Victim Of Love

The Day We Fall In Love

It was midnight, the day of or really the day after his fathers funeral when Micky found himself awake and cramped in his childhood bed. The blanket rested haphazardly at his ankles. He rubbed under his eyes and took a deep breath. His throat burned, a mixture of alcohol, sleep and crying will do that.

In the quick span of time that Micky had been away at school, not a thing changed. Clothes he'd left behind were still flung about odd places from his reckless form of packing. He wasn't quite sure why but he flung his legs over the side of the bed, hovering them over the carpet. He sighed deeply into his hands. He had called Samantha earlier in the trip to explain himself and she'd been utterly understanding with pity clear in her voice.

Micky had done his best to be supportive and stable for his mother and sisters. He worked hard trying to make sure he could get a smile from them. But behind closed doors was another story. He'd frequented his old clubs which only ended up with him curled up in his bathtub at odd hours in the morning with the munchies, stuffing Twinkie's down his throat. He assumed he was awake from the after effects of going clean all day. Not that he was an addict, but he had fallen into a routine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Micky returned to his dorm after the absence of about a week. The first thing he did was go to Peters room. They had a blissful hour until Peter was forced to present him with the work he'd missed.

When Micky got back to his dorm and set the work with what was left of his last stack, it grew right back to its original large size. Almost like no progress was made. Which reminded him of Mike. He decided to get himself cleaned up and visit him.

He'd been prepared to avoid his most unusual clothes in favor of the more dreary items. But he found himself gravitating to the opposite, a small twinge of hope that Mike would give him his jacket again.

Micky had got it from Davy that Mike was at work and it was probably dumb to go bother him but he went to the diner anyway. He sat at a table, hoping to eat while he was there. He felt a presence above him and looked up to meet Phyllis with menus at her side.

"Hey Micky....can I get ya somethin'?" She asked sweetly and it was easy to tell that Mike had told her about his father.

He asked for a cheeseburger rather weakly and she smiled, pulling out her notepad. It was as Micky watched her jot the order down that he noticed the glimmering ring on her finger. But before he could comment, she twirled off.

After a while of thinking to himself, someone slid into the opposite side of the booth. "Hey shotgun."

Micky knew the nickname was Mike's way of just being nice but Micky warmed at it anyway. "So you're still engaged?" Micky started on him immediately, Mike turned uncomfortable in seconds.

He fumbled a little and raised his folded hands to rest on the table. "Yeah. Yeah I am." He answered shortly.

"Why?" Micky decided to be blunt, Mike didn't take well.

"Don't think that's your business, Micky."

"Did you even talk to her about-"

"I'm marrying her Mick. She and I have been together long enough. I owe her this." Mike said in his slow Texan drawl.

"Marriage isn't something you owe. You either want to or you don't. And you don't." Micky watched Mike narrow his eyes.

"You can't say nothin' about what I feel Micky."

"Apparently you can't either." Micky rolled his eyes. By now, Mike was fuming. His chest rapidly rising and falling, his face dusted red. It ignited something in Micky that made him lick his lips.