turps

Late afternoon and Mikey’s still angry with Frank.

It’s not a feeling he’s used to, or likes, but each time Mikey thinks about what Frank said the anger builds once again.

It’s not even that Frank was so angry himself. Mikey gets that, and understands Frank’s initial reaction to strike out. It’s after that’s the problem, when he didn’t give Mikey a chance to explain, and worst, seriously believed that Mikey would actually cheat.

Even the thought is painful, and along with his own feelings of guilt, Mikey’s dealing with Frank’s lack of trust. Through everything it’s something they’ve held on to. That no matter how shitty things got, they’d still have each other. Until they didn’t, and something Mikey relied on has been exposed as a lie.

No job, no money, no home, and now no Frank. Mikey’s left facing a future that’s nothing but bleak. He hasn’t even got the money he earned last night, that’s hidden in Frank’s locker, a token payment against the escalating medical bills.

Not that the hospital knows that, or even Frank himself, who was fast asleep when Mikey crept back.

The lack of money is the most immediate problem and Mikey keeps thinking through his choices. Which right now seem to amount to just one. That Mikey stays on the street and continues selling his body.

It’s not what Mikey wants, but he can’t think of any other option and increasingly he’s realizing what he wants counts for nothing. The only thing that does count is survival, and Mikey’s not about to give up.

Decision made, Mikey changes direction. He’s got a few hours before the time he’s been heading to Fifth, but he can get there early and wait. All Mikey needs is a drink from a public bathroom, maybe a quiet place to sit and rest for a while.

Which is good, because right now it’s all that he’s got.

~~~~

“I was considering moving away, but then thought, fuck it. I like it here.” Ray looks past Mikey, checking the road for approaching cars, then says. “Plus, my friends are here too. I don’t want to leave them behind.”

Ray’s story is a hard one to hear, especially the way that he tells it, when he calmly describes a spiralling situation that left him out of control. While Mikey knows about pimps, the one Ray talks about seems like one of the worst, violent, controlling, and always ruthless. Trying to clarify details, Mikey says, “So this Walt, he lent you money and he’s owned you ever since?”

“Basically,” Ray says, and unlike before, right now his expression is strained. “I shouldn’t even be telling you but I don’t want you to make my mistake.”

Until tonight Mikey hadn’t even met Ray, but instinctively, he feels like someone Mikey should listen to, and Mikey finds himself saying, “I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” Ray seems relieved, and rubs at the back of his neck. “Another thing, you can’t tell anyone what I’ve just told you.”

“Yeah. That’s not a problem,” Mikey says, all too aware that the amount of people he could talk to have been cut down to zero.

Ray’s eyebrows are furrowed as he studies Mikey. “I’m not going to ask why you’re here, but if you ever want to talk...”

The offer is unexpected, and feels like the first kindness Mikey’s experienced all day. It’s also an offer Mikey starts to consider, when there’s the sound of an engine, and from down the street, Ryan saying, “Incoming.”

Within seconds things change. A last smile at Mikey and Ray takes his position, stalking the curbside and joining the others in displaying their bodies. It’s something that still catches Mikey by surprise, how people can change so easily, playing up their assets as the johns slow and appraise each person.

It’s also something that makes Mikey feel awkward as he tries to mimic the way Ryan walks or how Bob maintains his pose, looking strong and silent. Mostly, Mikey ends up alternating between both, and thinks he ends up looking stupid. But sometimes it seems, that’s exactly what the johns want.

Like this one right now, who’s slowed down to a crawl, his window open as he points at Mikey and says, “You, come here.”

His head held high, Mikey walks forward, and then leans into the car.

“How old are you?” Before Mikey gets the chance to reply, the john scowls and says, “No matter, you’ll do. How much to fuck you?”

Already Mikey’s used to such blunt questions, but what always catches him are the johns who’re openly scornful, their self loathing directed outwards. More than anything Mikey wants to back away from this car, but he hasn’t earned enough money. Not even enough for one room for the night never mind the amount that he needs.

“Eighty,” Mikey says, and then, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Get in.”

It’s the first time Mikey’s been told to get into a john’s car. He tries to think if Pete mentioned a situation like this, but Mikey’s brain has gone blank, nerves taking hold as he tries to think what to do.

Ray walks past, says under his breath. “Leave your seatbelt off, pay attention to where you’re going, if you go to a hotel don’t go into a room first in case he’s got company.”

It’s all Ray gets the chance to say. Impatient, the john says, “Get in or lose the chance.”

Mikey does.

They go to a hotel, some dive where Mikey’s told to stay outside while the john goes for a room. When he comes back the john’s gripping a key, the tag sticking out of his clenched fist. Pushing past Mikey he says, “Hurry up already, I’ve only got the room for an hour.”

In a way that’s a relief, Mikey’s sure he can deal with anything for only an hour. The john hurrying ahead, Mikey increases his pace to catch up, and then waits as he unlocks the door to room thirty-two, and pushes his way inside. When Mikey follows, the john shuts the door and demands, “Clothes off and get on the bed.”

There’s no other conversation or attempt at seduction. Which is good, because Mikey’s come to hate the ones who think what they’re doing is wanted, but at the same time, being in a hotel room hits hard. It feels more like Mikey actually is cheating, when he’s taking off his clothes and laying them on a chair, and not on his knees in a dirty and dark alley.

“You’re skinny, just how I like them.” Finally the john is taking notice, hand on his crotch as he watches Mikey undress. When Mikey’s fully naked, and resisting the urge to cover himself up, the john says, “Get on the bed, on your back, and leave your glasses on.”

Mikey takes a step back, his legs hitting the bed. The feel of wrong is still strong, both being in this room and the john himself, who’s ringing warning bells with the way he staring at Mikey, and how he’s making no attempt to take off his own clothes.

Suddenly, the john runs forward, his hand pulled back as he slaps Mikey’s face, hard. “I said, get on the bed.”

Mikey looks toward the door, but he’s got nowhere to run, and no one to run to. He drags the back of his hand under his nose, wiping away blood, says as he sits, “You’re paying extra for that.”

~~~~~~

The last two nights Mikey’s been one of the first to leave. Tonight he’s lingering.

While he’s got the money to pay for a hotel somewhere, the energy needed in walking to find one, and then dealing with checking in, feels too much. It doesn’t help that Mikey’s whole body is hurting, and he brings his hand to his face, fingers against his cheek which feels hot under his touch.

The only other person left is Ryan, who emerges out of the alley still fastening his pants. “You should go, no one else will be coming this late.”

Summoning the effort, Mikey pushes away from the wall, relieved at the feel of money shoved into his shoe. It means a safe place for tonight, maybe some food and yet more money to put toward Frank’s medical bills. He starts walking, stumbling a little as he steps onto the road.

Already a little distance ahead, Ryan looks back, and then keeps walking, for almost the length of the street. Then, he slows and turns toward Mikey, waiting, and says, “I’m meeting a friend at Denny’s, if you want you can come.”

The sensible thing would be to say no and go find a place to stay for the night. But that means Mikey being alone with his thoughts, and that’s something he’s willing to put off. He says, “Thanks.”

The walk to Denny’s doesn’t take long, even with Mikey’s slow pace and Ryan having to go talk to someone in a parked up, dark car. When he comes back Ryan’s body language is tense, and despite his curiosity, Mikey doesn’t ask any questions.

A few minutes later and they turn a corner, and the Denny’s is right there, set back on the road. Ryan points to a man who’s sitting on one of the picnic benches outside of the lobby. “That’s Spencer.”

They cross the parking lot, and as they get close, Ryan smiles. It’s not the smile that Mikey’s used to seeing, the one that’s too brittle and obviously fake. This one is wide and genuine, Ryan’s eyes crinkling as Spencer stands and holds up a takeout cup, whipped cream visible over the top.

“Penny’s working?” Ryan says, and takes the cup, getting whipped cream on his nose when he drinks.

“She swapped shifts.” Spencer waits, seemingly for some kind of introduction, then says, “As Ryan’s obviously forgotten his manners again. I’m Spencer.”

“I already told him that,” Ryan says, keeping hold of the drink with both hands. “But if it makes you happy. Mikey, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Mikey.”

“Hi,” Spencer says, and then he looks between Mikey and Ryan. “This is Pete’s park guy?”

There’s an unspoken conversation going on between Ryan and Spencer. Mikey can see the signs, enough to recognize the amusement that’s directed at Ryan. But beyond that he’s got nothing, and hates the feeling that he’s the butt of some joke. Regretting agreeing to come, Mikey says, “I should get going.”

Ryan shakes his head. “No, don’t. Spencer’s being an ass. Have some hot chocolate.”

At first Mikey doesn’t take the offered cup. Then Spencer says, “I’d take it, he won’t offer again.”

Mikey takes the cup and drinks, and is immediately hit with a sugar rush as he swallows the sickly sweet liquid.

“We take advantage of the free sugars,” Spencer says, taking the cup that Mikey holds out. “We got it to fifteen packets once, but that was one too many.”

To Mikey that would be fifteen too many, and he looks through the windows, considering spending some of his money on a plain coffee. But first he needs to ask about some place to stay, before Ryan and Spencer head off on their own. “Are there any hotels close by? Cheap ones.”

“There’s The Sunshine Inn,” Spencer says, and instantly Mikey’s remembering the feel of a itching bed cover against his back, tasting blood in his mouth and desperate to zone out, sweat and saliva coating his body as the john pinned him down.

Mikey shakes his head. “No. Not there.”

“I wouldn’t let a dog stay there,” Ryan says, and again he’s sharing a look with Spencer. It’s one that lasts so long that Mikey’s considering just walking away and finding his own place to stay. And if he can’t, well, it won’t be the first time he’ stayed awake all night.

“You can stay with us for the night.”

Ryan’s offer is unexpected. Mikey doesn’t even know him that well, and Spencer not at all. More than that, they don’t even know why Mikey needs a place to stay, and he says, “You don’t even know me.”

Spencer shrugs, “You need a place to sleep, and if you plan to murder us in our sleep there’s an iron bar with your name on.”

Mikey could point out the flaws in that plan, but what he says is, ”It’s Ryan that spits the acid.”

Ryan grins, the first one that’s been directed at Mikey as he says, “You know it.”

Ryan and Spencer’s room smells like pizza.

By the time Ryan shuts and locks the door, Spencer’s already sharing out leftovers, putting cold slices of pizza on the still greasy plates. He hands one over to Mikey, says, “Sit, eat,” before doing the same himself.

Taking his own plate, Ryan sits between Mikey and Spencer, being careful not to hit the place with the exposed spring at the side. This late Ryan’s ready for sleep, but he’s needs to eat, a shared hot chocolate doing nothing to take the edge off his hunger.

“I got a oswo tonight,” Spencer says, grinning as he shuffles back until his legs are outstretched and he can rest against the wall. “Twenty and I didn’t even touch him.”

Seeing Mikey’s frown, Ryan explains, “One second wonder, the johns that blow as soon as you touch them.”

Mikey takes a bite of his pizza, chews then swallows, says, “And they still pay?”

“It’s not our fault if it happens,” Ryan says. “They still get to come.”

Spencer’s eyes are closing, and he yawns, showing off the chewed up remains of his pizza crust. “Anything interesting happen tonight?”

Ryan thinks back over his night, picking over the johns for any that would interest Spencer. “Walt’s still sending people over, so there was a couple of self-hating assholes. But I think Mikey got one of them.”

It’s something Ryan’s sure of, practice allowing him to recognize the johns that get off on physical intimidation. He can also recognize the look of someone who’s in over their head, and that’s one reason Mikey’s here right now.

It’s Ryan’s version of passing it on. Where he’s still not exactly sure why Pete found Mikey so interesting, but has talked to him enough that Ryan wants to know more. It’s why Ryan’s offered Mikey a place to stay now, even if it does mean putting up with Spencer’s amusement.

Ryan swallows his pizza and then stands, and starts to take off his clothes. Pulling off his t-shirt, he says, “You can sleep next to the wall, Spencer’s got a bladder the size of a pea and I like the middle.”

“You want me to sleep in your bed?” Mikey sounds surprised, and looks behind him, as if checking out the size of the bed.

Ryan folds his t-shirt, putting it on the chair. “You can sleep on the floor if you want, if you don’t mind being cold and sharing with stray mice.”

Mikey still seems undecided, which Ryan doesn’t get. Sure, it’ll be a tight fit, but sleeping under blankets on an actual bed has to be better than the floor.

Almost fully asleep now, Spencer lists slightly to the side as he suggests, “If you don’t like sharing you could sleep at the bottom.”

“I share a bed all the time, it’s not that.” Mikey fall silent, the remains of his pizza left untouched on his plate. Then suddenly he says, “It doesn’t feel right, I mean, you guys. I’d be like a third wheel.”

It takes Ryan a while to catch on. When he does his eyes widen and he looks past Mikey to Spencer, who’s grinning as he mimics making a check in the air. “I’m not with Spencer. That’s just... No.”

To Ryan the idea feels wrong. He loves Spencer deeply, lives with him and has even had sex with him before when asked, but there’s no actual sexual attraction. Spencer’s his best friend, nothing more. Though that doesn’t seem to stop other people thinking so.

Spencer flops down onto his back, wincing a little as he starts to unfasten his belt. “We grew up together. Being in a relationship with Ryan is the last thing I want.”

“Lies. You know you secretly want me.” Ryan wiggles out of his pants, putting them on the pile of clothes and then grabs the packet of antibiotics. Popping one out, he puts one knee on the side of the bed, leans over and holds the tablet over Spencer’s mouth and says, “Open.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like you’re together at all,” Mikey says, watching as Ryan efficiently unfastens and takes off Spencer’s shoes and pants. “I don’t mind taking the floor, I’ve slept in worse places.”

Ryan puts Spencer’s clothes on the pile and then gathers the dirty plates. Stacking them on the table, he rechecks the door and goes into the bathroom. Leaving the curtain that covers the doorway open, he pees as he talks. “If you sleep on the floor I’ll be awake all night worrying about you freezing.”

Ryan finishes, shakes off and washes his hands in cold water. When he goes back into the other room, Mikey’s still in the same place, and Ryan admits, “Okay, I’m lying. I’ll be asleep as soon as I lie down, but I can’t see the point of you taking the floor. There’s not enough comfort around, take what you can.”

“Okay,” Mikey says finally, and he toes off his shoes, kicking them so they’re under the bed. Leaving the rest of his clothes on, he waits as Ryan pokes at Spencer until he wakes up enough to roll to the side of the bed, allowing Mikey to take his place.

Finally, after he’s turned off the light, Ryan gets to lie down. It is a tight fit, enough that he keeps his arm over Spencer to make sure he doesn’t roll off. But it also means that Ryan’s warm, blanketed on all sides, feeling secure, but despite that, he can’t seem to slip into sleep.

And it seems, neither can Mikey. Ryan can tell he’s awake, lying still but staring into the darkness for what feels like a long time.

“When I was young my brother used to tell me stories,” Mikey says suddenly, his words low and soft. “I don’t think he realized monsters and epic battles wouldn’t actually help me to sleep.”

Despite his surprise that Mikey’s sharing personal details, even ones that are so vague, Ryan makes an encouraging noise, hoping Mikey gets he should keep talking.

It seems that he does, and Mikey laughs as he speaks. “He used to tell me about a mutant shark that lived on the shore, how it would eat the swimmers and visit bedrooms at night, tapping on the glass, so when you looked out of your window all you saw was teeth and half digested bodies. I never asked him how a shark would get to Belleville.”

Normally, Ryan wouldn’t ask personal questions, but right now, in this cocoon of warmth and shadows, it seems okay to do so. Remembering how Spencer used to enjoy scaring his sisters, Ryan asks, “Is he older than you?”

“Yeah. He’s awesome.” While Mikey’s face remains in darkness, the tone of his voice tells everything, his affection obvious. “At least he was.”

The change is abrupt, and it’s one Ryan recognizes from others stories he’s heard, the indicator of a relationship gone wrong. “He started hitting you? Or other stuff?”

“Oh god, no.” Mikey sounds shocked, like his brother hitting him is unthinkable. “Our grandmother died and our parents relocated and Gerard started using. Drink, drugs, the lot. He forgot I existed until I had to clean him up, making sure he didn’t OD or choke on his own puke.”

Ryan’s sure of where this is going, a story with different people and elements, but one he can easily relate to. “So you left.”

“Not just me, Frank too,” Mikey says. “I told him to stay but he wouldn’t. He just kept saying he was my boyfriend and that meant we stuck together. And we did, until now.”

If it wouldn’t break the moment Ryan would laugh, not with amusement, but the realization that Pete’s managed to find two people with such similar stories. Except, it seems, unlike Ryan, Mikey’s alone now. “Frank went back?”

“I don’t know,” Mikey says, his voice small and uncertain. “He was in the hospital but he told me to get out, he thought I was cheating, so I told him what I’d been doing.”

Ryan tries to imagine that conversation, and can’t think of a way it would ever end well. “I take it he didn’t react well.”

“I don’t know, I left before he replied,” Mikey says, and then, more frantic, “I needed to get the money somehow. He has to understand that”

Truthfully, Ryan doubts it, but all he says is, “I hope so.”

~~~~~~

“Mikey’s gone.”

It’s the first thing Ryan hears when he wakes. Groaning, he keeps his face pushed into his pillow and tries to go back to sleep. Something that’s impossible and slowly, Ryan rolls on his side and says, “What?”

“I said Mikey’s gone.” Despite still being dressed in only his t-shirt and boxers, Spencer seems to be fully awake, and takes malicious glee in opening the curtains and letting sunlight flood into the room.

Ryan squeezes shut his eyes, says, “I hate you.”

“I know.” Spencer sits on the bed, his legs under the covers and redeeming himself when he holds a mug of instant coffee close to Ryan’s nose. “He left a note saying thanks.”

“Do we even have a pen?” Ryan asks, thinking about the contents of their room as he sits and arranges the pillow at the small of his back. “Was it written in blood? Because that would be weird.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Spencer takes a drink of coffee and then hands the mug to Ryan. “He wrote on the pizza box with leftover sauce.”

Ryan stills, the mug held close to his mouth, says, “And with that, the weird label is passed back to Mikey.”

“It does explain why Pete was so interested, what with the him being attracted to weirdos, thing,” Spencer says, timing his remark so Ryan can’t hit out while he’s drinking. Then, his smile fading he says, “Think he’s gone home?”

“I don’t think so,” Ryan says, and hopes more than anything that he’s wrong -- but he’s sure that he’s not. Mikey’s got the look of someone who can only go down, spiraling fast and brutal. What he needs is someone on the outside to hold out a hand and say, stop, and right now there seems to be no one.

“We need to take him to Lindsey’s,” Spencer says, moving the blankets so they’re covering more of Ryan. “She can put him on the list for a room.”

Ryan turns to the side so he can look directly at Spencer. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know you,” Spencer says, “And even if you’re a bed-hogging weirdo, I trust your judgment.”

“Even if I hardly know him myself?”

“Even then,” Spencer says, and then grins, wide and bright. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop laughing at you inviting your nemesis to stay.”

Ryan frowns. “He’s not my nemesis, he’s....”

“Pete’s new pet, which is driving you insane,” Spencer cuts in, laughing as Ryan’s frown deepens. “Admit it, you were jealous.”

“If it wouldn’t spill my coffee I’d be punching you in the face right now,” Ryan says, in what he hopes is a suitably threatening way. Not that Spencer seems to see it that way, laughing even harder until Ryan gives up and goes back to drinking.

For a while they sit in companionable silence. Ryan cradling his coffee and he thinks about Mikey and how he seems so alone, and Spencer who’s so willing to help a stranger on Ryan’s say-so. It’s a combination that makes him say, “You need to go home.”

“Don’t.” Spencer sounds tired, the light-hearted atmosphere gone in an instant. “How many times do I need to tell you I’m not going?”

“Until you see how stupid it is that you stay,” Ryan says, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation, repeating an argument that never ends in the way that he wants. He’s going to have it any way, hanging onto that hope that one day Spencer will finally see sense. “You don’t owe Walt money, he hasn’t got any hold on you.”

“I pay him a cut of my earnings,” Spencer says. He sounds as tired as Ryan as he repeats his usual rebuttal, the one they both know by heart. “He owns me.”

“It’s not the same, Spencer.” That’s something Ryan knows for sure, that even if Spencer does have to pay that’s for Walt’s laughable idea of protection and to be able to work Walt’s prime areas without hassle. “You could walk away and he wouldn’t stop you.”

“I know,” Spencer says, and this is expected too. The way that he’ll end with, “But I’m not going to.”

That doesn’t mean Ryan’s about to give up.

Approaching the hospital, Mikey tells himself that leaving before Ryan and Spencer woke was the right thing to do. No matter how tempting, there was no point in him staying, when the reality is, Mikey’s alone.

It’s why he left so early, determined to find a place to stay, some dive he can use as a base as he saves to pay the hospital bill, and also look for a real job. It’s what Mikey had planned to do now, heading toward the outskirts of the city where the rates should be cheaper, but somehow he’s found himself drawn here.

It’s like Mikey’s torturing himself, knowing Frank is so close while also knowing he won’t get to see him. Not that Mikey wants to, not after what Frank said. At least mostly. Underneath the lingering anger Mikey misses him so much that it physically hurts.

It’s yet another loss and all Mikey wants is a friendly word. To know that out there someone still loves him, which is something that makes Mikey feel pathetic. Like he’s craving something he shouldn’t need, because Mikey’s strong, he always has been.

That doesn’t stop him wanting Frank, and also his brother.

It’s been months since he’s talked to Gerard, much longer since Gerard did anything that could be seen as taking care of Mikey. And Mikey’s worked hard not to care, until now, when he’s tired and aching and the world seems to have turned against him.

Taking stumbling steps back, Mikey sits on a bench, his head in his hands and breathing in the scent of pizza sauce. He knows he needs to get moving, but he can’t deal with more rejection just yet. And that’s something that will inevitably happen when Mikey looks so bad, his clothes dirty and hair tangled, his hands shaking unless he keeps them clenched tight.

Right now Mikey’s a mess, and Gerard can’t fix that -- he can’t -- but all Mikey wants, all he needs is to hear his voice. Just one word as a reminder that Gerard is out there.

It’s an internal battle that Mikey’s got no hope of winning. All his defenses are down and every reason he left in the first place is blurred as he stands, and heads for the nearest public phone.

Mikey seems to get there in seconds, numb to the world around him as he grips the receiver and tries to remember the code for a collect call. It’s something he should know after countless nights of losing his phone and needing to call home, but right now the numbers won’t stick.

It’s desperation that keeps Mikey trying, his head pounding, until finally, he’s talking to an operator, who puts his call through.

Finally, Mikey’s listening to Gerard.

“Hello?”

Mikey wants to reply, but the words are stuck in his throat. His breathing ragged, Mikey closes his eyes and takes in the small details. The soft sounds Gerard makes as he swallows, a click that has to be him tapping the phone with his fingers.

“Hello?” Gerard repeats, and then he says in a rush, “Mikey? Mikey, is that you?”

Mikey wants to say, Yes. It’s me. Come get me, Gerard. Please.

What he does is hang up the phone.

They’re close to Phoenix House when Ryan pulls a small package out of his pocket and says, “I got you something.”

Spencer takes the package, examining the newspaper that’s wrapped around it and folded at each end. “It’s not my birthday.”

“I know.” Ryan keeps watch as Spencer unwraps the pen, one of the good kind that should last for a long time. “It’s for your class.”

“I might not get a place yet.” Spencer draws a line on the back of his hand, then looks up and says, “Thank you.”

“You will, and you’ll pass.” As always Ryan’s confident that Spencer will achieve his goals, and is prepared to support him in any way possible. Of course, his main objective remains getting Spencer to go home, but until then, Ryan’s going to be Spencer’s number one fan.

“There’s still time for you to sign for something,” Spencer says. There’s no hesitancy in his comment, and Ryan has to admire his tenacity in broaching the subject. “If you don’t want to do literature try something new. Like home EC.”

Ryan gives Spencer a sideways look, imagining the disaster if he actually tried to learn how to cook. “You want me to learn cooking? Really?”

Spencer considers a moment. “Maybe something less dangerous, like lion taming.”

“Funny, I didn’t see that on the sign up list,” Ryan says, amusing himself by picturing lions prowling the corridors of Phoenix House, and then sitting in the room that’s been assigned for the classes. “I’d look good in a lion tamer’s outfit.”

“I’m glad you’re thinking about looking your best when you die.” Folding up the newspaper wrapping, Spencer pushes it into his pocket, but keeps hold of the pen, gripping it tight as they come into sight of the centre.

That his anxiety is rising is all too obvious, and Ryan says, “You know you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Spencer says, and then repeats, “I know,” but more certain this time, frustration showing as he kicks at a discarded soda can, sending it clattering against a wall. “It’s just. I don’t know if I should even be doing this, it’s not like things will change if I eventually get my GED.”

“Says who?” It’s one of the times where Ryan wants to utilize every platitude he knows and tell Spencer that things will get better, and that the world is his for the taking. He pushes that urge aside, well aware that as much as a rose-colored world makes for good talking, the reality of the situation is well known to them both. That doesn’t mean Spencer gets to give in, and Ryan says, “You need to stop being a pussy and learn some math. Whatever happens after that happens.”

“That’s your big motivational talk?” Spencer asks, but he also seems amused, smiling as he clips his pen to the neck of his t-shirt, so it’s on show front and center. “You kind of suck at them.”

“You got the message didn’t you?” Ryan says, and really, however it’s given, that’s all that matters.

~~~~~

Spencer getting a place was always about space. With such a small room available to teach in, and a teacher who can only handle a small number of students, it came down to numbers, and where you were on the list.

Spencer gets in. Just.

“Oh fuck.” Spencer’s staring at the sheet he’s been given, one that lists class times and a syllabus for the next few months. “I’m really doing this.”

Proving he is the best friend ever, Ryan doesn’t actually bring out his best Homer Simpson impression, but he does push Spencer in the direction of the volunteer teacher, who’s standing close to the coffee and tea table, answering questions along with Brendon. “Go talk to her, I know you want to.”

“I guess.... Yeah.” A short pause and Spencer goes, joining the group of other new students, who seem to be veering between apathetic and excited. Briefly, Ryan considers the possibility of getting past them to grab a cup of coffee, but he suspects it’ll be almost impossible right now. Not without getting entrapped in a discussion about books and homework and multiple other things Ryan wants no part of.

He turns, heading for one of the empty couches and lowers himself down, slumping in the corner and relaxing to a backdrop of chatter.

“Hi.” Ryan opens his eyes and sees Brendon, who’s smiling as he holds out the Big Bird mug. “Can I sit down? I brought you coffee.”

Ryan holds out his hand. “You could have sat even without the bribe.”

“But bribes always make things easier,” Brendon says, and takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. Toeing off his sneakers he brings up his feet and sits with his legs crossed, so he can rest his own coffee against his knee while talking to Ryan. “They’re all talking numbers, I left before my brain short-circuited.”

Ryan cranes his head, spotting Spencer in the middle of the crowd. “It looks like things are going well.”

Brendon beams. “They are. When Lindsey let me run with the program I was terrified, but it’s all come together. Even if it means I don’t get much sleep. Between school and my regular counseling sessions and arranging this I’ve been getting by on a few hours. Which is fine, I don’t mind but I could do with more zees.” Brendon stops talking then, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I’ll stop now, I know I talk too much sometimes.”

It’s a point where Ryan could say that isn’t true, but as far as Ryan’s concerned, it is, and he stays silent.

“I see you agree.” Brendon’s laughing, seemingly unconcerned about Ryan’s lack of response. “You’re not the first and won’t be the last. So instead of me going on, how are you doing?”

While it seems like a genuine inquiry, Ryan’s isn’t sure how he’s supposed to reply. Or even if Brendon’s asking casually or as part of his official role. It’s why he settles on, “I’m fine.”

Brendon looks keenly at Ryan, but seems to take the answer at face value. “Good.” He takes a drink of coffee, drumming a beat out of his knee with his fingers, and then says, “I told Lindsey she should look into buying a new coffee maker, one that makes espressos.”

“You’re really going to talk about coffee?” It’s not the most polite of questions, but Ryan can’t help thinking that Brendon’s luring him into a trap somehow. Yet another official who makes nice with small talk before dropping the big guns that destroy Ryan’s life.

“I could talk about the weather, or sports, but I don’t really follow them that much and I don’t know if you even have a TV or....” Brendon trails off, his head in one hand. “Fuck, I’m so bad at this.”

“You kind of are,” Ryan agrees. “Are you sure you’re actually cut out to be a counselor?”

Brendon groans, and looks at Ryan through his splayed fingers. “I hope so, paying for school is costing a fortune, and I really love the job.”

Ryan believes what Brendon’s saying, enough that he says, “You’re not that bad. Spencer likes talking to you, and you asked how I was. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“At least you’re honest about it.” Brendon flashes a smile and leans back, sprawled out and quiet. Which is what Ryan wanted, but now it doesn’t seem right. Even if Brendon does talk too much, there’s no debating the fact that he works hard, and has the best interests of Phoenix House at heart.

They’re qualities Ryan admires, and he stares at Brendon, debating if he can trust him enough to ask about Mikey.

Brendon looks directly at Ryan, meeting his gaze. “I do talk too much, but I’m also a good listener. Promise.”

“So I’ve been told.” Making this decision shouldn’t be so hard, but Ryan’s become used to keeping things hidden. This time though, this isn’t Ryan’s life, but someone who’s still there to be saved. Ryan’s all too aware that if Mikey stays on the streets for much longer he’ll be lost to the lifestyle, and Ryan doesn’t think he can watch that happen again.

He’s already done so once at first hand, where as hard as Ryan tried, Spencer stuck around, and now he’s lost too. It’s something Ryan’s aware of always, that when he went down he dragged Spencer down with him. Which wasn’t fair -- isn’t fair -- because unlike Ryan, Spencer’s done nothing to deserve this.

And neither has Mikey. Making a decision, Ryan says, “If you knew something that could get someone off the streets, would you use it?”

Brendon seems surprised at the question, but instead of jumping in with an immediate stock answer, he says, “You need to tell me more, but my initial reaction is yes.”

“It’s not my story to tell.” Ryan pictures Mikey’s face as he talked about Gerard, and it’s that more than anything that prompts him to go on. “But I have a friend. Well, sort of friend, I don’t know him that well. But he’s new around here, really new. And the way he looks.... You know some johns like certain types, yeah?”

Brendon nods, says simply, “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, good,” Ryan says, glad that he needs no more explanation. “This friend stayed with us last night, and he’s having a hard time right now, and he told us about his brother, and the city where he lives. At least, the city where he used to live. He might not now, I don’t know.”

Brendon puts his mug on the floor and pulls up his knees, leaning forward and resting against them. “You’re thinking of contacting him? Have you thought this friend could have left for a reason?”

“He did.” Again Ryan’s picturing Mikey, how bone weary he appeared as he touched on the details of Gerard’s addictions. “But he misses him, you can tell that. And someone needs to do something before he hits rock bottom.”

Brendon’s looking past Ryan, lost in some thought, then pulls back his attention and says, “I think the most important question is, how would you feel if someone did it to you?”

It’s something Ryan hadn’t considered, and he imagines how he’d feel if someone went behind his back and contacted his family or old friends, even if it was for the best of intentions. “I’d be furious.”

His expression somber, Brendon says, “It sucks, but I think that has to be the answer.”

Ryan’s still got an objection, a faint hope that Brendon will say what Ryan wants to hear. “The situations aren’t the same. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Immediately Brendon says, “And neither do you.”

Ryan looks down, uncomfortably aware of Brendon watching, and says, “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Hearing Gerard has stirred up memories Mikey’s been keeping well buried.

There’s so many they’re tumbling together, bad mixed with good, and Mikey’s head feels like it’s bursting. Longing for relief, sleep or even a quiet moment, he keeps circling the hospital, incapable of leaving the area.

As angry as Mikey is with Frank, he knows they have to talk. Frank’s too important for Mikey to simply walk away with things as they are. The problem is, gathering enough energy to initiate that talk.

Mikey has to explain, and he needs Frank to listen. But truthfully, Mikey’s scared. He’s already lost so much, seeing disgust in Frank’s eyes would be the final straw. Not that he will. Mikey tells himself that when he’s not angry Frank will see reason, and understand Mikey’s choices.

He has to, and as he reaches the entrance to the hospital yet again, Mikey abruptly changes direction, going in through the front doors.

“Mr Way. Mr Way, I need to talk to you.”

Mikey’s almost past the concession area when he hears his name being called, and for a moment he considers hurrying away and pretending he didn’t hear.

“Mr Way. Mikey. It’s imperative we talk.”

Mikey stops walking next to a display of paperback books. His stomach sinking, he takes a deep breath and then retraces his steps to the main reception desk, where Mr Troy from finance has been calling his name.

“Mr Troy, hi.” Mikey’s holding on to the edge of the desk, propping himself up. “You wanted to talk.”

“If you could come over here.” Mr Troy indicates an area to the side of the desk, somewhere away from the passing traffic. Reluctantly, Mikey takes a few steps to the side, steeling himself to be told of yet more money he owes. “It’s about Mr Iero’s bill.”

“I’ve got money.” Mikey pulls folded up ten dollar notes from his pocket, holding them out on his outstretched hand. “I know it’s nowhere near enough, but I’ll get more, promise.”

“Thank you,” Mr Troy says, taking the money. Without counting, he keeps hold, his expression sympathetic. “But that’s not all we need to discuss. Saint Mary’s has always prided itself on being there for those in need. We recognize that life gets tough, that’s why we provide subsidized medical care and payment via plans. But one thing we must insist on is we do get paid at some point, and that means leaving a current address when people are discharged. When I called the one on file I was told you were no long living there.”

It takes a moment for his meaning to sink in, and Mikey reaches out, his hand against the wall as he says, “Frank’s been discharged?”

“Last night,” Mr Troy says, his sympathetic expression fading, as if he suspects Mikey of playing some game. “I assumed that you knew.”

“No,” Mikey says faintly. He tells himself that it can’t be true, Frank wouldn’t just get up and leave. Without another word, Mikey turns and runs, dodging past people as he pushes open the doors to the stairs. Taking them two at a time he’s gasping for breath by the time he gets to Frank’s floor, and runs headlong to his room.

Where there’s someone lying in bed. Someone who’s not Frank.

~~~~~~

Standing off to one side, Mikey’s in no mood to talk to anyone tonight. The thought of carrying a conversation, of actually forming words something he’s in no mood to do. Already he’s blanked every greeting, from Bob and Ray, even from Ryan who Mikey owes for last night.

Mikey doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything right now. If he doesn’t care he doesn’t hurt, and Mikey’s tired of hurting. If he could he’d drink to forget, but that means spending money that Mikey needs to save. So instead he’s taking solace in isolation, welcoming the numbness as he stands in one place and waits to be bought.

“Hey, you, the pretty fag, come here.”

Mikey startles, becoming aware that a car has stopped close by, a john yelling out of the open window. Slowly, Mikey walks forward and leans in, says by rote, “I can give you a good time.”

The john leers, and says, “I want to fuck you, how much for that?”

“One hundred.” Mikey’s still leaning into the car, and underneath his apathy his instincts are screaming that this john is wrong. There’s no obvious reason to think so, just a feeling, one that normally Mikey would act on. Except, lately he’s been shown that his instincts mean nothing, and Mikey adds, “If you want to go to a hotel it’s ten extra.”

“Yeah, not going to happen. I’ve heard about this place, the alley will do.” Turning off the engine, the john gets out of his car, following Mikey to the alley. To get there he has to pass all of the others, but he deliberately looks forward, not meeting any of their gazes.

“We need to go further back,” Mikey says, leading the john further into the shadows. When he’s far enough away from the mouth of the alley, Mikey turns. “How do you.....”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. The john jumps forward, grabbing hold of Mikey’s shoulders and throwing him hard to the ground. Hitting hard, Mikey’s teeth clatter together and he’s barely got time to take a breath when the john straddles him, his knees planted on Mikey’s arms, holding them down.

“This is what’s going to happen,” the john says, and he wraps his hands around Mikey’s throat, digging in his thumbs as he hawks up phlegm and spits in Mikey’s face. “That’s because you’re a whore, and I spit in the face of whores before I fuck them. Bare back, and you’re just going to take it.”

For a moment Mikey doesn’t react, just lies frozen, feeling spittle run down his cheek. Then he gasps for breath, needing the air to fight back. Because even if he does sell himself for money, one thing Mikey will never do is go bare back.

“No,” Mikey rasps, his throat burning and vision greying as he struggles to free his arms. He tries harder, manages a louder, “No,” but his fight is exciting the john. Abruptly, the john sits up and in a practiced movement, unfastens Mikey’s belt and pants, then grabs hold of his shoulder, flipping Mikey so he lands on his front.

His cheek scraping across the ground, Mikey tastes blood in his mouth and his shoulder is burning as the john pulls on his arm, keeping him off balance. Mikey keeps struggling, kicking back as he feels his pants yanked down, and the sound of the john unfastening his own belt.

“That’s it,” the john says, his voice deepened. “I like it when you struggle. Struggle harder little whore.”

Mikey tries, but the john is bigger and heavier and is holding Mikey’s arm at an increasingly painful angle, bones grinding together as he straddles Mikey’s body, his cock hard against Mikey’s back.

It seems inevitable what’s going to happen, but Mikey’s not going down without a fight, and he bucks up, putting every ounce of effort into getting enough room to take a deep breath and yells, “Help!”

He hopes it’s enough, it has to be, because Mikey’s got nothing left, his world going dark as he feels something in his arm snap.

And then, thankfully, the sound of running footsteps.

~~~~~

“Hey kid, you with us a bit more?”

Opening his eyes is an effort, but the woman who’s talking is insistent, and from the sound of her voice is standing close by. Finally, Mikey manages, and finds himself looking up at a ceiling. He blinks slowly, trying to bring the world into focus.

“I knew you were in there,” the woman says, and there’s the sound of her moving, then Mikey’s glasses are being put into place. “There, that’ll be better.”

It is better. Now that he’s wearing his glasses Mikey can see the smudges of color on the ceiling are actually painted on scenes and he manages to say, “Is that Rorschach?”

“I thought he was an appropriate choice to watch over my patients.”

Mikey struggles to think, his thoughts sluggish. “Patients?”

“You’re in my clinic.” The woman touches Mikey’s shoulder, and he turns his head in her direction, taking in the woman’s smile, and dark hair pulled to the side with a red ribbon. “I’m Lindsey, I’ve been looking after you.”

“You’ve already told him that.”

It’s a surprise to hear Ryan, and Mikey looks past Lindsey to sit him standing close to the door. Ryan’s clothes and hands are blood stained, and the harsh light of the room bleaches out his skin, making the shadows under his eyes stand out sharply.

“Mikey wasn’t really with us before,” Lindsey says, her tone casual. “The painkillers won’t be helping either.”

Mikey feels his heart speeding up, anxiety hitting as he tries to understand exactly what’s happened.

“You got beaten up a bit,” Lindsey says, and for moment the lines of her mouth tighten. “You’re going to be sore for a while, but you got lucky. The worst you’ve got is a closed fracture of the wrist.”

Mikey doesn’t feel lucky. He feels lost and fuzzy-headed, but most of all stupid as he remembers going off with that john, when his every instinct said not to. He looks along his body, trying to wiggle his fingers which seem swollen where they’re sticking out from the end of a white cast.

“That’s just a temporary one,” Lindsey says, gently touching Mikey’s fingers. “You’ll have to get it changed later.”

“Okay,” Mikey says, and Lindsey’s curled her fingers around his. It’s a contact that feels good, one where someone’s touching without wanting sex.

Lindsey smiles, and reaches out with her free hand, grabbing a clipboard. “While you’re with us, I need some details. Ryan gave us your name but more would be good. Like next of kin details.” Mikey remains silent, long enough that eventually Lindsey says, “It’s okay. If you don’t want to tell we can work around that.”

“It’s not that.” Mikey doesn’t want Lindsey to think he’s being deliberately tight-lipped, especially when she’s being so nice. It’s just. He’s got no idea what to say. Eventually, when the silence stretches, he knows he has to at least try. “I don’t know where my next of kin is right now, and I think he hates me anyway, because I did stuff. And he thought I’d cheated on him, but I hadn’t. I wouldn’t even think about cheating, I love him too much.”

It’s more than Mikey ever meant to say, but it seems like he can’t stop talking, the words tumbling out as Lindsey keeps hold of his fingers. “I don’t even know if Frank is my next of kin, it could be my brother, but the only thing he cares about is getting fucked up, so there’s no point listing him.”

His eyes prickling, Mikey squeezes them shut as Lindsey says softly, “It’s okay. I’ll put unknown for now.”

“Can he come home yet?” Ryan steps forward, taking a place next to Lindsey. “You’ve done everything you can for tonight.”

“I wish you weren’t in a position to know that so well,” Lindsey says, and then, “Yeah, he can go home once I’ve pulled together some antibiotics and painkillers, then bring him back in a few days. If I’m not here Jon will change the cast then.”

Mikey’s eyes are heavy as he wonders if the Jon Lindsey mentioned is the one from Saint Mary’s. Mikey thinks that it could be, and tries to formulate connections that keep failing, even a question beyond him right now. But what Mikey can do is picture Frank, the mention of Jon prompting memories that dig in, and Mikey lets his eyes close, hoping to escape through the sleep that still threatens.

“Isn’t he volunteering here tonight?” Ryan asks.

A last squeeze and Lindsey loosens her grip on Mikey’s hand. He listens to her walk away, and the sound of doors being opened as she says, “Not tonight. He called earlier, said he’s got himself a roommate who’s moving into his spare room.”

“Oh.” It’s all Ryan says, but it’s enough that Mikey hears the slight disappointment and he forces his eyes open and looks over at Ryan. Which is when Ryan’s former words actually sink in, realisation making Mikey feel cold and suddenly wide awake.

“I can’t go home, I’ve got nowhere to go and no money.”

“You have.” Ryan takes Lindsey’s former place, and while he’s not holding Mikey’s hand, he does briefly touch his shoulder. “You have that last fucker’s money, all that he had. While Bob and Ray kicked the shit out of him I stole his wallet.”

Thank you doesn’t seem like enough, but it’s all Mikey’s got, and he says, “Thank you. For saving me and for that.”

“You can thank me by buying breakfast tomorrow.” At Mikey’s blank look, Ryan says, “You’ve got money and a place to go, because you’re coming home with me.”

Relief hits hard, but still Mikey has to ask, “Spencer won’t mind?”

“You’re one of us and we take care of our own,” Ryan says. “So no.”

Part Seven
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