Hurricane

A few days had passed after I had called Stefani, and it weighed heavy on my mind. I regretted calling her, because I had begun to worry about my mom. Those magic pills couldn't wipe away that feeling, even though I prayed to God for those thoughts and feelings to go away.

I had searched for something else to help rid the pain, and it always led me to drugs. Mikey had drugs, lots of drugs, and it seemed like the only thing. He had more than a pound of weed, and coke, and meth and ecstasy.

Ecstasy helped.

I was blitz out of my skull for hours at a time, and I loved it. Mikey didn't know that I was dipping into his stash, and when he found out, he wasn't so nice about it. He had caught me taking a couple of pills from the bed side table.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He had gripped my throat, pressing me against the bed.

I gasped, "I-I'm sorry! Stop! You're hurting me."

Mikey loosened his grip, "Are you selling my shit?!"

"No!" I pushed his hands away, "I was taking it."

He had narrowed his eyes at me, "Are you fucking crazy? Do you know what this shit does to you?"

I nodded slowly, "It helps."

"Helps? It fucking helps what, Rooney?" He had straddled me on the bed, so there was no leaving or moving.

"It helps get rid of those thoughts! I don't think of my mom, I don't think about what happened!"

"It's been a fucking year, you need to get over it."

He had spoken softly, but it felt like it was a yell. A slap to the face.

"I miss my mother. I miss my friends." I told him, "I needed something to make these thoughts and feelings go away."

"Taking drugs isn't going to help you!" He told me angrily, "I won't let you start taking drugs just because you're sad."

Another slap.

"What do you expect me to do?" I asked him desperately, "Stefani misses me, my mom is--"

He stopped me, "How the hell do you know that she misses you? How do you know anything that's going on there?" He inquired angrily, he stared at me with narrowed eyes.

"I called Stefani. I just wanted to--"

"Fuck, Rooney, are your fucking stupid?! When did you call her?!"

"Last week--"

"You're such an idiot!" He jumped off the bed, and began to run to the closet.

I sat up, "What? What did I do?!" I yelled at him.

"Do you know there's been a cop watching us here? Now I know why! Fuck, Rooney!" He grabbed some suitcases, while I watched dumbfounded, "He was showing up at the bar and the strip club. Fuck." 

"Slow down, I think you're--"

He stopped me, "Help me pack, goddammit!" 

I jumped at his words and stood to help him pack our things.

Mikey and I left that small town at midnight, without a single goodbye to anyone. We had a bunch of money and drugs on us, and it was almost like one of those stupid mafia movies. A sick and twisted, urban version of Romeo and Juliet.

We got to Arizona a few days later. We hadn't slept; I wasn't on drugs anymore, Mikey forbad me. But, he was still snorting that shit up his nose.

When we had stopped, he got us a hotel room, and we settled in, once again. He had set our bags on the floor, closing the door behind him, he sighed heavily, "I'm tired."

I didn't say anything, I didn't want to mess up again. I didn't want to make him angry. But, the vibe I felt from Mikey, his demeanor, he wasn't angry. 

"Lie with me." Mikey had taken my hand, and I followed.

Every moment in my head seemed like a dream. Things moved too fast and too slow. I didn't quite understand the full picture, and things changed too much for me. Again, I wanted him to say something to solidify that I wasn't going crazy or that my future wasn't going to be something I wouldn't look forward to. I didn't understand my own thoughts.

"Do you hate me?" I asked him with brutal honesty.

He had furrowed his brows, "No, I don't hate you."

"I fucked up. I messed up. I made us leave...I ruined home for us." I rambled.

Mikey sighed and wrapped his arms around me, "You didn't do anything."

"I didn't mean to make the cop come, Mikey, I swear. I just wanted to call home, tell them that...that we're okay," I spoke into his neck, wrapping my arms tightly around him, "I told Stefani I wouldn't leave you, I told her that I'm okay. That's all I said." Tears stung my eyes and they began to fall.

He signed again, "It's okay, baby. I understand."

"Don't be upset with me, I didn't mean to fuck up." I felt my throat tighten, and Mikey kissed at my head.

"Stop, don't worry about it." He let me go slowly, and wiped the tears from my eyes, "Stop crying, baby."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mikey." I repeated until he had taken me to the bed.

"Stop, it's okay." He would say back.

-I feel like I had degraded myself for him. I had belittled myself for his approval. Even as I read this all back to myself, I can't help but to still love him. I feel ashamed, as well, but I still care. I'm still trying to figure out where exactly I truly messed up.


There were a lot more strip clubs in this town, and a lot more people. Mikey had me dancing at one club, and we made a lot more money, but had me stop, because the men were becoming more touchy and friendlier. He quickly began his old routine of selling drugs, and we found a small apartment, near the desert. I saw a lot of rattle snakes and bugs.

It was warmer than I liked, and the nights were cold. Mikey and I spent a lot more time together, and we didn't make friends. Well, Mikey made friends; guys he boughts his units from and did coke with. They weren't people I liked at all, they were rude and grotesque to me. I never told him about it, because he made sure to hide me away from them.

And: My habit for dancing and adrenaline died hard. I scratched at my skin a lot, causing light scars to imbed on the inside of my arms and my chest. Mikey helped me through it, by holding me when I cried and scratched. He cooled me off during the hot afternoons, and my skin felt as if it were melting; he would, gently, pour water on me. I know it isn't romantic, but it's a part of my past that I remember fully, and I like to think that it was at a time that Mikey was more than in love with me.