DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, nor do I pretend to. This is a fanfiction of "My Own Private Idaho." Please note the word fiction.

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Scott looked down at his friends, then turned his head and looked at Carmella. She smiled at him, the way he always liked her to. Or the way he thought he liked her to. He then looked over at his father's casket before it was lowered to the ground. In the back of his head he could hear his friends scream, "BOB, BOB, BOB, BOB, BOB." It was like a whirlwind pulling him under, he couldn't stop the thoughts, the memories, the emotions. They kept coming.

Most of all he couldn't stop thinking about Mike, who'd been with him as long as it mattered. Mike had been there when his own father wouldn't even look at him. "A hustler? A gay hustler? Is this all my own son, my flesh and blood could accomplish?" He could hear the pain in his father's voice when he said it to him, but Scott was never ashamed of himself then, or now. It was just a stage, like everyone told him. Something that was sure to pass, and did. Or so he'd thought for the past months, had it been that long? He didn't even know anymore, time seemed to pass slowly one minute and quicker than he would like the next.

He directed his attention back at his father and started to wonder what he was doing at his father's funeral. His father, who only ever wanted him to be something not so like himself. He got what he wanted, his son was with a gorgeous woman now. No men around anymore, no men what so ever. Is that what you wanted, Dad? Are you happpy now? Scott thought to himself as he put his head down and looked down into his lap. Carmella rested her hand on his back, trying to help ease the pain. But she was the pain, she didn't know it, hell, Scott didn't even really know it until he was sitting here. He turned his head and looked at his friends again. The ones he'd betrayed, abandoned.

He swore that he could still hear Mike speak to him in the night. "I love you, man." He could hear himself whisper back, "I love you too, Mike." Why couldn't he say it to his face? How did this make any sense at all? It's just me, I can never say what I mean, Dad's right ... I'm just a fuck up, Scott thought. He covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath. Still thinking about Mike and all the terrible things he'd done to him, how cruel he was. He knew Mike loved him. He knew he loved him back, but he didn't say it. He couldn't say it, it wasn't in the cards. His plans turned him otherwise. Him, with a man? No way, just for money. That's what he told himself every time he collected the money, that it meant nothing more to him than survival.

Deep inside he knew it was more than survival though, it was so much more. It was friends and good times, bad times, love, sex, money, life, death, sickness, health. It was like marriage in a way. It was everything, it meant everything. But it was gone now. It was like that balloon you let go when you were young that you never saw again. He removed his face from his hands and let a tear fall down his cheek, knowing it was the least he could do for all he'd lost. He looked back at Carmella and kissed her on the cheek, whispering something quiet in her ear.

"I need to go for now, I can't take this," he told her. She just nodded as he got up and looked down the hill. His eyes connected to Mike's for a moment before Mike's expression turned sour. Scott looked away and started walking in no particular direction. He sat down on the ground and looked all around him. He could see his old friends and new friends on separate sides of the grave yard. How ironic? He thought, picking at the grass at his feet. He wanted more than anything to go back to his old friends, smile and laugh with them. Joke with them and mess around. Through joy and tears. But he was officially that baby bird that a human touched and now him parents don't want him anymore. He was abandoned and the only person he could blame was himself.

He laid back in the grass and stared straight into the sun, hoping for more than a moment that he could be blinded. Maybe if he couldn't see, there'd be more things to be worried about. After about three minutes of sun dazing, he sat up. Through the purple spots he couldn't seem to blink through, he saw a familiar figure walking towards him. He blinked again, not really believing his eyes. Damn sun, making him see mirages like he was in the desert, dying of thirst.