Hurricane

I typed mindlessly at my computer, finishing up the last of my homework for the week. I needed this done, so I could hang out this weekend. Third Eye Blind was playing at Madison Square Garden that Saturday, and I magically scored tickets and train money. All I had needed was the promise of finished homework and I was golden.

There was faint knock on my window as I clicked save on my desktop and looked over. The rain poured around the darkened figure at my “bay” windows. I shook my head, hoping it wasn’t who I expected it to be. But, of course, who else who show up at my window on a late Thursday night?

I went to the windows, hearing the pounding rain over London by Third Eye Blind playing from my stereo, and pulled the beige curtain back. Wet glasses and thin lips, shivering skin. Michael Way. I opened the window, letting him stumble in on the dirty rug I laid out for him and my corgi Cupid. Mikey didn’t say anything after stumbling in, he just shut the window and pulled me into his arms, kissing me heatedly, due to the cold.

“Nice to see you, Roo.” He sang softly, he stripped off his wet sweatshirt, “Mommy and Daddy out?”

I cringed at the way he said my name. I cringed at the way he called my parents Mommy and Daddy. I cringed at the fact my pajamas were now soaked because of him. I cringe a lot thanks to Mikey Way. God, I cringe at his own name; what person calls themselves Mikey willingly?

He’s such a boy.

He’s a boy that I love.

Notice, I never used the past tense of love. I still have strong feelings for Mikey Way, even after everything he had done.

“My parents are at a cocktail party till late.” I told him.

“Nice, I’m spending the night.” Mikey waltzed over to dresser, bottom drawer, in search of some clothes. This was a regular occurrence, and Mikey practically lived with me, without my parents ever knowing. Hell, they had forbid me from ever seeing Mikey Way, but I still let him come over and cuddle with me. Despite the cringing I went through, I cuddled madly with this boy.

You would think I were afraid of our situation, but I wasn’t. My parent’s weren’t watchful, but protective, but did a shitty job of it. They loved to go out with friends every night, get a little buzz, then come on home, and never check on me. Only when I was around them did they watch me like hawks. At school and in my bedroom, I was free to be with Mikey as I pleased.

“Rooney, you lost space cadet?” Mikey joked while I had stared at him strip beside my bed.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“What’d they say about the concert?” Mikey was clad in his Star Wars undies, and lacked any motivation to hide his body.

I looked at Mikey’s body like a piece of art. It was perfect, to me, in every form of the word. People say there is no such thing as perfect, they obviously haven’t seen Mikey Way in his Star Wars boxer briefs. He had the thinnest frame, boney or not, it had some tone to it. He had the perfect V shape leading down to his package, and the scar from his appendix bursting last year in 3rd period Spanish. He had legs that were long and twig like, and bent at the knee, he was pigeon toed, my mother had said. His toes met thanks to this, and his posture was slanted.

Mikey Way is a piece of art.

“I have to finish my homework for the week and I’m free.” I pulled my t-shirt off, meeting Mikey at the dresser. I had a grey sports bra on, one that tugged at my skin, and I pulled it off shamelessly.

I never minded Mikey seeing me and my bare parts. I don’t know why, but it was like I wanted him to see me. During summer, last year, I pretended to lose my top at the pool party our mutual friend Frank Iero threw. I had happened to lose it in front of him, causing him to smirk at me, and look away. I knew he had liked the sight, because I did it again the next week and he took a longer gaze.

I grabbed a white t-shirt, slipping it over my head and crawled into my bed. Mikey smirked at me and got in beside me. His long, cold, slender fingers found my waist and rubbed the fabric of my plaid pajama bottoms to warm them up. He didn’t take it any further…Mikey never took it any further than heavy petting, and I was slightly disappointed by this.

Despite my sexual advances and shameless ways of flirting with Mikey, I was still a virgin. The word made me cringe, and it made me sick. I hated to be a virgin, just because everyone in school wasn’t a virgin, and you could tell who was doing it, and who wasn’t. You could spot the fakers from a mile away, and I was one of the girls that hadn’t done it at all. I can’t explain the look, the way the fornicators looked, but you could tell. Mikey had, had sex, and when he wanted to be a jerk, he told me what it was like for the girls he had sex with.

He never lied. Mikey was incapable of lying to me. He could lie and charm the pants off of parents. All except mine. He took the challenge and lost.

“You ain’t gonna turn your stereo off?” Mikey asked when Teenage Love by Slick Rick came on.

“I like this song.” I told him.

Mikey watched me as I sang the last bit of the song and then sat up to turn it off, but Mikey stopped me. “What would you say if I wanted to fuck you right now?” He glared at me, that undeniable, sexual fire in his beautiful eyes stared right through me.

I knew Mikey’s game. We played this too often, and I knew exactly where it would lead, “I’d say, I think you’re an asshole for playing with me, Michael.”

Mikey cringed at the way I said his name He hated that I, of all people, called him Michael. “Well, I do like to play pussy—I mean, Cat and Mouse.”

I rolled my eyes, “I don’t like to play.” I lied like an expert (just like he taught me), but Mikey saw through it. He knew how to get me.

“Too bad, I’m in charge tonight.” Mikey climbed on top of me, shutting me up with another slow, blood boiling kiss.

He was nearly bare on me, and it drove me crazy. I could feel him on my thighs, but he wasn’t hard at all. Mikey called himself the Dick Whisperer, because he had the gift of making himself limp or hard whenever he chose. Sometimes, when we played this game, he got hard, and I often wondered if it were me, or his own doing to tease me. I could never fully tell with him.

Mikey had kissed me until I was full of anger and lust and love and need. His hands skimmed my body, almost like he was touching a piece of fine china. He always stared at me, and I wondered why, and I got the root of that when I was older. He would kiss at my neck, his hands grabbed my breast, only over my shirt, and, in recent months, he had finally started to give my lower half more attention. He would grab my butt, or rub my middle, commenting on how wet I was and then whip his hand away to tease me.

This night it was different. He actually let one finger over the elastic of my underwear, and I had pulled his head up, giving him a look. He just kissed my cheek, that cocky smirk always present, and his finger slid up and down my sex, making me gasp. He did it once more before he pulled his hand out slowly, “It’s like Niagara Falls down there, Roo.”

I flushed, I knew it, pink and angry at him. I should be use to his teasing, and the way he called me Roo and the way he was so goddamn beautiful. Fuck you, Mikey Way. Fuck you.