Where is my mind

4

Fuck it, I'm gonna go see firecrotch today. I was going stir crazy and needed to get out, and I just had to see this already seemingly prissy "Fairytale" bar. Chicago was still cold as hell, and standing outside this gay ass bar, I could almost feel the heat and lust leaking out of its' doors. Putting on my best scowl, in hopes I would relatively be left alone, I surged into the night club. Immediately after entering, booming pop music intruded my ears and rattled my brain. At least it's sure as hell to shut my friends up for a little while. A few slimy old bats started fucking me with their eyes, and I flicked the bird over at them.

"Feisty, my favorite," one of them grinned, making a show of rubbing himself. I already felt disgusting and uncomfortable upon just walking in here, how the hell does Gallagher work here? It wasn't even vaguely hard to locate the bar with all the bright lights flashing around it with shelves stacked high with every variety of whiskey and vodka. The bartender there, however, was not Gallagher. Some short blond guy wearing a sequin top and heavy eyeliner leaned over the counter and stuck his ass out for the view of the men behind him. I cringed and decided it was probably Ian's day off. I shook my head, I'll just go-

"You look lost," A warm voice broke through the air behind me. It was that same voice that managed to make my blood freeze but fill with glee at the same time. I bit my lip and forced my body to turn around. Of course it had to be none other than Ian Gallagher. His smile wavered as the realization struck him, but he forced it back up again as though we had seen each other just a few days ago. Like we were just old fuckin' pals. He wore that same outfit as the bartender, only he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and dollar bills shoved in the hem of his tight black shorts.

"Mickey . . . surprising to see you here," he said in a joyful tone, but his words were laced with venom.

"Yea, um," I began, shifting my feet and looking away. I had recited what I was going to say a million times with all the alone time I have recently been giving myself. But nevertheless, when the time came to finally put my rehearsing into action, my mind draws a blank. Saving me from having to speak, Gallagher asks me: "So how the hell did you stumble on a place like this?"

"Kevin gave me the address," I blurted, the younger boy raised an eyebrow and nodded along with the response. You'll always be left behind like garbage. Suddenly, rage boiled inside me. Gallagher no longer fazed me and I got so, so angry. Their comment was a cruel reminder of why I believe I was really here, to ask him why. Why didn't you tell me you were back? Why did you do this to everyone? To me? My eyes narrowed and I balled my fists, still not looking directly at Ian I snarled:

"When did you plan on telling Mandy you were home? When did you plan on telling me?" Shit. I did not mean to say that last part. I was practically vomiting out words through my growing despise against Ian. "When did you get home?"

"Mick-"

"Why did you leave? You had us all scared shitless you fuck!"

Ian put his hands up, "I've only been home for about a week. I told Mandy days ago Mick, I thought you would've talk to her by now. And frankly, I didn't think you gave a shit."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Then again, maybe I did do it to myself. It was sweltering hot inside the club, the lights and noises were getting brighter and louder. The music boomed against my ears so hard I could feel my brain rattle inside my skull, and I felt like I was going to die. If the suffocation didn't get me first, my brain exploding inside my own head would've. I clamped my hands over my ears and pushed past Ian, I could almost see his pathetic puppy dog eyes. I ran out of there as fast as I could. I knew I was out when the sudden rush of cold air smacked into me like a brick wall. But I didn't stop. My breath came in short gasps as I sprinted home. I just wanted to be alone. But that was useless wish, because I'm never alone anymore. Finally getting back to my house, I smacked open the door and called for Mandy, wanting to prove Ian wrong I didn't just not talk to my sister, or anyone for that matter, in days. But no one was home. The house was black. The only sign the house hadn't been abandoned for months was the blaring TV. I got out of the setting as fast as I could, jogging around the house and turning on every light in the house. Missy Kill told me once they hide in the dark. Go to the Bedroom. My ears perked up as I finished turning on all the lights. Yes, yes! I have done something right for once! Sprinting to the bedroom, I slammed the door shut and pushed a chair up against it. I've learned the hard way that they don't like it when people come in. They always yelled at me if I didn't block the door. Bathroom, you simple minded fuck, the voice then commanded. I rushed in and saw 400 sitting on the window sill. You're in danger. You need to let us help. Trust us. Let us in.

"How? Tell me!" I shout.

"Destroy him. It's not you anyways."

I glanced around the room in confusion, spinning around in place of where I stood, I jumped when I had turned towards the small mirror mounted on the opposite wall. The person staring back at me was horrifying. His eye's were so sunken, if I squinted, he looked like a skeleton. Just a pale, dead, assortment of bones. I began to smile at the irony of it. He kinda looked like me. They grinned back at me, imitating my actions.

"Quit it." The face still copied me.

"Fuck off!" I yell, but the face had screamed back at me. Balling up my fist, I pulled back my arm, and smashed it against the mirror with every last bit of strength I had. A shatter echoed through the room, shards of glass clinked as they fell against the tile. I threw my head back and erupted with laughter, ecstatic when the face finally did not mimic me. He never will again! Slumping against the wall, I cradled my wrist as warm blood streamed down my fist and arm. Drops of crimson splattered onto the floor, and I stared at my wound. Bits of glass stuck out of my knuckles every which way in a horrific mosaic pattern, and it hurt like hell. But this was a small price to pay to be rid the face. Forever. I was so intrigued by the blood, even though I've seen it frequently ever since I was two, I guess I never really knew exactly how it smelled, and how it ran out of me in little streams. Or maybe I was just surprised the liquid wasn't black.