Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(26)

The familiar lurch as the tram took off made him momentarily lose his balance. He grinned to himself, grabbing one of the straps overhead for support. Heading for the back, Micah pulled out his headphones and brought up his “depressed” playlist on his iPod. It seemed to be his most played selection, judging by the numbers against the songs. There was nothing like a bit of James Vincent McMorrow or Bon Iver to suit his current mood (even if it seemed to be his permanent mood lately). Shouldn’t it be raining? Heavy droplets running down the tram window, much like the tears in his heart?

Man, I can really turn the purple prose when I want to.

His pocket was buzzing. Looking at his phone only confirmed that it was Kyle trying to get hold of him. Micah sent it to voice mail, but after a few seconds it began to ring again. Kyle’s face stared up at him once more, a photo taken when they were still a couple and Kyle was mocking Micah for wanting a photo to go with his profile. And he still hadn’t changed it. “Boif” came up as Kyle’s name, a cutesy nickname for “boyfriend.” How fucking stupid was Micah? He’d have to change it to “Bastard.”

“Look dramatic,” Micah had told Kyle back in the days when he thought things would last no matter what.

Now Kyle just looked mean.

Micah knew it wasn’t fair to attribute that trait to him, and he slipped the phone back into his pocket where it continued to buzz mercilessly. Kyle hadn’t done anything wrong, except, perhaps, his timing. He should have told Micah on the drive to Fitzroy that he was seeing someone. That way Micah wouldn’t have humiliated himself. Or even before that—he couldn’t have said something while texting him continuously? And somewhat flirting with him at the same time?

But was he flirting? Or just being friendly?

Oh fuck, Micah didn’t even know anymore.

The song ended, and he decided he had tortured himself enough. He wrapped his headphones around his iPod and stuck it back in his jacket pocket along with his phone. He looked up to see a couple had sat themselves across from him, and the girl was staring at him with that expression he instantly recognised—she knew him. Not personally, but she knew who he was. Fame, or somewhat fame, was still new to Micah and he scrunched down in his seat wishing he had his hoodie up. Better to look like a hooligan than an AFL player in the town that had given birth to the sport.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Yep?” Micah asked, in a tone he hoped didn’t invite familiarity. This was not a good time.

“It’s just,” she nudged the guy next to her. “Doesn’t he look like that guy?”

“What guy?” her boyfriend replied, irritated.

“You know, the guy!”

“Oh, that guy.” He nodded at Micah. “You look like the guy.”

“You don’t have to be so bloody sarky,” she pouted.

“Well, I don’t know who you’re bloody talking about!” he said, and turned his attention back to Micah. “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” Micah replied, wishing he were anywhere else.

“No, you’re the guy,” the girl repeated with satisfaction. “The gay guy!”

A look of recognition dawned upon her boyfriend’s face. “Oh, yeah?”

Micah played dumb. “What gay guy?”

“The one who plays for the Dockers. But he comes from here. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Oh, him?” Micah asked. “I get that a lot. I’m not him.”

“You didn’t say his name,” she pointed out suspiciously.

“Yeah, nah, I know the guy you mean. The gay guy.” Yeah, nah? Oh gods, he was becoming a true Perthite.

The girl nodded, but neither she nor her boyfriend looked convinced.

They left him alone, to sink into the mire of obscurity and he pulled his iPod out again and retreated back into his music. Better to shut the world out than be mistaken for “that guy.”

His phone buzzed again, sending volts into his skin and deadening his heart; Micah didn’t even look at it this time.




“YOU’RE BACK early!” his mother greeted him as he walked in the front door. She peered around him expectantly. “Is Kyle not coming in? I didn’t even hear the car.”

“No,” Micah said shortly. “Kyle is most definitely not coming in.”

Joanne led him to the lounge and sat him down as if he were incapable of doing it himself. “What happened?”

“What you probably thought was going to happen.” He knew he was throwing it back at her, even though it wasn’t her fault. But he hated that her suspicions were correct. Micah had been practically skipping out of the house like he was on a date, when it actually was just two exes trying to have a friendly coffee before the bomb dropped.

What bullshit. It was probably better for exes to just stay away from each other and pretend it had never happened. There was always going to be one more wounded than the other. They had thought they were grownups in breaking up amicably, but Micah was still as immature as he ever was, hoping it was all a temporary setback.

Kyle had moved on; he was now having the relationship he should have had with Micah. And what did Micah have? Some Grindr hookups. And not even ones he had enjoyed after the fact.

Not that he could tell his mother any of this. She would be horrified.