"It all makes sense." Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
I clamber eagerly back into the car, two piping-hot paper bundles cradled like babies in my hands, to see that Mikey’s still got his eyes shut; just as I instructed him from the moment we neared the first turning for our destination. It means a lot to me that he’s still got his eyes shut. A lot of people would have given up after the fifteen minute wait I had getting the paper bundles and I half expected Sweetness to have his eyes open for his own fear-ridden issues. I wouldn’t have minded if he did have those beautiful brown eyes open, I would’ve just chuckled and called him impatient, but because he has done as I asked it makes this moment all the sweeter.
Because I guess it means that Sweetness trusts me. Something that makes me feel even greater than I did on the day that I finally got my hands on my beloved car, even more elated than all of my childhood Christmases put together. All because I really love this cute little kid.
My cute little kid.
I slot into my seat and shut the door, leaving the bitingly cold air outside where it can’t snap at Sweetness. I take a moment to just gaze at him in complete love-struck awe; sleeping he looks less cute and more… beautiful. In a melancholy sort of way. When he’s asleep it looks like he’s a fragile porcelain doll, all pale skin and way too thin body, the kind with a radiance that catches you off-guard enough for you to just want to snuggle it into your arms like a little girl would. But then, like a porcelain doll, you have to realise that he’s not alive. Not really. Not inside. He’s been corroded away at by bullies and fears and something else that I don’t understand yet, like maggots eating out the heart of a, once stunning, corpse. I’m not saying that I don’t like who Mikey is, that couldn’t be further from the truth if it were jet propelling away from honesty on roller-skates, just that he’s not alive inside anymore. He’s still sweet and adorable and cute and kind and lovably loving, but there’s a certain way he speaks that tells me he’s dead.
Meaning that I have two options. Either get into metaphorical necrophilia, or bring him back to life. And I know that I’m going to bring him back to life, not simply because I can as the way I make him smile tells me I can, but because I want to. Because I love him more than I can ever remember loving anyone in my seventeen years on this earth. Which equates to both joy and agony. Agony because I have to watch him be frightened, had to watch him panic-attack and I have to delve deep into his traumas in such ways that it makes my heart break a trillion times over.
Joy because, well, because it’s Mikey fucking Way. My Sweetness.
I quickly scan the dash in front of me for the in-car clock; twelve fifteen in the afternoon. Lunchtime. Perfect.
“You can open your eyes now, Sweetness.” Without me realising, making it an innocent act of helplessly honest subconscious, my face is right next to his so that my breath tickles his skin and my words make his fringe flop up with turbulence. “Time for your surprise. And trust me; it’s way better than school.”
Of course it fucking is. A day spent in a snake-pit would be better than school for Mikey. Or on the same level anyway, being trapped inside a dark hole with nothing but a pack of venomous animals for company who are more likely to hurt him than simply let my poor baby be. It sickens me, as someone who once had to stomach twenty marmite and marshmallow fluff sandwiches in a row as part of a dare, that kids could treat another kid like that.
I’m not stupid, though; I know that pretty much every kid will get bullied at least once before graduation and that most kids will be the bully at least ten times before they learn better. But this, reducing a perfectly innocent kid to an introverted maze of anxieties, is pure victimization.
What happens to Mikey Way is not playground bullying. It’s mindless violence and vicious tormenting. It must be for Mikey to be like he is, even if I know that there is something else lurking back there in that pretty little head of his. A pretty little head that fits into my chest like a key into a lock; he opens up a part of me that I never really knew existed. The kind, caring part that tells me life isn’t just a game for me to cheat my way through, but something that can be used to help other people win.
I’m not interested in other people, though. Just Sweetness.
When he opens his eyes after a few seconds of some sort of inner debate, one that a horribly cynical part of me thinks is him deciding whether I’m tricking him or not, they at first settle on my face; on the smile that tells him he’s a beautifully good kid, on the eyes that are set to be enticing him into letting me in, on the boy that will have his heart so I can mend it with my own special brand of silken thread.
And then he looks out of the windscreen, face lighting up in pure delight and making my heart perform a jive in celebration for having made him so elated. I’m not sure whether he looks so happy because someone’s taken the time to take him someplace nice or if it’s because he likes that someplace, but I don’t care just so long as it does make him happy. Which it clearly is.
His awed little mouse squeak floods my insides with molten chocolate; a nice rich, sweet sensation of warmth drowning out all doubt that I ever had in this idea and making my insides melt at the sheer adorableness of the boy who might as well be wearing my name around his neck. Because he is my property. Mine. Not Gerard’s. Gerard had his chance and Mikey still wound up like he is, so now it’s my turn to make things perfect for my baby boy.
By bringing him to the beach. In the middle of winter.
Some people might think of this as flawed from the off, but then again, some people are idiots. You see, I was thinking about this all day yesterday as a plan that I would most likely have put into action without the whole panic attack thing, which just gave me extra motivation to go through with it. It would be more than fair to say that I’ve put a lot of thought into this, into taking Mikey Way to the beach when most people are inside a nice warm building with jumpers wrapped tightly around their skin. But that’s exactly the point; nobody else other than a few diehard surfers are here, meaning that the small parking lot is near-deserted and with no needle sharp eyes to stare harsh holes into Sweetness’ temporary happiness. I always did love the beach more in the winter anyway, when it looks so much more natural and raw than when it’s postcard-perfect.
“You like it, Sweetness?” I ask, voice full of gentle care when he fixes me with the most adulated look imaginable; the sort where tears are forming in his corneas and are about to erupt over the edges. “You happy here?”
He blinks at me, undoing his seatbelt so that he can turn his body so that we’re facing one another with only the gearstick between us. The look on his face, it’s just so perfect. Just how I wanted it to be but so much more. Like I’m giving him the greatest gift possible just by being here with him and sharing one of my favourite places with one of my favourite people. I scoot to the very edge of my seat, heart racing as he moves to do the same, and I open up my legs so that his can slide in between them, giving us more room to get closer to one another. I tighten my legs around his, savouring the way that I can just feel every part of those willowy masterpieces, and shiver at the way he gasps.
It’s a shiver that I have absolutely no control over but a shiver that makes me sure that this is the right thing to be doing. I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t sure it was the right thing for Mikey; I’m the one looking after him here, making sure everything’s good for him. The shiver sends sparks down my spine, igniting something within me that I’ve never felt on this level before. It’s kind of like lust, but so much more than that. Lust, but without the uncaring desire; this is just pure love, a longing for me to get inside his head first and his pants later. Much, much later when I know that it has absolutely no chance of confusing or upsetting him.
That would just be wrong. No matter how much the idea of getting in his pants makes me sweat in places that I didn’t realise could sweat before I met Mikey Way, places that have never before been affected by any other boy, I can’t just get into Mikey like I know I can because he’d be too weak and shy to tell me no or to push me off. No, I have to wait until I know that he’s ready; not when he thinks he’s ready, but when I know it for a fact that he is. I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll wait. Because I really do love him.
“I love it!” He beams at me, smile so wide that it nearly knocks me back with it’s beauty. “There’s seagulls and everything, Pete!”
A chuckle explodes from my mouth at how childlike, how cute, he sounds. Just like a little kid going to the circus for the first time and seeing some sort of high wire act. He’s looking out of the window, eyes captivated by the not-so-special sight of an obese bird tumbling gracelessly through the sky. But that’s just him, isn’t it? Finding something so simple and, if I’m honest, a little ugly as something beautiful. I guess that’s what you have to do when you know the world to be an extremely hideous place.
He looks a little hurt at my chuckle, something that makes me regret it wholeheartedly, but then that soon gets washed away like sand on the shore by the overpowering currents of adulation and adoration in my eyes, telling him that I’m chuckling in awe at his cuteness rather than to be mean. Not that I ever could be mean to my Sweetness. I just have to make him see that. See how much I love him without creeping him out. Although, judging by the way that he’s interlocked his legs with mine I doubt that there are many things that I could do that would creep the poor kid out.
Either that or he just doesn’t care anymore. A cynical thought, I know, but an undeniably viable one. But I’m going to change that viability into impossibility by the time I have him back at home tonight.
“Guess what else there is.” I grin, waving the two paper bundles in the air and placing one on his lap, earning an eagerly inquisitive look from my Sweetness. “Chips!” He blinks at me in confusion for a few seconds, slowly unwrapping his bundle as I do the same with my own. “Fries, but done English style. The guy who owns the kiosk I got them from is some British gent, says they’re made the same way as they are over the pond. Perfect for eating by the beach!”
His face falls, just as an annoying little part of me told it would do, when he unravels the paper to reveal the smallest portion that the guy did. It only cost one dollar ten, but it still looks huge against Mikey’s frail hands, like he’s just been served up a feast fit for a king. But that’s crazy because I went for the three dollar option and that looks like barely enough to get me by, thus proving my theory that Mikey Way is far too skinny. He must be to make a kid’s portion look monumental. A fact that means he’s going to be eating the entirety of his small meal, no matter how much persuasion it takes.
“I-I, thanks, Pete. I appreciate it; really, I do, but I just… I can’t.” He stumbles over the words, sounding as though he’s trying to be his own lawyer in a death-penalty case and the odds are stacked against him. “I’m sorry.”
I almost miss his quiet apology, but I don’t and I very nearly wish that I had. At least that way I could pretend that something I did didn’t ruin his happy mood, but I did hear it and now I know that he’s feeling less than good. Less than a sweet little kid with a lifetime’s worth of misery backing his thought processes should ever have to feel. I knew that the whole chips thing was a risk, what with his worrying aversion to food, but I thought that it would pay off because, well, every risk I’ve taken so far has. Guess it’ll teach me not to be so goddamn cocky.
No. I have done the right thing; he didn’t eat anything at breakfast and, actually, I haven’t seen him eat at all since his bonehead big brother punched me in the face whilst my poor Sweetness was there to watch. Basically, he needs to eat something and I’ve produced him with one of the most delicious savoury foods known to humankind. Now I just have to get him to eat them, all of them.
First though, I’ve got to make him feel not sorry. Because he hasn’t done anything wrong; he’s just a frightened, confused kid trying to disappear from a world that wants to stamp him out.
“Don’t be sorry, Sweetness. I’m not mad.” I keep my voice smooth and calm, with a glint of seduction hanging in the back of my tone to encourage Mikey to want to do something that’ll please me. And for once that something isn’t a blowjob like the tone would lead up to with anyone else, but something that will actually benefit Sweetness more than me. “I’ll never get mad with you, Sweetness, and you’ll never have anything to be sorry for with me. Got it?”
He looks up from where his eyes had dropped to his food, those stunning irises brimming with tears of a bizarre cocktail of emotions; three parts longing, two parts fear, one part desperation and four parts a mishmash of unpleasant things that I can’t quite place. Mixed together to make some sort of cyanide-like poison, seeping into my eyes and making them want to bleed along with Mikey’s own disbelieving crown jewels, the tears starting to drip like blood from under his glasses. I only wanted to make him, my Sweetness, happy. But I guess I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. It never is.
“Hey, hey, hey! No tears, not at the beach. The beach is a happy place, Sweetness. Our happy place.” The words are a hoarse whisper, ravaging sympathy tearing at my voice box and making me fight to keep it all in for Mikey’s sake. “Just me and you and your seagull. Nothing else matters to me right now, Mikey Way. Just you.”
His eyes are like diamonds, apart from they make diamonds seem worthless compared to his dazzling shine, and are drilling into my subconscious like a state-of-the-art pneumatic. It’s a nice drilling though, the kind of drilling that makes you feel like all of the negative emotions have be mined out of you because nothing can ever be bad if you’re seeing such beauty.
Wow. That sounded poetic. I’ve definitely been hanging around ‘Trick way too much.
“M-me?” I just nod, unable to formulate words strong enough for any reply to be accurate. “Why?”
Oh, Sweetness. You really are too fucking adorable. But in a sad way, a horribly sad way because nobody should ever doubt that they’re cared about. Much less a kid with nothing but sweet innocence and honest kindness hidden within the fear that grips his heart. He’s far too special to be questioning something like this, even if the way he does so is ridiculously cute, because he’s the most cared about person I know. Not because Geetard cares about him, apparently nowhere near enough because Sweetness is still this introverted. Not because ‘Trick cares about him, just like he does with everyone within his line of sight.
Because I care about him. More than everyone else cares about everything put together. And I’m going to fix him.
No, not fix him; he’s not a broken robot. I’m going to make him better, nurse him back to the self-esteem and confidence levels that a beautiful boy like him should have without question.
“Silly question, Sweetness.” He raises an eyebrow, looking torn between smiling and bursting into tears. “That’d be like asking a rose why it’s red. It just is, because that’s how it’s meant to be.”
I reach out a hand to his packet of fries, taking the smallest one I can find in my fingers and hold it up to his mouth. He liked it when I fed him on Saturday, maybe even loved it, so what harm can it do to try that tactic again? Sure, I might be taking advantage on his slightly obvious crush, but it’s for his own good. Mine too.
“C’mon, eat up. I’ve got another surprise for you when you’re done.” I grin, pressing the chip against his petal-like lips until they slide open. It’s only a tiny little thing, but he still takes it down a nibble at a time, chewing it into nothingness before he gulps each bite down as though it’s poisoned. “Good boy, Sweetness. My good boy.”
I wince as those last three words slip past my love-drunk lips, praying that it didn’t come across as being as possessive to him as it sounded to be to me. Even if he is my boy, my property, he might not feel comfortable with hearing it. Or he might think that I’m taking the piss because nobody’s ever wanted them to be theirs before. Or he might go home and tell Geetard that I’m giving him weird pet names and molesting the tops of his legs whilst driving.
Or he might just not want to be mine.
My breath hitches in my throat, caught on all of those little coat hooks of doubt, eyes wide and intent on my younger companion. Waiting for a response, for anything to tell me that I haven’t frightened/upset/insulted him in any possible way. And in return I see a small, pallid hand pick up one of the golden fingers of fried potato, a huge one this time, and stuff it straight into that cute little mouth of his.
Fuck yes, I did the right thing. More righter than anything else I’ve ever done before.
And it feels fucking fantastic. More fantastic than fucking.
He glances up at me once he’s swallowed, waiting for my approval at something that I thought I wouldn’t be able to get him to do with just simple words of honesty. Words that sparked a reaction strong enough to give him the willpower to beat whatever evil force that stops his appetite from winning out over his insecurities. My heart Catherine-wheels at the sight of him looking so dependent on my praise, just seeing that I have the power to have such a positive effect on my sweet little Sweetness meaning more to me than blood means to a vampire. More than anything has ever meant to anyone.
Because I got Sweetness to eat all by himself!
“That’s it, Sweetness. My good boy, all mine.” I murmur, pressing my lips to his ears and making him blush like he did when I nipped his earlobe this morning. Something that, whilst a spur-of-the-moment action, made me want him all the more. “My Sweetness.”
I snake my tongue out of it’s cave, slowly licking along the icy skin where the start of his jaw bone shows through underneath his ear, taking in the way he tastes of pure purity. Something perfectly innocent and ready to be corrupted, my tongue dragging out it’s journey, swirling soft spirals with it’s tip in such a way that makes Mikey burn. Just like my heart does at the mere sight of him. My warm, cautious serpent slides up to his ear and, just as earlier today, fastens around his lobe before my teeth tug at it softly. In such a way to give the impression that I want him, but not in such a way that makes me come across as forceful. Just ready to be here for him, to love him. I reposition my lips to be by his ear once more, his hair tickling the side of my face like goose-feathers.
“God, you’re beautiful.” I sigh, voice all breathy dreaminess. “Don’t you ever let anyone tell you any different, Sweetness.”
I pull away from him, an act that earns an involuntary whimper on his part and immediately makes me feel empty. Like without him a millimetre apart from me I am nothing; my soul stuck inside his heart, giving it the strength to keep on beating. Or rather, keep on eating.
He is still nibbling away, chip after chip flying into his mouth as though he’s suddenly just realised that not-eating makes you really fucking hungry. When I’m satisfied that he’s doing alright, I tuck into my own portion. They don’t satisfy me though, just taste pointless and dull even though I know that they’re the finest my money can buy. I think that it’s because they’re not Mikey and nothing can taste as good as his skin does, not even Pop-Tarts on a cold winter’s night. But I’ve got to lead by example, so I set to work shovelling my food back, occasionally checking that Sweetness is going good. Of course, me being me, mine are gone in four fistfuls and I’m left with nothing but grease-slicked paper, gazing contently out of the window at the world passing by.
Until I feel a soft, almost meek, tap on my shoulder making me turn to see Sweetness holding something out to me.
It’s a scrunched-up wrapper, smothered in grease and reeking of vinegar. Because, holy shit, he’s done it. He’s managed to eat more food in one sitting than I saw him eat over the entire weekend. And I couldn’t be any prouder.
“Did I do good?” He mewls, looking so nervous that I think I might just dissolve into nothing at the cuteness of it all.
“No, Sweetness.” I smirk, the upturn of my lips catching him before his trembling lower-lip lets him fall. “You did better than good. You did fucking amazing, you hear me? Amazing. I’m so proud of you, Sweetness. Don’t you ever forget it.” I make my smile dull down; my face as serious as my tone is sincere, leaving absolutely no room for him to doubt my words of pure pride for the boy who may as well be my partner for how much I care about the sweet little thing. “C’mon, c’mere, Sweetness.”
I throw my empty wrapper on the floor and pull Mikey across the car to be perched on the edge of my seat, the two of us sat on the driver’s chair. There’s not a great amount of room so, doing the only sensible thing, I heave him up onto my lap and hold him close. He snuggles right on into me, something that I was too afraid of disappointment to expect but still hoped for, and I nestle my head into his neck, relishing it’s warmth like he is with my chest.
“You’re too cute, you are.” I mumble lazily, the small compliment making Mikey grab at me even harder as though he thinks I’ll leave him if he doesn’t. “Oh, think you can do something for me, Sweetness?”
“Anything.” He replies without a second’s hesitation.
Good; he trusts me.
But is that really a good thing? If I betray that trust, something that I think will probably be a lot easier to do than it was to earn, I don’t even want to think about the sort of affect that it would have on him. As far as I can tell, the only other person he trusts in the whole wide world is Gerard. Meaning that I make up half of his support barrier, a barrier too vitally important to ever get broken.
“Turn on the CD player.”
He nods, quickly following my order before leaning back against me once more, just where he belongs.
Before barely a second has passed “Burnout”, the first track on Dookie, is pumping through the car like a hurricane, making Sweetness squeal in delight. I remembered that he told me he can play it all on bass and so I made sure I had a copy to hand in my car. Just for him.
“Thank you, Pete! Thank you! You’re the bestest guy ever!” He practically yells, eyes burning bright with happiness as I press a smile into his hair. “You really are! You’re the first guy not to punch me since… Um… Since…”
His lost little voice starts to trail off, killing the tiny spark of hope that had been igniting his precious pupils. That’s how bullying works though; it’ll never leave the victim, constantly worming it’s way through their tortured mind until only fear and self-hate is left. I just don’t understand how someone could want to do that to Mikey Way, how they could just wreck him inside like he’s not the super-sweet cutie that he is. I guess it doesn’t matter how, just that they did and that I’m going to make it all go away.
Or at least hurt a little less.
“Mikey, just because I don’t hurt you it doesn’t make me a good guy. It just makes me normal, Sweetness.” I sigh, letting my arms drop to be encircling his full belly so that my thumbs can ease delicate patterns on it. “It isn’t right for someone to hit you. You got that?”
“Then why did Dad do it?”
There’s an agonizing expanse of silence, Mikey looking up at me expectantly, and all of a sudden everything clicks into place; the jumpiness, the abandonment issues, the lack of trust, no self-belief. It all makes sense. Horrible sense that should be nonsense because beating a kid is wrong. So, so wrong and appalling and disgusting. The thought of my Sweetness getting hurt like that, by his own dad, it’s just… I don’t even want to describe it. It’s excruciating just to think about. But it makes so much sense.
And then a second bombshell hits me; he’s just trusted me with a huge secret. One that I think he’s only told me because he needs comforting over it. I’ll try my best to comfort it away, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that I can make it all just be normal and good. Nobody can do that for him, nobody can erase the memories of his dad punching him like he’s just told me the bastard did, but I can help him deal with it. Of course I fucking can. And of course I fucking will. It would be a sin, the kind that I actually worry about committing, not to.
“Sweetness, when… What…” I clear my throat, not all that surprised to find tears clogging it. “What did your dad do to you? I need you to tell me, okay?”
He takes a shaky breath, hands clinging onto the fabric of my t-shirt like his life depends on it, and slowly nods his head. I press a quick kiss onto his forehead, letting him know that I’m here and ready to listen whenever he’s ready to talk.
“He’d get drunk and I’d just get in the way all the time.” There’s a dash of shame in his voice, telling me all that I need to know about how this affected him psychologically. Poor, poor Sweetness. “It wasn’t so bad; Gee always cleaned me up and put me in bed when it got real bad.”
Gee. Gerard. Not Geetard at all; just a guy looking out for a baby brother who he’s had to watch suffer way too much. And I treated him like shit.
All of a sudden I feel like I deserved that punch he gave me, and another twenty on top of it. But that’s not important right now, what is important is that Mikey’s telling me all of this so that I can help him cope with it. So I slowly rock him back and forth, my thumbs still at their post on his tummy, humming along to the background noise of the too-jolly Green Day CD.
My poor little baby; too much hurt for a too innocent heart.
“You didn’t deserve it, Sweetness. Any of it. And I’m so sorry that it happened to you.” I whisper, my lips once more at his ear. “I’ll never let anyone touch you again, Sweetness. You’re mine. You’ll never not be mine. Ever.”
My voice is shaking with a strange seriousness that I’ve never had to use before and I find myself blinking back tears, forcing myself to stay strong for Sweetness. He lolls his head back on my shoulder, snuggling right in like he can just hide away from everything. I wish that he could; that way nothing bad could ever happen to him ever again. Not that it will anyway, not now that he has me.
I look down at him when I hear a kitten-like yawn spring from his lips, seeing that he’s gone all droopy-eyed from a bittersweet mixture of emotional exhaustion and a full belly. My hand raises to his head and cups his cheek, stroking his jawline in a way that makes my fingertips tingle. In a way that would be a lot more pleasurable if only it weren’t a necessity and just a primal want. He yawns again, this time rubbing his face against my hand like a puppy asking to be stroked and so I oblige, running my fingers carefully through his hair.
“Go to sleep, Sweetness. I’ll keep you safe.” I hush down to him just as his eyes start to slip shut. “I tell you what, Sweetness; the sunset here is beautiful. You take a nap and I’ll wake you up in a few hours’ time so we can watch it.”
“Promise you’ll wake me?”
“I promise, Sweetness. We’ll watch the sun go down together.”
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and I hope that this was alright! I was off school today with a cold, so sorry if it sucked. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)