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Ten years later, and he still feels ashamed. Not of the sex--he knows what he likes, and it's never made him a bitch.
Well, maybe it did once. But it's not like that had anything to do with dick up his ass. More with whose dick it was.
Sometimes he likes to sit and finger the scar on his leg. It's nothing but a small puckering now, smooth and pink against his pale skin, but sometimes he feels like it should be larger. He thinks maybe if it still bled it would explain why it hurt to look at it. He thinks that Gallagher should have left more of a mark on his skin than two bullet holes and that maybe if he had it could explain why his heart still aches when he sees a guy with red hair pass into the club he's a bouncer for.
He gets by--really, he does. He's not some pathetic little cunt that sits around gazing at raindrops sliding down his bedroom window. His bedroom doesn't even have a fucking window. This isn't some sappy love story and he's certainly not the male lead in one of those romantic comedies his wife likes to watch. He gets by. His father fucked off to prison a couple years ago, and he's damn sure he's not getting out any time soon. Svetlana and him are kind of friends, and her boyfriend is actually really good at video games and sometimes brings pizza for Mickey and the kid before he takes Lana out for the night. His son's name is Joey, and he's a real fucker sometimes, but he's better at baseball than Mickey ever was, and he actually sort of loves the brat. Mandy's married now, and she's got two kids, a boy and a girl, and both of the shitheads think Mickey is some kind of hero or something, the way they look at him sometimes.
So, yeah, maybe life is going okay. But getting by and forgetting are two different things, and he may want to say he's forgotten but even he doesn't have that much self denial. He only lets himself think about Gallagher when he really has to.
When he has to walk by the casino that used to be their abandoned building or the 7-11 that replaced the Kash and Grab. When he eats a Snickers bar or he has shitty luck and runs into one of the Gallaghers. Sometimes even seeing Mandy or just smoking a fucking cigarette feels too much like old times. Even now, he feels like crying when he sees a man in uniform. And, yeah, he'll admit that sometimes when he picks up someone up at a bar and lets the guy bend him over and split him open, he clenches his eyes shut tight and wills it to be someone different.
The rhythm and the feel of hands on his hips feels off, but if he concentrates hard enough, Mickey can tell himself that he's just remembered it a little wrong and this is what it feels like for Gallagher to fuck him. He comes hardest when he's drunk enough to believe it, and even the thought makes him feel like heaving.
Even watching his fucking son play fucking little league at the fucking baseball field leaves him lost in memories. He places a hand over his thigh and pushes his thumb over a bump he can barely feel through his jeans and tries to swallow down the thoughts. He should be concentrating on Joey hitting that ball and pushing over kids in a desperate attempt to make it around the bases in time. And, I mean, he is, and he's definitely shouting at the ref who called his son on it--new guy, doesn't know the rules, and he might have to knock him around a bit after the game until he gets that Milkovichs can push whoever the fuck they want to push--but he can't help thinking about what else used to happen in that dugout.
And, yeah, it makes him ashamed. He wishes he could scrub himself of the way he still wants--even after all this goddamn time--but he figures there's not much he can do about it anymore.
It's funny because, yeah, he loves his son. He's not Terry; he's not his fucking father, okay; he definitely loves his son. And Mandy's always been important to him, he's not ashamed to say he loves her too (not that he tells her that, though, because it's not really their style, and after all, she needs someone to keep her grounded). He loves them and sometimes even that can burn too bright, but it doesn't make him nauseous.
He knows that Gallagher joined the army. He knows he became an officer, and he knows that he's settled down now with some boyfriend in New York. He knows that he works at a recruiting station now instead of getting his ass shot at all the time, and he knows that he feels a jealousy and a relief at it all. He knows that he visits for holidays with the guy because those are the days that he never leaves the house except for work and even then he walks an extra 30 minutes to try to take roads he's sure Gallagher won't.
He knows he's still a little bit in love, and the thought makes him want to shoot himself in the head. It makes him want to throw himself off a cliff and it makes him want to do something stupid, like take a vacation and ride the train up to New York and punch that goddamn boyfriend in his stupid fucking face and wipe off the kisses that should be meant for him with his fist.
But he doesn't because he gets by fine here, and Gallagher's getting by fine there, and who really needs to be completely happy anyway?
Mickey gave up on that a long time ago.