Hurricane

I had walked over to Mikey's after that conversation with Kendra and Stefani. I did a lot of thinking, and I had wanted to ask Mikey what was wrong with him. I was afraid too, I was afraid of finding out something I shouldn't. Still, I was curious, I did want him to know that I would be there for him, for whatever he needed. He found this out and used it against me.

I knocked on his front door, holding onto the straps of my backpack, I had shifted, wondering who would answer the door. It took about a minute before I was met with Mrs. Way's smiling face, "Oh, hello, Rooney." 

Mikey never told her my real name. To her, Mr. Way, and his brother, I was Rooney. 

"Hello, Mrs. Way, is Mikey alright?"

She frowned slightly, "He is, but he's in a bad mood. I wouldn't usually allow visitors, but I think you can bring him out of his funk. Come in, honey." 

Mrs. Way let me in, and inside, I could smell her baked goods; even now, those cookies with cinnamon is whiffed up in my nostrils. She led me towards the stairs, where a woman, a tall, dark haired woman, was waiting. She smiled at me, almost as if it were a jealous glare. I didn't know why, until later, and it had made me wonder.

"Oh, Rooney, this is Hanna. She used to watch Mikey and Gerard when they were younger." Mrs. Way introduced me to this older woman, who didn't seem to care for me at all.

"Hello." I greeted her nicely and stuck out my hand.

"Hi." She shook my hand reluctantly, and pulled away quickly.

Mrs. Way noticed this, "Um, you can go up now, honey." 

I smiled, thanked her again, and walked upstairs to Mikey's bedroom. The second floor only had two bedrooms and one bath, downstairs had another bedroom, basement and another bathroom. I often wondered where Mikey's parents slept; upstairs or downstairs, he never told me.

I knocked on his bedroom door, the door had been covered with a Misfits cloth poster. I had placed my hand on the knob before he gave any OK to come in. There was shifting, and then his muffled voice, "I'm not hungry." He spat angrily.

"Mikey, it's me, Rooney." I spoke softly, hoping he had heard me.

The springs of his bed hinged and creaked, then he, like lightening, opened the door. His glasses were gone, and his eyes were red and puffy. He sniffed once and rubbed his eyes, his lanky body leaned back slightly as he hung his head.

"Baby, are you alright?" He made a face when I called him baby.

He combed his hair back, "Don't call me that," he whined playfully, "I'm fine. It's the goddamn spring air. Come in." He turned from me, letting me in, and I closed the door.

I can recall that Mikey's room was always dirty; clothes scattered everywhere, but that day, it was spotless. His backpack was the only thing on the floor, and his bed sheets was slightly askew. I raised my brow, setting my backpack next to his, "What's going on? Who is that woman downstairs?"

Mikey looked at me, anger in his eyes, "This bitch who won't get off my mom's tit. I fucking hate her." He growled.

"How come? Was she mean to you or something? She seems like the type, I mean, she was given me some glares while I was down there." I sat on his bed, kicking my shoes off.

Mikey sat beside me, "She was mean to me." Was all he said about her, "How was the rest of school? That campus supervisor bother you?"

He laid back and took my wrist, pulling me to his chest, "No. Why did you get suspended? Just because we were kissing?"

He shook his head, "I called Principal Lewis a pompous asshole. I'm suspended until next Tuesday."

We both laughed, "Why did you call him that?"

"He wanted your name and I refused to tell him. The CS was gonna tell him, but I threatened him..." Mikey went on to tell me that, that campus supervisor had been sneaking around with the willing freshman girls. Mikey threatened to rat him out of he got me involved.

"All that? For what?" I asked.

"I don't want your dad to find out," he brushed my hair back, "I don't want us to be separated."

I smiled to myself, forgetting all that Stefani and Kendra had said. I didn't even, truly, care that Mikey was manic. I was a naive girl, and I was stupidly and blindly in love. And, I was in love with someone who needed more help than I could give him. He needed more than me.

So many times, I wish I could go back in time and change things. If not change it, at least savor and remember every detail. Only, I know that time travel is physically impossible. I can only hope that the people involved know how sorry I am.


So, I bring you to when I was going to the Third Eye Blind concert, the night that changed my life forever.

I had begged my father to go, and he even called Stefani to get confirmation, and she did me that favor. She did me a lot of favors. My dad had just sighed, giving me the OK to go, and gave me money for the train ride; since he didn't trust me with a car, and Stefani didn't have a car either.

He didn't know that I was going with Mikey -yet. My poor father bought my pokerface, not taking a second glance, and believed my lie.

Mikey and I took the train to New York; his brother had his car. He kept me close to him all night, and, like the Oasis show, we were silent during the show. He told me to sing for him, and I did, in the near empty balcony. I was off key compared to Stephan Jenkins, but Mikey told me he loved it.

When the show was over, I bought a t-shirt, and Mikey and I headed out to catch the train home. It started to rain a bit once we got to the train station, and I cursed myself for not grabbing an umbrella. Anyway, it was all better once we got in the train and we were seated; no one was on, so it was just us.

"Did you have fun?" Mikey had wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

I had snuggled against his chest, "Yeah, I did. What about you?"

He shrugged, "I'm not a huge fan, but if you like them, I think I can live with it."

The rest of the train ride was quiet, and the fact that we'd be home soon hadn't sat well with me. I didn't want to leave Mikey's side just yet, I wanted to be with him all weekend. And, once we were walking home, I told him so.

"I wanna stay over yours." 

He looked at me as we approached my block, "My parents are home and our guest is still there."

I groaned, "I want you to stay with me then."

He smirked down at me, "Is this your way of seducing me, Roo?"

I tried to hide my smile, "No. I'm just madly in love with you." 

Mikey stopped walking when he realized what I had said. I think those words hit him hard, and I never fully understood why. He had given me a look...like he had seen a ghost, perhaps.

"What did you just say?" he asked quietly.

"I..." I was nervous then, "I'm madly in love with you."

A small, honest smile broke onto his lips, "You're in love with me?"

I gave a sheepish nod, "Isn't it obvious?"

He took my hand, "Yes, now." He chuckled, "You know what? I'm in love with you, too."

This is when a lot of my memory gets fuzzy. This is when I believe I was dreaming, as if nothing is real. 

I believe: Mikey and I had snuck up to my house, where he waited by my window, climbing that damn oak tree. I went in and met my father, telling him thank you and that I had a good time. My dad was severely drunk, and barely gave me a second glance. I went up to my room, closed the door and turned up the music, helping Mikey into my room. There was no plan for any of this to get as physical as it did.

Mikey and I touched and kissed, pulling each others clothes off, but never having sex. We did a lot of things, but no penetration was involved. I wasn't mad by it at all, because I was with Mikey.

My world came crashing down, and this is when I truly lose all my memory. I'm only recalling what the hypnotist got from me, from the tape recordings, as I try to remember the words and sounds and smells and voices.

I remember the next morning, it was bright, because the sun shown through the tree and was burning my eyes. I had sat up, hearing my father's heavy footsteps, and feeling Mikey's arms around me. That's when I remembered, I didn't lock the door.

My father had come in. Seeing Mikey and I together, nude, in bed. He was livid. I remember him yelling and cursing and snapping at me, saying he'd call the police. Mikey had thrown his clothes on, he kissed me, too, and then ran out the house.

I can't remember what I said, only that I was sorry. I was sorry I lied, sorry that I brought Mikey back into the house, and that my father caught us in bed. He said he was going to call my Aunt and get the number to that boarding school in Camden. The familiar sense of dread fills me, and I sobbed. My father left the room, and I heard him call me a slut.

The rest of the next two hours were fuzzy, because the next clear picture is me standing at the top of the stairs when the door bell rang. My father had answered it, my mother was in the background, talking to my aunt about my behavior. The door opened and there was Mikey, dressed in his usual clothing, but he had a big shot gun with him. I remember flying down the stairs as the gun went off; my own father's brain matter hit the side of my face and my mother's screaming pierced my ears.