blue ; gallavich

26

MICKEY

I haven't talked to Ian in a week, not since we fucked in a storm on a deserted roadside. It was sexy, the humidity like a steaming pot of boiling water and the rain splashing on us as we laughed carelessly. We fucked hard and I could barely walk home afterwards, but of course I didn't let Ian know that. I think he might've figured it out, though, because he kept looking at me with suspicion and asking if I needed a piggy back ride.

It's strange not seeing Ian everyday. Normally we're always crowding each other's lives, to the point where it can be annoying, but it's comforting. And I know Ian didn't just run off; Lip said that Ian hasn't left his room. I'm somewhat nervous, in all honesty. Aren't his meds supposed to normalize his highs and lows and create boundaries for what is too low and too high? And now he's not leaving the room again? It's fucking weird.

But I can't visit him today. Today is the day that my probation skank is making me get a new job. Yippee. Where do I search first? Maybe I could sell guns... No. Nothing illegal. I shake my head in frustration, no ideas popping into my mind. The auto repair place has no openings. I can't do a bar, God knows how bad my temper already is and it's even worse with drunk assholes. No restaurants, not trying to do some full commitment shit, just trying to get a legal job until my probation kicks off and I'll be back to robbing stores and selling weapons in a month.

"You've always been good with your hands." I hear Ian's voice in my mind and an idea that makes me cringe floats it's way into my conscience. Massage therapist.

Wait, no. What the hell, Mickey? Why- well... It's not that bad. Good pay, people are usually pretty quiet. Could work...

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I walk to Mary's Massage- which is a fucking stupid title since the owner is named Theresa- and I smell a strong whiff of flowers and a relaxing sandy beach. It's fucking weird how that works, making smells for things that don't even have specific smells. I'll never understand it. I just stick to my flowery coconut shampoo that Mandy bought me last year, and I've been addicted to its scent ever since.

"Mickey Milkovich. Nice to see you again." She says cheekily as I nod in her direction.

"Hey, Theresa. You guys got any openings?" I ask, crossing my fingers.

"You need a massage or something? Some stress relief?"

"No, I need a job. I'm good with my hands." I manage to choke out, Ian's naked body appearing in my mind. Not right now. I'll deal with that later.

"Well..." She looks around for a minute and gestures for a short girl, who's still fucking taller than me, and whispers something to her, in which she replies with something about pregnancy. Theresa smiles at me and hands me a few towels. "We have an appointment at three. He pays great, hundred fifty an hour. Don't fuck this up, Milkovich, or you'll be out of a job." She says and I nod my head anxiously, following her to a small cubby room in the back. The walls are a burgundy color and fake plants and beautiful paintings line them. I put all my things down and organize it, making sure to get everything perfectly situated. Old rich white men. Got nothing better to spend their money on.

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To my surprise, the man who walks in isn't old. He looks to be about thirty, maybe forty, and is on the verge of aging but hasn't quite hit the point yet. I smile at him graciously, which hurts my face because I actually have to pretend to be nice if I want to keep my job, and he grins back. He only has his lower half covered by a white towel and he lays down on the table, stripping it off. "This isn't awkward, right?" He asks as I chuckle under my breath. I fuck asses, man, I consider saying.