I finally got My Own Private Idaho as a category on this website! Sorry, I'm ecstatic about this. My Own Private Idaho is one of my favourite films, and though as I rule I don't write slash, I adored the Scott/Mike relationship so much that I just had to write this. It's not graphic, don't worry. It's more about their feelings etc.

I'm sure my little fic would love some company…hint hint. So subtle, I know.

If anyone wants to obsess over My Own Private Idaho with me, please email me. I love talking to people who share my obsessions.

Disclaimer: I own bugger-all of My Own Private Idaho, or anything affiliated with it.

Anyway, enjoy!


Chapter I: Mike

I never thought it would be like this.

I loved him. I fucking loved him. And here I am now, just where I started.

This is nowhere.

God is nowhere.

I don't know why I thought that. I can kinda remember stuff from when I was a kid, sometimes, at Christmases, you know, shit like that, when some people would talk about thanking God. I didn't understand it then. What did we have to thank God for? Everything was okay anyway. I had Mom. I had Richard. As far as I was concerned, everything was okay.

And then, later, when I was on the streets, you'd occasionally get religious fuckers coming over to you, wanting to help you. Save you, they said. I remember this one time, when they came over. It was December, and so fucking freezing that I thought that if I lay down on the road and closed my eyes, I'd freeze to the road in sleep.

They wanted to talk to us. They didn't get a chance to say so much. But they looked so normal, like something out of one of those billboard commercials. Like they had a good, safe home to go to. And more normal people to live with them.

At that moment, I felt so dumb, so…stupid, sitting in front of a fucking bus shelter that smelt like someone had taken a piss in there and then thrown up just to make it worse, in a cheap jacket and worn down, taped together cowboy boots.

If they had asked, I'd have gone with them.

But Scott was there, and he told them to fuck off.

I didn't know him that well then. He turned up, outta nowhere, and immediately started to rule the place. Bob liked him already, but just as a fuck. He didn't know who he was. Yet.

I was kinda wondering why he'd done that. He was here just for a bet. He was here just to piss off his parents. If it didn't work, he'd just waltz back in through their door, and make up a bunch of stuff, saying one thing and meaning another. If he failed, he'd have someplace to go. He always has someplace to go. If I failed, I'd be alone. Funny. Scott couldn't fail. He didn't know what it was like to fail. He couldn't.

I could.

I wish I could be more like Scott. Every time he walks into a room, people take notice. If he says something, everyone assumes he's right. He's always hiding an ace up his sleeve, he's always kept his cool. He's, like, pure fucking charisma.

He's also so sharp. Like, he doesn't worry about what he says, because every word that comes out of his mouth is perfect. He knows how to get around people. He knows how to make you think he's said one thing, when in fact he's meant something else. He always tells the truth. Sometimes that can hurt though. Sometimes I wish he'd lie to me. Isn't it better to feel something good with a lie?

The first time I met Scott, I had a feeling he was a sort of comic book hero. He was always saying the right thing at the right moment, and standing up for me when there was no reason to. When I think of his face, when the sunlight shines off his lower lip, it is like it is the face of some sort of statue. Strong and soft at the same time. I never could figure out what Scott was doing here with us on the street in the first place, like he was on some sort of crusade, to help the poor. Because he really did come from a rich Portland family. I know because he brought me to his house one day and showed me around. I mean, wow, they were rich. They even had a swimming pool. Scott's the only kid that I had ever met that had a swimming pool. I'd make a bet with anybody right now, that Scott is a saint or a hero, or some such higher placed person.

He could make you feel good right at the very time that you felt so bad. I remember there were many times that I had been sobbing in Scott's arms and he was helping me out too. He was the great protector of us all, and the great planner. He gave us hope in the future. Even though there was no future.

I hate him.

I love him.

The fields before me stretch out. Endless.

Infinite.

Abandoned.

Just like me.

I wish I knew where I was. Not that it would matter. Outta all the roads out there, I pick the one that is totally fucking uninhabited. No car was ever going to pass by.

This road is dead.

It's timeless though. There's no reason to know the time. We are without time.

I'm stuck in this life. Even if there was such a thing as a normal life for me, I'd never be able to escape these memories. You don't sell your ass for years and not have a few scars. But deeper are the scars that everyone else left. Every person you could call friend...Scott didn't seem to remember though. A couple of hundred grand and suddenly everything he had done was forgotten. I wonder how many of those suits at that restaurant know what he did. I wonder if his…wife knows what he did.

This is the same road as before. With the same fucked up face. Two cactuses for eyes, a cloud shadow for a mouth and the mountains for hair. The same fucked up face that seems to haunt me wherever I am.

I sit down at the side of the road, my ass in the dust and my feet in the hot gravel. The rabbits around the road are hiding in the grass, visible but not coming any nearer. They don't want to be around someone like me. No-one can stand being close to me. The only people in my whole life who have held me have been my mom and Scott.

Both of them are gone now.

The last time I was on this road, I showed the fucked up face to Scott. He'd laughed. I always wondered whether he knew the meaning of the term fucked up. He'd call himself a fuck up, to describe how his parents felt about him, but he didn't know the meaning of the term. He doesn't seem to get that other people have problems. Ones that you can't solve.

Like the fact I love him.

And I know he can't love me back.

I always knew he couldn't love me back. He said it himself, he only slept with guys for money. And doing it for free makes you grow wings. I wonder how he got so cynical, locked up in his mansion. Apparently that philosophy doesn't apply to Italian girls.

If I could pay him to love me, I'd give him every fucking penny I had.

But he wouldn't take it.

I felt my fingers twitching, the same spasms as always. It feels good though. Like all I have to do is wait a few seconds and then I won't remember anything. It's like time travel, I close my eyes, and I'm in a different place.

I lose control of my body. I can feel myself falling to the ground. I fall hard. It seems like it'll hurt, but by the time my body hits the ground, I'm somewhere else.

I'm still falling, head spinning to feet back to head in an endless cycle. This is good. It's like being permanently out of control, but you're so lost you don't notice or care. This was almost the feeling that the coke gave me, but this is better. This is private. This is my escape.

Someone's caught me. The illusion ends, and I stop spinning. Now there's just a comforting blackness.

I open my eyes. This is all way too surreal. I can feel myself being carried, in a car or something like that. It's warmer. Someone's put a blanket or something over me.

I open my eyes. Slowly. They seem so heavy, so difficult to open.

I can see Scott.

Scott Favour.

He's wearing his old brown jacket, and his ripped up jeans. The last time I saw him he was wearing a three-piece suit and looking so unlike himself. Scott just didn't do that. He didn't look all formal. He adapted to any situation, but he didn't need to dress up to do it. It wasn't who he was…

He was himself with all of us.

Then I remembered.

He'd abandoned me in a fucking foreign country for a girl. After I'd told him I'd loved him. His only justification? 'I fell in love'. Fuck that. I wish I could hate him for that.

But I remember all those times he'd made sure I was okay. He'd looked out for me all the time. He'd made sure that no matter what joke or scam he pulled, I always got half the money or credit.

And just for a second, all of that seemed irrelevant. The good and the bad, they both seemed beside the point.

What matters is here and now.

Sometimes I had thought that God had not smiled on me, and had given me a bum deal. And other times, I had thought that God had smiled on me. Like now. He was smiling on me... for the time being...

God is now here.


Did I get Mike down? If anyone's seen the deleted scenes on the DVD, they'll know it's Richard who picks Mike up. But for me it'll always be Scott…

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