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Do you know when you regret something one second after you’ve done it?
“We are one step from the finish line.”
.
“Don’t do this.”
.
“I love you.”
“Then get in the fucking car.”
“It's not... This isn't me anymore.”
.
“Fuck you, Gallagher.”
I was so sure about my decision, but I wasn’t prepared to see Mickey’s pain on his face.
That pain wasn’t just saying that we were done, that I wouldn’t have seen him ever again, that he was out of reach. It meant that I did it again.
I made Mickey suffer. Again.
I knew I was the only one he ever loved, and yet I couldn’t stop -the words were coming out of my mouth and I was regretting them.
But I couldn’t fucking stop.
I was so sure it was the right decision. I had my shit together, I told him that.
I had a fucking boyfriend, too. And he knew that too.
“Whatcha doing here then?”
I did the first move. I was the one kissing him and undressing him then.
All fucking words and zero grips, Gallagher. Well fucking done.
So when I saw him driving over the borders, I was happy he was safe and free.
But that’s also when I started spiraling.
***
When I got home and I found out that Monica was dead, the first thing I thought about was that I needed Mickey.
Not Trevor, not that very same boyfriend that I was using as a shield, as an excuse, as the anchor I thought he could be.
I realize now that I was forcing myself to be with Trevor, because he was normal and he could keep me straight, regular and, you know, he was right on the paper.
Perfect, good Trevor.
Too bad he wasn’t understanding me.
Too bad he wasn’t that perfect after all.
Too bad he wasn’t Mickey.
But then again, I would never want Mickey different from how he is.
And, even more important, Mickey would never want me to be different from how I am.
Trevor, though? How many times has he tried to change me?
Mickey would fuck him up if he only knew. And I would probably let him do it.
***
I am still taking my meds every day because that’s what Mickey would want. Because only now that he is away from me I’d want him nagging me to be regular with my meds.
“Take your pills, bitch.”
I smile at the thought.
Mickey didn’t want me to take my pills because, otherwise , I was an embarrassment for him -he wanted me to take my pills because, otherwise , I could hurt myself.
Mickey.
Sorry if I see it only now, I am a fucking idiot.
So, yeah, I am still taking my pills - bitch , LOL, love you Mick- but I am tempted to stop.
Not for nothing, but just to stop thinking, to stop suffering.
Funny enough, people usually take pills to escape. On the other hand, for me? I’d just need to stop taking to do so. To escape and set my body on autopilot.
Until everything goes dark, until I step on the wrong feet, or until I die in an under-stairs closet.
***
I have my pill in my hand, but I am not sure I want to take it.
I just wrote you a note.
I am so fucking tired. And I don’t know if I want to take this pill.
***
I have to break things with Trevor.
I don’t love him, never have. Also, sex is horrible with him, why do I even bother? Caleb was a tool, but at least sex was good.
Not as good as you, Mick.
Nothing with everyone else will be as good as everything with you.
I wrote you again.
Mick.
Can I come to look for you?
Lip told me he thought I would have come with you.
Why didn’t I do it?
Trevor, on the other hand, still bitches about the fact that I ran away with you.
Fuck you, Trevor. You boring fuck.
***
So I’m going out with Trevor because I want to break up with him, but before I could start talking he told me he would bring me to a place that will make me feel better.
Why do I even bother? He is so dismissive about the things I care about the most.
He says that I shouldn’t feel bad for Monica anymore. Fuck you, it fucking happened only a few weeks ago, you insensitive fucker.
And the constant zings against Mickey.
But I knew today was the breaking point for me. And not because I skipped some pill intervals. I just feel it.
And thank you for making it ridiculously easy for me.
Trevor brought me to a place called Bear Back. You know, you huge piece of shit, it’s fucked up. Because you come here when you want to feel better because someone you find unattractive would treat you as a god. So you go around patronizing the shit out of everyone about respect when you pull some shit like this?
“Like, let's say there was, uh, this guy that I really loved and, uh, he deserted me for three days to go to Mexico with his escaped convict ex. I would come here, find a chub to worship me.”
These were your words.
Don’t you dare even mention Mickey anymore in my presence. You are a little, ridiculous, sorry excuse of a man.
“That’s it. Goodbye, Trevor. I would say it was a pleasure but I would lie.”
“What?”
“You are mocking these people, you are disgusting.”
“Sorry, it’s not enough outlaw-y for you? It’s either attempted murder or nothing?”
“Don’t talk about Mickey, you don’t know shit about him.”
“I know enough.”
I grab the collar of his shirt. I am furious. “You know nothing. Neither about Mickey nor love. You are a sad, boring, little man.”
Trevor is shocked, he wasn’t expecting that from me, probably. “Fuck you, Ian. You are a crazy shit, I am better off without you.”
“The crazy card, nice. You know who never used that against me?”
“Then you are probably made for each other.”
Yes, we are.
“Go fuck a chub you don’t even like only to stroke your ego. I hope you’ll find someone who does the same to you though so that maybe you will understand how pitiful what you are doing is, you self-absorbed dick.”
I can hear him shouting at my back -more insults about my mental condition, because, sure. It’s the only weapon he has against me.
But I am free, now.
Not that I have ever felt tied to Trevor, but I needed to close that chapter without any doubt whatsoever.
I never loved him.
There is only one man I love.
Mick.
Mick.
Mick.
***
If I were to come to Mexico and look for you, would you still want me?
Would you forgive me?
***
I started taking my meds regularly again. Turns out it’s easy to focus on our own health if we have a goal.
And my goal is Mexico.
I’m coming, Mick.
****
So, I left Chicago and now I am traveling to Mexico.
I have no idea how to find you, it’s not like I know where you are, as in the city, the area, or anything else.
I’ll start where the beaches are.
I don’t have much money, 'cause I gave you everything and, well, I couldn’t really scratch a lot from Monica’s meth money -I really have to tell you this story huh? Crazy. Gallagher kinda crazy, not my thing kinda crazy.
***
Ok, so, passing the border was weird.
I have my passport and everything checked out, but I am paranoid so you know when you have something to hide and so your whole person just screams that you are up to something?
Well, the only drugs I have with me are my meds, so…
Speaking of, we will need to find a way to find my meds here too huh?
If I can find you, of course.
***
Really, Mick?
El Leche Malcriado ? How am I supposed to ask about you with a straight face?
I love you so fucking much.
I should have done this weeks ago.
***
***
***
***
Ok, so I don’t know precisely what happened.
The last thing I remember is that once I arrived in Acapulco I started asking about you and then it was all dark.
Literally.
Even now.
I think I have a sack over my head and someone definitely hit me on the back of my head and my left eye hurts. And, oh nice, I am tied up on a chair and gagged with a dirty cloth.
And I also think I am close to you or I wouldn’t have received this great reception huh?
I try to shake the sack away from my head but as soon as I move I hear someone shouting at me in Spanish and another slap on my face.
Ok, it’s not funny being treated as a punching ball. If I had the doubt I could be into S&M, well I have my answer now.
Then I hear a noise as if a heavy sliding door was being opened.
Then silence.
A deafening silence that lasts for one, infinite minute before the shouting starts again, in Spanish.
And I can’t understand one single word, but I recognize your voice.
I could recognize your voice even if you were speaking, Latin, German, or even fucking Gaelic.
Then the shouting stops and the sliding door opens and closes quickly.
I hear steps.
Your steps.
Tell me these are your steps, please.
I try to yell, but it’s useless.
Then the steps stop and I hold my breath.
It is you, Mick, right?
Now I have doubts. I can’t smell you from below this sack, but, also, would you smell the same?
I am still sitting in this chair when I feel the person in front of me straddling me.
And, yeah .
I recognize this weight.
You rode me too many times to not know what you feel like when you straddle me.
You remove the sack slowly from my head and when I see your face, I know that I just start living again now.
I was like a ghost after I left you at the border, but now I’m alive again.
Your eyes are wet and you have a light beard now. It suits you, baby. You’d be beautiful in any clothes, with any haircut, under any circumstance.
You check on me, touching my face so delicately.
I have always wondered how hands like yours, which have destroyed so many faces -mine included, could also deliver these soft touches.
You check my black eye and you grunt when you feel the small wound on the back of my head, but you still don’t talk, nor do anything to make me talk either.
Then you open your mouth. So slowly.
We are both crying quietly when you finally speak.
“They were saying there was un gingero , un rojo looking for me, but I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it could be you.”
I whine because I want to talk to you, but you clearly have more to say.
“You hurt me so fucking much, Ian.”
I nod and more tears leave my eyes, but I still can’t talk. And maybe it’s better. Mickey deserves to tell me everything he wants without interruptions.
“I-I- Fuck, Ian. I loved you, I went to prison for you and I fucking escaped for you, too. I can’t go back to fucking Chicago because I am a fugitive. And- And-”
I whine again -I can’t help it.
“And when I asked you to come with me, you blew me off. It was only a few months ago, why the fucking change of mind already? What the fuck could have possibly changed in a few months?”
I made a mistake, Mickey.
You have the right to be mad. You are 100% right, baby, but please. Let me talk, let me ask for your forgiveness.
“You know what pisses me off the most?” You ask then, and your hands are on my cheeks. You come closer and you smell me. I know you can smell my scent even below layers of dirt and blood. “The power you have over me.”
Then you kiss me. Or, well, I am still gagged so your lips are sucking my lower lip and my heart speeds up. And I moan -I want to be freed so that I can touch you and kiss you for real. I moan ‘cause I can’t help it, but I know I owe you to decide when to free me from these restraints.
When you pull back from my lips, you look into my eyes. “You could do everything to me. Destroy me, piece by piece. But I love you so much I would still come back to you.”
I close my eyes because the tears burn. Because the truth hurts too. I hate myself for all the pain I caused you and there is no lie in this.
I am ready to hear you say that I hurt you for the last time when you surprise me. You just sob and beg me. “Don’t hurt me again, Ian. Please.”
I call your name through the dirty cloth in my mouth and I am crying so much my face is completely wet and my nose is snotty and disgusting.
“If you hurt me again, I will just end it,” You say and I almost choke with my tears. “Because of your power, Ian. You understand?”
I nod and cough -I have saliva dripping from the sides of my mouth. Please, just let me-
You shush me and you cradle my head against your neck. You keep me there until I quiet down enough to stop sobbing and coughing. Then you pull my head back again and you kiss every inch of my face. But you still don’t free me. Is it cause you don’t want to hear what I have to say? You always say I talk too much, but I thought you actually liked it. But I have to admit, this circumstance is different.
“I see you are still taking your meds,” You say then and I am surprised at first, but then I realize that whoever abducted me must have taken my backpack. Did you see the notes too? “And I see the labels in Spanish, so you bought them here, too.”
I nod, simply.
“So you haven’t done all of this cause you are manic and took a trip.”
I shake my head fiercely because, no! You get it, right Mickey? You have to get this, and I know you do because you are the only one who never assumed I was out of my meds any time I was angry, or sad. Fuck, one bipolar motherfucker is entitled to have feelings and emotions. But you get this, Mick. You always did.
You nod, then and finally, finally put your hands on that crude gag to untie it.
And when I can finally talk, I don’t know what to say -all that I have to say is stuck in my chest.
“ Te ha comido la lengua el gato? ” You ask then, after a while, and you are smirking. God how beautiful you are. “I asked if the cat got your tongue? It seemed like you had a lot to say one minute ago.”
“Mickey-” I say before biting my lower lip to try and stop another two teardrops. “I am so, so sorry. I should have never left you. I- please, forgive me.”
“Will you hurt me again?”
I shake my head. “No, Mick. I promise.”
You inhale deeply. “Will you follow me?”
“Till the end of the world.”
“Good, 'cause we can’t stay in Mexico.”
“Mickey?”
“Terry knows I’m here.”
“I didn’t-”
“I know,” You say before grabbing my cheeks again. You kiss me briefly and I follow your lips when you pull back until I can physically do it. “We need a remote place, where they won’t give a fuck if we have false passports.”
“Mick-”
“I hope you weren’t expecting to come back to Chicago any soon.”
I try to push forward, but I am still tied up so I can only lay my forehead on your shoulder. “Chicago is not home, Mick. You are my home.”
You mumble -I know you are still rightfully angry. “I thought you had a boyfriend.”
I chuckle against your shoulder before pulling back. “I didn’t see that stopping me as soon as you were in the picture again.”
“I wasn’t in the picture anymore.”
“And yet, I came looking for you.”
You weigh my words while looking into my eyes. Those blue eyes that I love slowly melt from a harsh expression to a softer one. Then you grab the back of my head and we are both pulled into a kiss. A real kiss, no dirty clothes in between.
Kissing you has always taken my breath away, Mickey.
It’s ironic if I think about how stubborn you were in the beginning about kissing. But once you started, well -all your passion flows into your kisses. You have always struggled with your words, but your hands, your lips, and the actions perpetrated with those were always loud and clear.
How many times we have just spent time together in silence, yet, it was always great because then you would kiss me and caress me softly.
It’s not soft now, though.
In your kiss, there is your anger, for when I left you.
There is your relief because I came looking for you, and now you know that you are under my skin, too.
There is hope because a future in a remote place doesn’t seem so bad now that I am with you.
There is love. So much love.
I pull back first and I rub my whole face against yours -I need you so fucking bad. “Thank you, Mick.”
“What for?”
“‘Cause, well I don’t know if you forgave me already, not entirely at least. But- but you are giving me another chance.”
“Don’t waste it.”
I shake my head and we are kissing again, but your hands this time are not on my cheeks -they are going down behind my back to untie me.
I hug you as soon as I am free, I jump up from the chair bringing you with me and I know -I swear- I know that you don’t like to be lifted and carried like that, but you are allowing it now. We have been apart for longer than this, yet this time felt different. It felt like it was heavier -because it was.
You finally laugh, because I am making you pirouetting like a fucking fidget spinner and somehow you like it. Or you are just happy that we are together again.
You bring me to your place and our dynamic changes as soon as you close the door behind us. You offer yourself to me, you let me claim you back as mine and mine only. You give me the control back because you love to lose it when we fuck, when we make love, and when we are behind closed doors and you don’t have to keep your facade anymore.
You let me tear your clothes off of you as much as you eradicate mine and you barely want to be prepared, you need me, you need me, you need me .
And I need you.
I feel alive again, Mick.
I open your legs and I push inside you in just one thrust. It will be rough, Mick. I know you like it this way, and we really need to get it out of our system before we can do it slowly.
But we need our release, we need to feel close.
I love the way you lock your legs behind my back holding me there, pushing me even further against you, crashing you into the mattress. And you moan so loud yet so sweetly while you look for my lips again.
And I kiss you.
I will kiss you until I have breath in my lungs.
I will do my best to kiss you any moment I can, so that if the world will end, I will die with my lips on yours. And we will go to hell together. (And you’ll run that place too, baby.)
And I touch you while I thrust into you fast and hard. I fuck you while you kiss me but I can’t stop touching all your body until I grip your waist and hold you tight while I push into you even harder. I am dehydrated, tired, and exhausted, but I will always have the strength to fuck you the way you like it.
And you are so close that I can’t stop now. Come for me, Mick. Come and let it go.
Your anger, your sadness, your love.
Let go.
And when you do explode into your orgasm I can come too.
I don’t remember when it was the last time when we both came this hard.
I don’t remember if we have ever come this hard.
But it doesn’t matter. The past doesn’t matter.
The Southside doesn’t matter.
Our families don’t matter.
It’s only us now, for real.
It was never just us back in Chicago, but from now on, it will.
Only us.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I repeat over and over again while I crush onto you and you grip me tight -your legs are still all over my back and they won’t leave me.
Don’t be afraid, I won’t run away from you anymore.
I promise.
---
When I wake up, I see you are next to me and you are reading my notes while smoking.
You keep reading and you almost choke with the smoke and then you slap my arm.
“You gave a handy to a rando?”
“Keep reading, I needed the money and the meds.”
“Christ, Ian.”
You sigh and then restart reading -I have done worse after all and you seem to understand why I did it. You always understand.
You read the next note and I just stare at you, becoming accustomed again to just having you naked next to me, after sex, lovemaking, or just sleeping.
You are smiling then, reading the last note. You inhale deeply then and look at me. Your hand comes to my face and you are caressing me sweetly. I close my eyes and just savor this moment.
You scoot closer then and you lay down and move so that I can spoon you -you always love to be held after sex and I love that I am bigger than you so that I can accomplish that easily.
I kiss the back of your neck and hold you with all my strength. And I finally smell you deeply. You smell of musk, sex, tobacco, and me. That’s what completes the picture.
“You ready to do this, Gallagher?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know what I am talking about.”
“Whatever this is, as long as it’s with you, I’m ready.”
You roll on your side to face me and you kiss me -your arms are close around my neck and you could even choke me as far as I am concerned. I’d take it.
“So, what this is anyway?”
“Well, I told you that we can’t stay here.”
I close my arms around your waist and tangle our legs -there is no point in our bodies that is not touching in this way. “So. Where to?”
You study my expression and you know that I am not shitting around.
“You really are ready to run away from your family?”
“Yep.”
“Even from dear Lip?”
I snort. I will never understand your jealousy of Lip.
“Mick, stop testing me. I am doing this.”
You smile -I got you there.
“I’m thinking Puerto Rico. There is a place called Jobos, in Isabela, Puerto Rico. It’s big enough to allow us to start a small activity and live with it, but not as big as a capital with too many North Americans. You know, just in case.”
“Ok. Do you have a contact there?”
“Yes, someone who will help me -well, us, start.”
“Who is this contact?”
“Someone who owes me, big time.”
“So, not someone you gave a handy to?”
“I can’t believe you are the one acting like a jealous bitch now.”
I laugh and kiss you. If I don’t provoke you at least a little bit, it’s not funny, you know it, my love.
“Alright, so. New documents, right?”
“New documents, new identities, new life.”
“Sounds exciting. This contact of yours will help us with this too?”
“Yep.”
“My meds too?”
You kiss me and I know you are proud of me for keeping straight with my treatments. “Yes.”
We stay in silence for a while, just staring at each other, exchanging cuddles and touches. Then I have an idea.
“Hey.”
“Mh?”
“Since we are already changing names and everything -what if we make it as if we were married?”
Your eyebrows go up so high, so quickly that it’s genuinely hilarious.
Then, you surprise me. “What if we get married for real, instead?”
My heart is about to explode. “On a beach?”
“Duh. Obviously.”
“How do you say do you wanna marry me in Spanish?”
“ Quieres casarte conmigo ?”
“Should I be jealous that in just six months you already know how to ask that in Spanish?”
“It’s one of the first things I learned -imagine dropping this question outta nowhere? It can get you out of all sorts of situations.”
I laugh -he is a genius. “Unless it puts you in an entirely new situation. What happens if someone says yes?”
You smile softly. “Dunno. Hasn’t happened yet,” You say and you lower your voice. “ Quieres casarte conmigo, Rojo ?”
And, well. I don’t know a lot of Spanish yet, but even I know how to respond to that question. “ Si .”
***
We get married on Playa Jobos during a mid-summer night surrounded by some of the villagers who welcomed us and adopted us right after we arrived.
We have a small shop that sells ice cream, gelato, frozen yogurts, and any kind of iced beverages that goes along with the constant summertime climate of this amazing Caribbean Island. We are at the shop a lot, but work is never hard and it pays enough to have no worries at the end of the month.
We changed names when we came here, so everyone knows us as Evan and Rick, so when we slip and call each other by our real names we can always say that it’s because of our weird pronunciation.
The truth is that we learned Spanish pretty quickly, Mickey even better and faster than me, and we blend perfectly with the village and its people.
“ Buenos dias, Rojo, donde estas tu esposo ?”
Funny enough, people call me Rojo -Red- anyway.
“ En la playa para vender helato. Que necesitas ?”
“ Nada. Recuerda el helato para mas tarde .”
“ Si, no te preocupes. Hasta luego .”
That’s what we are now.
A couple of married men, living in a small village in Puerto Rico, joining the villagers for the weekly communal dinner. Because that’s how strong the sense of community is here.
And if in the beginning, I thought we might not like it, being used to a big city and whatnot, I was entirely wrong.
We have never been happier.
It turns out that removing ourselves from a toxic environment full of toxic people really did the trick.
I have never seen Mickey so serene and everyone here loves him. And I am so grateful that he gets to be appreciated by different people other than me.
Without prejudice about his family or his past.
Just being the amazing human being that I have always, always told everyone he has always been.
Now Mick is coming back from the beach -he has a big smile, so he either sold everything or he is very happy to see me.
He enters the shop showing off his empty portable fridge before pulling me in for a breathtaking kiss.
Both then. Nice.
“Mmh, someone is happy today.”
“Been happy since June 19, 2017.”
I smile. This romantic, sweet motherfuck.
June 19, 2017.
The day we met in Acapulco.
-------------------
