Going home would only be better if he hadn't left in the first place. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
I’ve never liked flying, hated it in fact. The feeling of your life resting solely on the shoulders of the man or woman controlling what is basically a tin can full of people being jet-propelled across the world. All it takes is one wrong move and BAM! You’re dead. Falling through the sky and without a pulse before you even hit the ground. It’s not only that though, it’s the feeling of being miles from the ground; the feeling of being miles away from him.
From my Mikeymouse.
That’s about the one good thing about this flight, it means that I’ll be home and with my baby in a matter of hours. I’ll have him safe and in my arms by teatime. Just like he should have been for the past two weeks.
Don’t get me wrong, it was great spending time with Mom in China, but it would have been so much better if I could have seen my Mikes every day. If I could have seen that he’s really doing alright without me as opposed to just taking his word for it.
Every time I closed my eyes the only thing I could see was the angry red regiments that stood to attention on his wrists and forearms when I finally figured out that he was hurting himself. That broke my heart when I found out. Not so much the fact that his pure porcelain had been obstructed by those worryingly deep slices of sincere agony, but rather the fact that he didn’t tell me. That he actually went out of his way to hide it from me. That he did that to himself instead of coming to me for help, that he didn’t even come to me to clean up his self-inflicted wounds.
When I found the cuts, cuts that left my poor little angel with nasty scars to constantly remind me how much I let him down, he’d looked almost as though he was afraid of my reaction. Fuck that; he’d tried to squirm out of my grasp and run from my bedroom. Not that a skinny twig of fifteen-year-old is any match for the strength of a love-ignited eighteen-year-old’s muscular arms. I calmed him down, though. Cleaned him up too until the only indication that he was hurt was the soft white bandage wrapped delicately around his arms.
It still kills me inside thinking about it. About how he sniffled and whimpered as I doused his arms in peroxide; about how he scurried and flinched when I yanked up the sleeves of his Misfits hoodie; about how he just didn’t trust me enough to let me help him until it was too late.
But he promised he’d never do it again. And my Mikey isn’t a liar. If something was wrong, if he’d done that to himself again, he would have told me. I know he would have. I’m his boyfriend, just like he is mine, and we trust each other. We have to; I’m all that poor kid has besides neglectful parents, an alcoholic big brother and a whole lot of brainless tormentors.
It makes my blood boil in my heart like lava in a volcano, the thought of those idiots at our pathetic excuse for a high school. In fact, I think those bastards hurt him more than his parents’ neglect and blatant lack of love for my adorable little boyfriend. They’ve changed him, made him even worse than he was when I first met him; they’ve made it so he finds trust impossible and expects pain from everyone until they prove they won’t hurt him. He barely talks anymore, he even struggles to talk to me sometimes and I know that destroys him inside.
He doesn’t mean to get frightened, of course the poor kid doesn’t, but there’s only so much a person can take.
Daily beatings, catcalls, being invisible, getting constantly yelled at by his parents and treated like shit by pretty much everyone, is apparently beyond what a person can take.
Of course it is. Way, way beyond what a normal person can take. If anything, my Mikey’s a hell of a lot stronger than people give him credit for; the fact that he can still find it in his heart to love after all the shit he’s been dragged through proves that.
As does his promise not to cut.
He’s made me so proud, my sweet little mouse, and I know that he won’t believe me when I say it, but it’s true. Not only is he strong, he’s selfless too. Beautifully selfless in a way that makes me feel like I don’t deserve such a perfect little broken-winged baby. I know he doesn’t like it when I’m not close enough to clutch him tightly to my chest, hence the reason for our endless reams of sleepovers, so for him to tell me that I could to China took a lot of guts.
But I wish he hadn’t told me to go. At least if I was with him right now instead of on my plane home, sat in between my snorting mother and some hyperactive kid who can’t stop kicking the chair in front, I would know that he’s really alright as he claimed to be in his texts.
Of course he is. He wouldn’t lie to me. I know he wouldn’t.
Apart from it’s not lying if he’s doing it because he thinks it’s the right thing, in that case it’s just him covering things up because that’s the kind of heart-meltingly nice person he is underneath all of the introverted uncertainty.
No, he’d have told me. If not of his own accord, then definitely when I asked him if he’d done something stupid. He’d have told me. I make him feel loved enough to trust me, right?
Before I can dwell on that scary thought, scary because I honestly don’t know the answer, I look down at the soft toy in my lap. It’s a panda, all fluffy fur and open arms ready to give one of the most gentle and enjoyable hugs I’ve ever received from an inanimate object. I bought it for Mikes, his very own Peterpanda to look after him and hug him whenever I’m not around to. It cost me the last of my holiday money but I know it’ll be worth it when I see the smile on Mikey’s face at the thought of someone thinking of him enough to buy him a present.
He’ll love it. I know he will.
Just like I know he would have told me if something was seriously wrong.
I’m being the overprotective boyfriend that Patrick, my best friend of ten years, tells me I’m constantly being. ‘Trick says that I’m always treating Mikes like a baby, that I’ve got to give the kid a chance to do things on his own for once instead of doing everything for him. I can’t help doing everything for him, though. It’s in my nature to look after the vulnerable. Especially someone as vulnerable and sweet and adorable as my Mikey Way.
I guess this is me, letting him do things on his own for once. Just like Patrick told me to.
But what if nobody’s looking out for him or after him? What if people are being mean to him? What if he’s lonely? What if he’s relapsed into his old habit?
What if I’ve let him down?
No. He’d have told me.
He trusts me.
He has to be.
A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope this was alright! There will definitely be another part up soon, so if anyone has anything they’d like to see/ideas for it I’d love to know! Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think. :)