June 27th, 1969. The heated summer months hung over the city, ready to suffocate its inhabitants as our four fearless friends tried to hold on to the last hope of success and glory. Time dragged on as Micky kept off the drugs, and Mike continued to see the beast. On the brighter side, Peter was still spending most of his time with Jane, and Davy was wandering the village in his never-ending search for new lovers; but they too would soon succumb to the inevitable grip of doom.

Yet another afternoon at the breakfast table. Davy was going through the morning paper, while Mike worked on his second bowl of cornflakes. Micky was still in bed, and Peter was in the bedroom getting ready for his trip to see Jane.

“So, what’s goin’ on today, Mike?” Davy said, keeping his face hidden behind the paper.

“Lauren,” Mike muttered, finding his cornflakes more interesting.

“Oh...okay – bad subject. Hey, Micky’s been actin’ strange lately.”

“What now?”

“I don’t know – just not himself.”

“What does that mean? He’s never been himself.”

“Yeah, well...’e’s still late to all the gigs, and he never talks anymore.”

“So, whadaya’ want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, Mike, but you never put up with it before.”

“I’m real tired of Micky’s problems.”

“Mike...you’re the only one ‘e listens to.”

“Look, I got him off drugs. What the hell else do I have to do – I’m not his mother.”

“No, I thought you were his friend, but forget I mentioned it.”

“Come on, Davy – he’s a fuckin’ lunatic...he always has been – nothin’ I say is gonna’ change that.”

“So your just gonna let ‘im go on like this?”

“Like what?”

“He’s gonna break up the band, ya know.”

“I don’t even care anymore,” he said as Peter entered the room.

“Hey guys, I think we have mice,” Peter announced.

“Whadaya’ mean?” Davy asked.

“Look at this book.” Peter laid a book down on the table in front of them that indeed looked as if the pages had been nibbled on by some small creature.

Davy picked up the book to inspect the pages, “He’s right, Mike. I think we have mice.”

Mike rolled his eyes as if it took the last ounce of his energy for the gesture. “So, we have mice. That’s my problem too?” and with that he got up to get ready for a day with Lauren.

“I guess we have to call an exterminator,” Peter said as he took Mike’s seat to join Davy at the table. “What’s Mike so upset about?” he added after Mike left the room.

“I don’t know, but I wish ‘e’d get over it.”

Without the distraction from the drugs, there was nothing to keep Micky from falling deeper into his depression, and as he did he became more withdrawn from the others. Eventually reality started to dissolve into what used to be a whim of his imagination, and now the fantasy had begun to interrupt his dreams. He started to dread the night when he would have to sleep, and listen to the voice again, and again. It was more frightening when Mike wasn’t in the next bed, and he would have to endure the night by himself; he felt like a child afraid of the dark, and he couldn’t tell Mike what was bothering him – he would think he was being silly, or worse...crazy. He had to be careful around Mike now. After the “incident” when Mike hit him and locked him up in the bedroom, Micky had become a little afraid of him and he was worried that Mike had lost patients with him – he was right. Mike was becoming more and more distant. He’d pushed Mike too far with the drugs, and now he didn’t know how to make it up to him; he didn’t dare tell him about the latest problem, but he really needed to talk to someone before he looses his mind. As much as Mike hated being around Lauren, he stayed with her to avoid having to deal with Micky. Even without the drugs, he was still being moody and irresponsible; it was enough to get on anyone’s nerves. So, Micky did what he could to avoid annoying Mike, and he would try to remain awake every night that he was alone, which took its toll on the days.

Micky was still in bed lying awake, and staring at the wall when Mike walked in the room. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep as Mike got dressed, and sat down on his bed to pull on his boots. He looked over at Micky and shook his head in disgust; he knew he would sleep all day since he was awake all night, and kept Mike awake most of it too. Mike couldn’t even guess what Micky’s problem could be this time, nor was he that interested in finding out. His gaze was still fixed on the sleeping figure when Micky opened his eyes. Mike was a little startled at first, and a little annoyed; he got up without saying a word and left the room. Micky didn’t move. He wanted to say something to Mike, but he left too quickly. It didn’t really matter; Micky didn’t know what to say anyway. An apology maybe? A pointless question about where he was going? He managed to only irritate Mike more.

Later in the day, Davy made his walk to Butch’s for his daily diversion hoping he wouldn’t be busy with someone else. You can never tell with Butch these days; sometimes he would spend a full week with no one but Davy, and other times he would avoid him like the plague – this was one of those times. So, with Davy badly in need of a blowjob, he went to seek out a new lover at one of his favorite spots. It was late in the evening, and the Stonewall was already teeming with the usual crowd of gays, lesbians, drag queens, transvestites, and the sporadic straight couple. Anyone was welcome at the lively dance club, and no one cared what you were into. It was one place that Davy would start the night out with, and then eventually wind up at the bathhouse not far away, but tonight would take a different turn. His eye caught an adorable, young blonde over at the bar, so he closed in quickly to make his move. He had become quite an expert at the art of picking up attractive young men. Actually, it wasn’t all that different from picking up women, so the learning process was a quick one. He sat himself down making sure to brush up against his target of interest. “’ello love,” he said in his sexiest voice, and his night was off to a start.

Meanwhile, back at the pad, Mike was fast asleep in his own bed for a change, while Micky noisily tossed and turned. Mike had gotten so used to the commotion in the next bed that he could usually sleep right through it, until a deafening shriek woke him. He rolled over to find the source, and wasn’t surprised to see Micky in the middle of another bad dream, but he had never screamed in his sleep before. Mike hurried over to the other bed to wake him before someone in the building suspected a murder being committed. “Micky,” he said as he tried to shake him awake, but as soon as he touched him it set off another, louder cry, this time with flailing arms in an effort to keep away whatever it was Micky was dreaming about. His fist accidentally connected with Mike’s jaw, and Mike had to hold down his arms so he could escape a second blow. He shook him hard, and Micky finally sat up dazed.

“Micky...you okay?”

“Huh?”

“What the hell was that all about?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“What’s goin’ on, Mick?”

“Nothing...I don’t know,” was his confused response. He looked up into Mike’s eyes hoping to find some comfort, or sympathy.

Mike stared back at him, seeing his friends fear and bewilderment, 'He’s worse than a child,' he thought.

His cold stare didn’t bring Micky the compassion he looked for, so he decided to keep his nightmares to himself until Mike was a bit more receptive. He knew Mike was annoyed with him; he had too many problems and always needed help with something – Mike just didn’t have the time for him anymore. “I’m sorry I woke you, Mike,” was all he allowed himself to say.

“It’s okay Mick, just go back to sleep.” He rubbed his sore jaw and left Micky for his own bed, while Micky laid his head back down on the pillow and stared into the darkness. He didn’t want to go back to sleep because the voice would only come again, and that would bring on another nightmare, and that would wake Mike. So, he kept himself awake by thinking about the days surfing in California, and then about the days he spent making love to Charlie, and finally about the days he spent high on drugs – that was the most tempting; it was the only time that life was truly painless.

Back at the Stonewall, the night was still young. Davy didn’t even know the name of the handsome, young blonde hidden under the table giving him head. He decided he just might not make it to the bathhouse tonight, but that didn’t matter – this was just as good. He sat back and closed his eyes trying to keep his face from giving away what was happening between his legs, when suddenly there seemed to be a loud disturbance at the front of the club. The young man at Davy’s crotch popped his head up when he heard the commotion, “Oh-no, not another raid,” he said almost casually.

“Raid?!” an alarmed Davy responded.

“It’s been happening every week.”

“I’m here all the time, an’ I never saw any raid.”

“Well then, this’ll be your first.”

They spotted the NYPD officers making their way through the club, searching for a few troublemakers to arrest. One of the cops spotted Davy. “We’d better get outta’ here unless you wanna’ spend the night in jail,” the blonde boy told him and left for the rear exit.

Davy had a split second to zip up his pants before one of New York’s finest grabbed him by his arm and effortlessly lifted him off his seat. He would have put up a fight, but thought about it first: maybe if he cooperates he can stay out of jail tonight. He was escorted outside the social establishment, and onto the street which was now lined with the colorful occupants of the club. As Davy stood and watched, the crowd grew bigger and angrier; someone threw a beer bottle at a cop, and the next moment all hell broke lose. Queens everywhere were tossing their wigs for something sturdier to hurl at a cop. The atmosphere of the raid turned into a carnival, and Davy couldn’t resist joining in all the fun. But just as he was about to throw his first high-heeled shoe through the already smashed front window, he was interrupted with a lift off the ground by a cop, and shoved into the police van. “Shit!” he thought to himself, “I should’ve just gone home. How am I gonna explain this to Mike?”

The next day over the cornflakes, Davy was noticeably missing. “Where the fuck is Davy?” Mike asked, irritated that Davy had decided not to stick to their agreement.

“I don’t know, Mike,” Peter answered, “He’ll probably be here soon.”

“He’s supposed to be here now.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mike,” Peter said looking over at Micky who seemed more upset at Mike’s hostility than at Davy’s disappearance, so he got up from the table and went back to the bedroom. They all had made a promise to make it home for breakfast from now on, so that everyone could keep in touch with what was happening. Actually, it was a last effort to keep the band together since they were all starting to stray a bit too far. But besides the band, Micky liked to see his friends everyday, and everyone agreed they would try to help him through his current crises, though no one knew yet what that crises was, it seemed to be getting worse.

“Mike, you really should try to be more patient when Micky’s around.”

“Please Pete, don’t start with me – he had me up half the night again.”

“Why? What happened?”

“The same thing that happens every night.”

“He’s just goin’ through a hard time, Mike.”

“Well, it’s gone on long enough – he’s drivin’ me crazy...Ya know he hit me last night.”

“Sorry Mike. We could switch rooms.”

“No...that’ll only make him worse.”

“You should talk to him.”

“I’ve tried.”

Peter hated to see his friends not getting along. It was clear Mike didn’t want to deal with the situation anymore, so Peter left his cornflakes and went into the bedroom to try and cheer Micky up. “Micky?” he said quietly, after cracking open the door to peak in. He found Micky sitting on his bed with a book; he gave no acknowledgment that anyone was there – he didn’t look up and he didn’t say anything, so Peter walked over to him, “Micky...what are you doing?” Still no answer. “Mike,” he shouted to the next room, and Mike arrived at the door.

“Oh god...what now?” He muttered as he watched the scene before him, and walked to the bed. “Micky? What are ya doin?” He turned his attention to Peter, “Well, I guess we found our mouse.”

“It isn’t funny, Mike.”

“No...I know.” Mike sighed as he watched an expressionless Micky quietly bent over the book on his lap, carefully tearing tiny pieces of paper off of each sheet, which left a huge pile of the torn pages all over him and the bed. Mike sat down on the bed next to him, “Micky...what’s wrong?” When he got no response he grabbed Micky’s busy hands, “Micky...stop!” That seemed to get his attention; he finally looked up at Mike as if Mike were crazy for bothering him while he was trying to read. “Micky, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing Mike.”

“Nothing? Well, whadaya’ doin’, man?”

“Reading.”

Mike took the book from him and threw it on the bed. “If this is a joke Mick, it isn’t funny.”

“Huh?” Micky said looking very confused.

Mike inspected his face carefully, looking for any sign of the truth. Micky wasn’t joking – he just wasn’t that good. Mike put his head in his hands and sighed.

“What are we gonna do, Mike?” Peter asked.

Mike looked back at Micky. “Micky...ya gotta snap outta this...you’re gonna break up the band,” Mike said with frustration.

“I’m sorry, Mike.”

Mike got up and left the room, with Peter right behind him. “He needs a doctor, Mike.”

Mike considered Peter’s comment for a moment, “He’ll be alright...just leave him alone for a while.”

Meanwhile, Davy spent the day sitting in the local precinct jail. Just his luck to be arrested on a Friday night, now he’ll have to wait till Monday morning to get out. He tried to call Butch, but he was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t call Mike – what would he say? How could he possibly explain himself? It was bad enough getting arrested and winding up in jail, but what was he doing in a gay club? No. Better to sit in jail then to let out his secret to his friends.

The jail was interesting enough anyway; filled with the drag queens, and leather boys arrested along with him. Some of them could be a little scary, he thought, many of them tried to pick him up. 'Jeez, they don’t even care where they are,' he kept thinking to himself. It was as if the jail cell had become their new dance club, only without the music and booze, so the party continued, and Davy just sat there amused and entertained by his flamboyant cellmates.

Back at the pad, It was getting late and Peter was starting to worry that Davy hadn’t come home yet, and he was angry that Mike didn’t care enough about Micky to stick around; he just went out to Lauren’s as if everything were normal. So, Peter decided he would skip his meeting with Jane to stay with Micky and wait for Davy. But the later it got the more he worried, and he even started to call the hospitals to find him. “Where is Mike?” he said to himself, “He promised he’d be home early.” Finally, the door opened and Mike walked in. “Where have you been, Mike?”

“I told you I’d be back early.”

“It’s not early”

“God Pete, we’re not married.”

“Davy still isn’t home and I’m worried about him.”

“He’s probably out getting laid, Pete – stop worryin’, he can take care of himself. How’s Micky?

“I think he’s sleeping.”

Mike paused before he went into the bedroom, afraid of what he might find this time, but he gathered his courage and opened the door. “Thank god,” he whispered, as he saw Micky asleep in bed. He went in and got ready for bed himself.

As he allowed his mind to drift off into slumber, he dreamed of Nez, the leader, piloting his band to the height of success. On stage in front of thousands of screaming fans he casually sang a song he hadn’t even written yet. No one could hear him over the roaring crowd, but he didn’t mind – it was better than playing those small dives. He looked over at his band mates – they were smiling and happy, and that was all his doing. He sang another chorus, and then looked back at Micky on the drums – he’d stopped playing, and he wasn’t smiling like the others. He looked up and stared at Mike with all the sadness of the world in his eyes. Suddenly, the walls of the arena started to cave in around them. Nez looked up and saw the two-hundred foot, blonde beast ripping apart Madison Square Garden as if it were a toy model. Her scorching red eyes spotted him as he searched frantically for a place to escape.

“No!” he screamed, “No...you can’t make me do that...No!”

Mike woke up with a start, “What the...” he looked across the room at the other bed. “Not again,” he moaned, as he shook himself from his own nightmare. “Micky,” he said as he stubbed his toe in the dark, “Shit...Micky, dammit...you better keep your fists to yourself tonight.” He finally made it to the other bed and sat down still half asleep, “Mick...wake up.” He wasn’t taking any chances this time, so he kept his hands on Micky’s just in case he started swinging again. “What the hell is he talking about?” Mike tried to listen to the mumbling for a clue to the latest crisis, but all he got was the same sentence repeated over and over. “Mick...come on...wake up,” he said as he shook him by his arms. Micky awoke startled, but calm enough so no one got hurt. “You were dreamin’ again, Mick.” Mike said as he let his hands go. It must have been some dream; his hands were soaked with sweat.

“Huh?

“What was it about this time?” Mike tried to show some interest.

“I’m sorry I woke you, Mike.

“Yeah, okay Mick.” He tried to wipe Micky’s sweat from his own hands on the sheet only to find it just as wet. “God, Micky...what did ya do?” He turned on the lamp expecting to find either sweat, or Micky’s dream had scared the piss out of him, but instead he saw Micky and the bed covered in blood. “Oh Jeez, Micky! What happened?!” He pulled Micky up and inspected him for the cause – the blood was coming from his left wrist; not cut, like with a blade, but gouged out with his own fingernails of his other hand.

Micky sat in bed dazed, allowing Mike to examine his trembling hands. Mike pulled him out of bed and rushed him to the bathroom to wash off all the blood from his arm. He was relieved to find that it wasn’t as bad as it looked – no real damage done, just a lot of mess. Micky wasn’t as comforted; if he could do this in his sleep, what else was he capable of? The thought was too frightening, and it brought tears of panic to his eyes.

“You’re okay, Micky,” Mike tried to reassure him as he continued to bandage his wrist. “Ya gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, Mick – this is getting serious.”

“I can’t”

“Why not?”

After a long careful pause Micky decided he could answer this much. “Because...they won’t let me.”

Mike gave him a puzzled stare. “Who won’t let you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Mike was really starting to worry. “You’re scarin’ the hell outta me, Micky – what are ya talkin’ about?”

“I...I don’t know.”

Mike gave a sigh, trying to hold on to his patients. “Let’s go back to bed.” He turned off the light and ushered Micky back to the bedroom. “You can sleep in my bed. We’ll change those sheets in the morning.”

“I don’t wanna sleep anymore.”

“I really think you need some sleep, Mick.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“I’m not tired.”

“I’m not tired either.”

Mike sat down on his bed and made himself comfortable by propping himself up with pillows. “Come here.” Micky took his offer and sat down next to him. “You have to sleep, Mick.”

“I’m afraid to.”

“I know...but lie down anyway,” he gestured for Micky to fill the space next to him on the bed, and Micky finally gave in to Mike’s inviting arms. He laid his head on Mike’s chest while Mike wrapped him in a reassuring embrace.

“Mike?”

“Hmm.”

“If I fall asleep...I’ll dream again.”

“No you won’t.

“How do you know?”

“Because if you do, I’ll wake you.”

“How will you know if I’m dreaming?

“Oh Micky...don’t worry, I’ll know.”

“You’re gonna stay here all night?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Go to sleep, Mick.”

He closed his eyes and started to drift off, while Mike sat awake with a mouthful of curls. He kept trying to push that annoying mass of unruly locks out of his face, but they were persistent in working their way into his nose.

'Oh, It’s not that bad,' he thought, 'so, I won’t get any sleep tonight – I’ve done it before...What am I gonna do with Micky? It’s like taking care of a five year old. What the fuck is happening to him? How can someone rip their own arm open like that in their sleep and not even know it? I should’ve known something like this would happen – he started acting strange a long time ago...come to think of it, he was actin’ strange back in California.'

He looked down at the sleeping friend in his arms and quietly spoke to him as if he were awake: “So...what are we gonna do, Mick? This is no time to go crazy on me, man. Don’t ya know the band needs you? Who’s gonna sing my songs? Davy? Jeez...ya really gotta snap outta this, Mick – life’s just not that bad.” Micky started to stir, so he took his voice down to a whisper, and looked out the window down at the streetlamp illuminating his bed. “It’s not that bad...is it? At least you don’t have to deal with the beast. God, she’s probably pissed I didn’t show up tonight – fuck her. Actually Micky, you make a much better bed partner than she does...you may be crazy, but at least you’re not a bitch...the bitch has no body heat, ya know – it’s like cuddling with an ice cube. It’s nice to hold someone warm for a change...I think I forgot what it’s like to be with a human. God Mick, maybe we should get outta here, huh...you get away from your dreams, and I’ll get away from the beast...I guess that’s not the answer...where would we go? You can’t run away from your own head, can you? I don’t know what to do, Micky. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so insignificant...I’ve never felt so helpless. We never should’ve come here – I knew it was a mistake. I’m sorry, Micky – I let ya down. I’ve been treating you like shit lately, too...I don’t know why...maybe I’ve been around the beast so much, I must’ve forgotten how to act like a person – I’m not gonna let it happen again. I’m not gonna take her shit anymore.

The next morning, Mike found he had managed to fall asleep during the night, only to awake to a terrible cramp running down his arm where Micky was still lying asleep. He was glad he helped Micky get a good night’s sleep, but the pain in his arm wouldn’t wait for him to wake up. He stretched himself out and rubbed his shoulder – Micky was still out cold. Mike didn’t want to do it, but he let out a loud cough – that worked. “Oh...Mornin’, Mick.”

Micky sat up and rubbed his eyes accompanied be a yawn. “You let me sleep here all night?” he said drowsily.

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be sore all day.”

“I’m sorry,” he smiled, and rubbed Mike’s shoulder for him. “Is that better?”

“Yeah...ah...thanks.” He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Micky smile like that; he almost never smiled anymore, and he was proud of himself for being the one person able to bring that smile to his face. He got out of bed and turned to look at his friend; he seemed better today – maybe this whole thing will pass. He certainly looked good. “Man, I gotta take a leak,” he announced, and disappeared into the bathroom while Micky made his way to the kitchen. Peter was asleep with his head on the table.

“Hey Pete,” Micky said as he tapped his shoulder with a box of cornflakes, and sat down to join him. “Whacha’ doin’, Pete?”

“Huh?”

“You’re sleeping on the table.”

“Where’s Davy?”

“I don’t know.” Mike entered from the bathroom

“Mike, Davy’s not home yet!” Peter was panicked.

“Well, whadaya’ want me to do? Mike asked.

“I’m worried about him.”

“I’m sure he’s just fine, Pete – stop worrying.”

Meanwhile, over at the 9th precinct, Davy was making some new friends at his temporary home. A rather tall transvestite of about 6’2” with the name Lilly sashayed up to Davy on the cell bench. She was impeccably dressed, still in her finest eveningwear, consisting of a Pucci-like, multicolored gown and matching wig. She lit herself a cigarette as she gave Davy a smile and looked him up and down. “So...what’s your story little boy?” she said with a hint of dramatic flair.

“Story? Oh...nothing.”

“Nothing?! Oh! You mean they threw you in here for nothing, too?! Those bastards!”

“Well, I did throw a shoe at someone.”

“Oh, good for you, girl...was it one of those bastard cops?”

“I think so.”

“Oh!” she said with much emphasis, “Do you know they’re still rioting out there?”

“Riot?! Really?”

“They just won’t leave us alone, the bastards.” And she started to cry.

“Oh...I’m sorry.” Davy couldn’t tell if her tears were real, or faked for dramatic effect, but she seemed genuinely upset by the evening’s event. So, he stayed and talked with her while trying to keep a good distance between her and his crotch. She wasn’t all that interested actually, she was just bored, and needed someone’s shoulder to cry on, and Davy obliged her. Yet what a sight to see cute, petite Davy sitting alongside the Amazon queen – quite a contrast. Davy didn’t mind though, he started to feel a sense of community with these people, and he felt sorry for them, and after all...he was one of them...wasn’t he?

Back at the pad, Mike had disappeared to Laurens, Peter was out looking for Davy, and Micky was once again left alone in his private hell. He sat on the couch with a book intent on reading it this time, when he heard Mike’s familiar drawl call him: “Mick…what are ya’ doin’?” He turned his head in the direction of the voice and found Mike standing beside him wearing a crisp pair of jeans and a green wool hat.

“I’m Reading,” Micky answered plainly.

“Put the book down.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause ya have somethin’ else to do.”

“What?”

“You know.”

“No.”

“Micky, don’t start that again.”

“No, I’m not gonna do that.”

“Ya have to, Mick – it’s gone on too long.”

“No.”

“Mike can’t deal with it anymore – it’s time to end it.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Come on Mick, ya know you’re nothin’ but a burden on everyone…”

“Go away.”

“...Especially Mike.”

“That’s not true!” he screamed to himself, and got up to head for the front door. Where was he going? Moms? No, he promised Mike he wouldn’t, but he had to do something. Mike promised him he’d be home soon – he can wait a little while longer. He sat back down on the couch, and covered his head with his hands in an attempt to drown out the laugh track playing on in his mind. He’ll just try to read his book and wait for Mike, he decided.

“Ya see? You can’t keep relying on Mike like that – Mike has his own problems.”

“Please stop.”

“There’s only one way to shut me up, shotgun.”

“No,” he cried and buried his face in the couch, “Mike, where are you?”

Uptown, Mike was with his favorite beast thinking about the best strategy to end the affair. It would be nice if he could manage to do it without offending her too much. Maybe then he could keep getting those good gigs – he’d given up on the recording contract.

“So, where were you last night, beautiful?” she asked.

“Micky’s been sick lately.”

“Micky...that’s the short one.”

“No, that’s Davy – Micky’s the drummer.”

“Oh. Well, I can take your mind off your problems, babe.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“Come here. I’ll give you something new to think about.”

“Lauren...I really don’t feel like it right now.”

“I don’t care what you feel like.”

“Yeah, I know. I...ah...I really should get home.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Look...I gotta stop this...I can’t do this anymore.”

“No? You can’t play all those gigs? You don’t want to record those songs of yours?”

“Whadaya’ mean? You’ve been sayin’ it and it never happens.”

“All good things come to those who wait.” And with that she produced a small stack of papers and gave it to Mike to sign.

“What is this?”

“Read it.”

“Are you kidding? Is this for real?”

“Now, why don’t you come over here and thank me properly.”

Mike was beside himself. He couldn’t keep a big smile from breaking out on his face, and all of a sudden the beast didn’t seem quite the bitch she had seemed only minutes before. So, he went to her and gave her that proper thank you she deserved. It was the first time he had ever actually kissed her with any feeling, and the first time he’d ever really made love to her. It was also the first time he took control of the sex. He didn’t let her near her box of toys this time, instead he grabbed her, and with a long, commanding kiss pushed her down onto the living room carpet where he forced his own cruel brand of lovemaking on her – and she enjoyed every minute of it. Perhaps she should have given him that contract long ago. He ripped that red suit from her body and flung it across the room where her two toy poodles decided to finish the job and tear the thing to shreds. Mike never really wanted to do this before, but he looked down at that beautiful face framed by the blonde tossed hair, and felt the urge to fuck her brains out. He may even be able to fall in love with her if she could keep from being such a merciless bitch to him all the time. She seemed to like this control game – maybe he should try it more often.

He didn’t leave for home until a lot later than he had promised, but he had good reason – they were going to be recording artists! He couldn’t wait to get home and tell the guys. 'This should make Micky feel better,' he thought. He was practically skipping through the front door of the pad when he found it was empty – no one to share his good news with. “Oh-well, they’ll find out soon enough,” he said to himself a little disappointed. 'I wonder where Micky went? I come home just to take care of him, and he leaves.'

He went over to the kitchen table to scan the mail that had been dropped there – mostly bills...wait, what’s this? A letter from Texas. He opened the envelope and walked into the bedroom to get out of his clothes while reading his letter. “Just what I need – ex-girlfriend love letters,” he said as he walked to the bathroom for a shower. He opened the door, dropped the letter he had been reading and without thinking, turned back around and rushed to find the phone. He couldn’t remember what he had said, but he hung up the receiver, and tried to keep himself calm as he walked back to the bathroom. He dropped to his knees to get a closer look at the figure lying on the floor. “Micky?!” he said, not knowing what else to do. The once black and white tile was turned bright red under the pool of blood, and he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Micky looked dead – he was afraid to touch him to find out. He noticed his hands were shaking when he reached for the body – he was warm, good – that gave him the courage to feel for a pulse. He moved his hand to the bloody wrist, and he thought he felt something, but he wasn’t sure...so, now what should he do? Mike moved in closer; he couldn’t avoid kneeling in his friends blood. “Oh, god Micky...what did ya do?” he said, “You were fine when I left...god...what happened?!”