Flea Bite

When Mikey comes home with me, bundled up in an ugly red wool sweater, she looks as if she has seen a ghost. But she beams, obviously delighted, engulfing him quickly in her arms. I stand there idly, gnawing on my lip, wanting to go to my bedroom.

"Mikey!" She exclaims, grinning ear to ear. Mom sends me a questioning look, eyes darting between me and the lanky boy. Throughout my earlier years of friendship with Mikey, all mom wanted was for the two of us to begin dating -- but we never did, and eventually Mikey stopped coming around all together and she stopped mentioning him. "How have you been, sweetheart? It's been so long!"

Mikey offers her a small, awkward smile. I can tell he wants to leave her smoldering sight, wants to go up to my bedroom and carelessly hang out like old times. "It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Blanc. I'm sorry for not stopping by sooner." He laughs a little, shifting his weight suddenly.

"C'mon," I nudge him. "We're going to my room, mom. I love you," I smile at her awkwardly, taking hold of Mikey's hand and dragging him up stairs with me. We make our way to my bedroom, and I collapse on my bed. He laughs at me, the sound light and enchanting.

"You really don't change, Rowan." He gives me a look and rolls his eyes, causing me to laugh. The statement makes me think -- have I really not changed? During the last two years I feel as if I'e changed quite a bit.

I close my eyes, sighing. I've changed for the worse. I've become too reliant on people, too shut in, unable to freely express myself like previous years. Mikey sits down next to me.

"I know it's early," Mikey starts off slowly, "and I know you might not want to completely open up to me right now, Rowan. But you were my best friend for so long, I know when something is bothering you, and since you showed up at my door, it's been obvious something is deeply hurting you." He rests a hand on my leg, giving me a deeply meaningful look. I look away.

"I have changed, Mikes." I swallow the lump in my throat. "This year has been so fuckin' weird, Mikey." I look at him finally, and slowly I begin to tell him the story of Frank, of how we began, of what I did to keep him, and how I lost him.

"He's so cute, Mikes." I laugh, shaking my head and snorting cynically. "His eyes are so soft, yet they pierced right through me. He knew when I was lying to him, Mikey. He never cared enough to call me out on it, but I knew he knew when I lied. He would hold me sometimes, when it was just us. His fingers would brush against my skin and it always felt so nice. But. . .those were rare times. He was typically rough. He liked it rough and over quickly." I trail off, sighing heavily. Mikey is staring at me, waiting for me to continue.

"He never wanted to be seen with me. I would have to wait for him in random places -- places kids from Belleville never went to. I adored him so much I allowed him to talk me into getting my nipples pierced. I would have pierced anything, done anything, for him. I really thought I loved him. But that isn't love, is it Mikey?" I pause, sniffling. Mikey takes my hand in his.

"He's scum, Rowan. You did so much for him." I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"That isn't even half of it, Mikey." I sit back, pulling my shirt up slightly so he can see the pink skin on my stomach. His eyes widen and I can see the anger burning in his eyes.

"Did that asshole cut you?" Mikey's yelling slightly, furious. He stands up, pacing throughout my bedroom. I continue talking, at this point it's word vomit, I'm unable to stop.

"I thought I loved him -- I thought he loved me. But he picked another girl over me. He threw everything I was willing to do for him away." I lay down, curling against my pillows. Mikey sits at the end of my feet. "When I was finally done, when I realized I needed closure, he came chasing. He finally wanted me, Mikes. And I knew I couldn't let him have me." My throat burns, vision blurring.

Mikey furrows his brows. "Are you over him, Rowan?" I hesitate, thinking again of all the vicious things Frank has said and done to me. I think about how he shoved me, about how he cut me, screamed vile slurs at me, made our entire relationship all about him. I sigh.

"No," I mumble, sighing shakily. "I'm not over him, and I really have no idea when I will be -- if I will be. He meant so much to me, Mikes. I don't know what to do."