A half an hour passed and Ian was higher than the Empire State.
“Ya know Mick,” his words were slurred, but understandable, “there’s so much shit!”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah…” Then Ian got quiet, which is never a good sign.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” After a moment the younger boy looked on the verge of crying but instead began hysterically laughing.
“Mo-Monica’s back.” he finally stated, trying to catch his breath. My eyes went wide. Monica, the Gallagher’s excuse for a mother. All I could do was stare at the boy beside me. Eventually his emotions got the better of him and the waterworks began. At first it was slow, but as seconds passed, the more distraught the kid got.
“Just when things were getting better! She al-always f-fucks it up!” he screamed as he sent his fist flying into the cement wall of the dugout. Oh, shit! I thought.
“Gallagher, what the fuck! Stop!” But it was no use, he was too high to feel the pain or control himself. Then I did what any Milkovich would’ve done in this type of situation, I slammed my fist into his face.
* * * * *
Clinging to Ian, I did my best to drag him back to my place while he stumbled over his feet. He was significantly more sober than he was a half an hour ago which meant he began to feel the hurt in his hand and his face, where I punched him. When we got inside, I brought him to my room then headed to the kitchen for a bag of frozen peas, specially reserved for black eyes, swollen ribs and broken fingers. When I walked back, I handed the cold bag to Ian and sat down next to him. He nodded as a ‘thank you’. We didn’t talk much but when we did it was mostly him going on about his mom, Frank and how much he wanted to murder them both. I pretended I wasn’t listening, that I hardly gave a shit. What he didn’t know was that I absorbed every word that escaped his lips.
For a while we sat in a comfortable silence, passing a cigarette back and forth. I watched as Ian sucked on it. Lips curled around the yellow paper, I could stop from imagining them around my hard cock. My mouth watered at the thought.
“Want me to help you with that?” Ian smirked looking down at my sweat pants. How many times and I gonna get wood around this kid? Before I could reply, he was palming me through my pants. I tilted my head back and moaned.
“The fuck took you so long?” I said through a stuttered breath.
