Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

I Don't Need Help

Back pressed against the door, I caught my breath and slid down until I was sitting on the carpet. As my heart rate slowed to a steady pace, shame, confusion, and terror came crashing down onto my shoulders.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I asked myself as tears flowed down my face. Was my brain completely fucked now? Was I beyond repair?

On the other side of the door behind me, I could hear Ian slide his key into the lock before the door bumped into me. I used this extra moment to try to dry my tears and get to my feet. I almost ran to the bedroom, but I fought the strange urge to hide, at least emotionally, from my husband.

Ian pushed the door open with success this time and joined me in our apartment. Befuddled, he stared at me expectantly, eagerly awaiting my excuse for bolting. Ian wasn’t sure if he should worry or be pissed off.

I stared back, just as confused as he was as I wiped away new tears. At a loss for an explanation, all I could think to say was, “what?”

His eyes widened in amazement. “What do you mean, ‘what?’ What the fuck was that?”

My eyes averted to my feet as I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “I told you I wanted to come home.”

“So, you make me chase you?” Ian spat before shaking his head to himself. “Do you still feel dizzy?”

I sucked my teeth and headed into the kitchen to grab a beer for myself. “Fuck, Gallagher, stop fuckin' asking!”

“Could you answer me?” he swiped back, following me to the fridge.

I chugged back half of my beverage as a response.

“Mickey, a head injury is serious,” he tried to remind me.

“No fuckin' shit. Despite what you think, I’m not fuckin' braindead.”

Ian seemed taken aback. “I just wanna make sure you're okay. Why are you getting so pissed off?”

“I dunno, Ian,” I replied, my tone leaking sarcasm. “Maybe I’m pissed off because the dumbest brother I got tried to kill me. Maybe I’m pissed off because my husband won’t stop asking stupid fucking questions!”

“Oh,” he held his hand to his heart as though he had been wounded. “I’ll just stop checking on you, then. I’m so sorry for giving a shit about your well-being. How horrible of me.”

I huffed, annoyed with him, but my mind still clouded by a million different voices telling me how crazy and useless I was. It all soured me even more.

After a silence that seemed to drag on far too long, Ian spoke in a tender tone of voice. “I’m worried about you. I wanna help.”

“Help with what?” I scoffed.

His beautiful green eyes were piercing as they gazed into mine. “Anything. That was the deal, right? For better or for worse?”

So, now I was at my worst. The confirmation made my chest ache. I tried to gather my words and said, “I don’t need help.”

Ian stood across the kitchen counter from me and slid his hand to the middle, waiting for mine. When I didn’t offer it, he curled his open hand into a fist. “Could you at least go to the clinic tomorrow about that dizziness?”

Defeated and growing tired, I shrugged. “Whatever.”

“And,” he added hesitantly, “I want you to talk to someone.”

I made a face. “Like a shrink? Why the fuck would I wanna do that?”

“Because I’m asking you to,” Ian stated helplessly.

I chuckled to repress my rage. “Wow, you do think I’m fucked beyond repair.”

“I never said that,” he defended as I began to walk away from him to sit on the couch. “Am I worried you have brain damage? Yeah. But only because you have a skull injury. The other stuff, I’m not sure…”

“Oh, there’s other stuff now,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, Mick,” Ian affirmed, sitting next to me on our couch. “You’ve always been kinda—”

“What?” I dared him to continue.

“Anxious.”

I didn’t see the problem.

“And since you were attacked, it’s getting worse,” Ian tried to explain. “Somethings different. You’re different. It’s like that fire, that passion you’ve always had in you is extinguished. I can’t see it anymore. I can’t feel it anymore.”

Being in a less than stable mental state and overcome by humiliation, I found myself shutting down. Now, all I could think about was how Ian would ask for a divorce eventually. Why would he stay with me now, after the only things he loved about me were washed away? I decided he wouldn’t, I was certain of it. I was also certain Ian would have difficulty initiating the end of our marriage. He would drag it out. We would try to make it work, but it wouldn’t. So, I had to ask myself, why draw it out?

At a barely audible volume, I said the four words I had hoped to never say to him. “I want a divorce.”

Though I couldn’t stand to look at him, I could feel Ian’s heartbroken eyes on me. “Don’t say shit like that. It’s not funny.”

“Am I fuckin’ laughin’, asshole?” I stood from the couch and relocated to the bedroom to pack my clothes into a garbage bag.

“Well, fuck you,” Ian said, following me once more. “I’m not giving you a divorce just because you don’t wanna talk to one fucking doctor.”

Ignoring him, I continued to pack.

“Stop,” he requested, but when I didn’t, he grabbed me by the wrist and shouted, “stop!”

“Doin’ you a favor,” I said, my focus on the ground as I tried to free myself from his grasp.

Ian gave my wrist a gentle squeeze. “Stop being so dramatic. I love you. Let me help.”

Hardening my features, I let Ian see my face. “You wanna help?”

“Of course,” he assured me before I snatched my wrist from his hands.

“Go to your brother’s,” I instructed as emotions bubbled up inside of me. “I was gonna go, but then I remembered I can’t because my whole fuckin’ family wants me dead because of you!”

Stunned, Ian thought for a moment. “I didn’t realize being with me was worse than being around your idiotic, racist, homophobic, inbred group of fucks you call a family.” He paused, mulling over our fight while I continued to stuff clothes into a bag.

If he wouldn’t leave, I would find somewhere else go.

He tried to grab me again, but this time he was unsuccessful. “Can you fucking stop? We’re not getting a divorce. And fuck you for even saying it. That’s not fair, Mick.”

“Life ain’t fair, Gallagher,” I said. “So, am I lookin’ for a shelter tonight, or are you gonna get the fuck out?”

“Mick—”

“Get out!” I screamed at him, finally spurring the love of my life, someone I was never worthy of, to grab a few things and leave to stay with one of his brothers.

Once he was gone, I collapsed to the floor in a puddle of tears. For hours afterwards, I wept.