casey was now waiting by the entrance of the garage. Mickey looked down at the car again. "Come in tomorrow 'round three. Should be fixed by then."
The woman nodded and thanked Mickey before leaving. Mickey walked towards Casey and let out a long breath. "Long day, huh?"
"Dean and I are the only bastards working here since the other guy, James, is off on family death or something," Mickey explained as he put the clipboard down on the table. "Been working all fucking morning."
"I almost feel bad asking this but," Casey gestured to his car, which sat clean and sparkly behind Mickey. Mickey smiled and pat the hood of the newly painted red car.
"It's all done man," Mickey stated proudly, his hand running over the smooth plastic. "Two weeks worth of work put into this baby."
"It looks great, Mickey," Casey smiled, honesty apparent in his eyes. "It really does."
Mickey nodded with a grin. "It better look great."
Casey laughed and pat Mickey's shoulder, then walked off to Dean's office. With pride, Mickey began walked back to the other car, bending over to inspect the hood.
"Well that's a sight to see."
Mickey's heart stopped. His body began to tremble, hands shaking against the engine. He turned his head, eyes wide, face red, and faced Ian. His lips trembled at the calm, collected smile on Ian's lips and his affectionate eyes. Everything, all his confusion and sadness from the past month disappeared when he looked down at what Ian wore.
An army uniform.
Eyes stone cold, he looked up at Ian and met his eyes. His heart didn't feel the same as it used to. He was angry. Filled with hurt. There was no... affection. "You got some fucking balls coming here."
Ian's mouth dropped open slightly, but he didn't seem surprised at Mickey's reaction. "Mickey, I..."
Mickey raised his eyebrows, sucking his bottom lip in. He held his arms out. "What? What the fuck do you want?"
Ian didn't reply. Anger was fueling through Mickey, he felt possessed by it. He walked to Ian, their faces only inches apart as he glared at the taller man. "The fuck did you think, Gallagher? You could fuck off for a few weeks and right when you decide come back I'm gonna be back at your feet like some bitch? Fuck you think, I put my life on hold for you, crying, whining like some broken girl? Fuck you, man. Fuck. You."
Ian looked away from Mickey's eyes. Mickey looked down at Ian's uniform at disgust, eying the Ian Gallagher name on the chest pocket. Mickey's hand came up simultaneously, rubbing his thumb over the name. "Well, you got what you wanted, huh? Ran off, left everyone fucking wondering where you were, made your dreams come true." Mickey gave Ian a push at the shoulder, sending him a few steps back. "You're fucking selfish, is what you are. You know what? Fuck me for ever giving a shit about you, you prick."
Ian's eyes showed nothing but regret, sadness, fear, but it seemed he couldn't say anything. Mickey scoffed and turned back around, walking away. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, stopping his tears from falling. He stopped when he heard a soft, desperate voice behind him. "Don't..."
Mickey turned around, jaw clenched as he stared at Ian who wouldn't meet his eyes. Ian stared at the floor, hands twitching around the bag he held. "Don't what?"
Ian's eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled deeply, mouth open but no words coming out. Mickey lost his temper, throwing the rag in his hands on the floor and laughing loudly. "Don't what, Gallagher!?"
"Don't leave!" Ian cried out, tears starting to stain his cheeks. "I- I love you!"
Mickey was seething. He took huge paces towards Ian, not waiting a second before throwing a punch across Ian's face. He stared as Ian clutched his mouth, blood filling his mouth. Ian doubled over and looked up at him, eyes red and filled with tears, much likes Mickey's. Mickey forced Ian up, hands gripping the collar of Ian's uniform.
"No you don't," Mickey whispered venomously, tears falling from his eyes. He stared into Ian's eyes deeply, heart breaking with each word. Ian stared right back, sobbing as his hands cupped Mickey's face. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have left me at the worst time in my life. If you loved me, my feelings would've been your first goddamn priority, not your goddamn army uniform. If you loved me, you would've seen the fucking pain I was feeling under and you wouldn't have left me like that. If you loved me, you wouldn't have come back and added more pain onto what I'm already feeling. You would've let me move on. But you just fucking did, didn't you? So no, Ian, you don't love me. You don't. You didn't. You won't."
Mickey's hands gripped Ian's wrists, moving the boy's hands off of Mickey's face. "Because I don't love you."
At that, Ian's crying stopped, and in his eyes Mickey could see that Ian's whole life had just shattered. He never looked away from Mickey's eyes, his own eyes wide and hands weakly falling to his sides as Mickey let him go. Mickey turned around, crying his heart out as he left Ian standing there, heart shattered and all over the floor, while staring at the spot Mickey was, realization hitting him.
---
Lip slowly walked up the stairs, not making a sound when he reached the front of Ian's room. The door was closed, but he could hear heavy breathing from inside. Quietly, he twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open. Ian's back was to the door, his body curled up on the bed with the covers slipping off. "Hey, Ian."
Ian didn't reply. Lip continued. "Fi told me you came home today, out of the blue. That's great. We were uh, really worried."
Nothing. Ian was silent. Lip bit the inside of his cheek and pushed himself off the doorframe, closing the door.
As soon as he heard the door click shut, Ian let out a long, painful sob. His chest was tight, his breathing confined from the tears. The pillow under him was wet on both sides with tears. Nonetheless, it seemed he could never stop. Every time he closed his eyes, Mickey's face came in his mind.
"Because I don't love you."
Ian cried out at that again, trying to conceal his sounds into the pillow. His heart yearned and yelled at him, blaming himself. Of course he'd blame himself. He's been blaming himself since the day he left. He knew it was stupid, foolish to leave like that. But he didn't know what to do. Stupidly, he thought Mickey would come for him. God, I'm so stupid, Ian thought, squeezing his eyes shut. So fucking dumb, stupid, worthless, pathetic, failure-
---
This is how it feels now.
Empty.
Blank.
Broken.
For days, it was nothing at all. I let go of all the feelings. I had an empty, dark hole in the pit of my stomach but I managed to ignore it. I feel nothing for days, then I feel everything all at once. It's so empty. It's so dark and depressing, the only thing on my mind is death. What's the point of carrying on? What in my life has ever, ever gone right? Who have I made happy? The point of life is so precious, and I've managed to ruin dozens. Both hands tied behind my back for nothing. Trust destroyed me. Love hurt me. But he, he killed me. Whatever I had left, it's been ripped out. Now, I'm just waiting for my pain to eat me inside out.
Mickey stared at the bottles of alcohol. He wondered what was holding him back. Why wasn't he just chugging them all down? That's what he'd normally do. Maybe he wanted to feel the pain. Maybe, for once, he'd left himself be hurt.
There was chatter and laughter being thrown around the Alibi, but Mickey wasn't apart of it. Kev either didn't notice Mickey was in the bar or didn't care. All Mickey was doing was focusing on the bottles of alcohol stacked on the shelves. He stared at it. Imagine yourself, in all the pain you go through, there was now a remedy for it. A way to forget sitting right in front of you. Would you take it? You wouldn't, wouldn't you? Even if it killed you?
Mickey didn't mind if the alcohol killed him. He only stopped drinking so he could get off probation. Now that he's off, the poison sounds more inviting.
His eyes were sore from crying. He was tired. But not the sleepy type, the kind of tired that no amount of eternal sleep could ever conquer. Mickey's tenth cigarette burned in the ash tray. Hopefully he could smoke his lungs black, until he couldn't breathe.
It's just the same shit happening again and again. Fights, depression, anxiety, hate, anger outburst, cops, probation, rehab, get better, more fights and then all over again. If Mickey drank tonight he'd never stop and he knew it. He didn't want to go to prison. He couldn't be alone there.
Everybody leaves him for something. When was the last time either of his siblings gave a fuck about him? Ian left him for the army. A stupid job. He didn't seem to think twice. Just up and left. It was hard for Mickey to not feel worthless and unloved. It just felt right to know how wrong he is.
"I'm a hairstylist," he heard a girl say distantly. He turned his head and looked at her.
"You're a hairstylist?"
The lady looked at Mickey with wide eyes because of his state. His red eyes, gravelly voice, the stink of cigarettes. "Um, yeah?"
"Bleach my hair," Mickey blurted. "Blonde, red whatever. Just fucking change it."
He didn't know where this was coming from. The girl glanced at her friend wearily. "Why?"
"I don't fucking know, I want a change," Mickey spat. "Will you do it or not?"
The girl bit her lip and let out a heavy sigh.
---
"Good morning," Fiona smiled as Ian walked downstairs. Her smile faltered a little at her brother's face and the bloodshot red and puffy eyes. Not to mention the bruise on the corner of his mouth, obviously from a punch.
"How are you?"
"Fine," Ian grumbled. He was wearing sweatpants and a grey shirt, his hair tousled. His face was sour, a look he never wore on his face previously. Fiona was baffled.
Ian walked out of the door without another word.
---
Mickey groaned as he rolled off his bed, his body hitting the floor. He spun over on his back, sighing deeply as the warm sun hit his face. He rolled over and patted around for something to cover his body with, freezing when his face pushed into something that smelt just like Ian. He smiled into the cloth and inhaled.
After a while he shuffled up to his feet clad in a pair of track pants and waddled to the bathroom to take a piss. His head didn't hurt, so he didn't drink, but he definitely drugged out on something last night. He was too tired to figure it out. He let out a shriek when he moved to wash his hands.
"Fuck!" He hollered, hands gripping his hair. It was perfectly blonde, all the way down to the roots. He grumbled when he remembered last night, the hairstylist. She ended up taking Mickey to her house where she dyed his hair, talked to him a little and vented about her cheating fiancé, then styled Mickey's hair and took fifty bucks from his wallet.
Even his fucking eyebrows, for God's sake. Even the eyebrows.
"What the fuck?!"
Mickey turned his head and glared at Mandy who was doubled over, laughing her ass off at Mickey's hair. He huffed and looked back at the mirror. Fuck.
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