Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

Both Ways

Emotional torture made sleep next to impossible. Unable to find anything else to numb my aching heart, I drank until unconsciousness eventually offered some respite.  When I awoke the next day on the couch, I had a mild hangover that paled in comparison to my emotional state.

You fucking idiot! I cursed myself, still at a loss at my own behavior the night before. Why had I turned on Ian, pushing him as far away as I could? For fuck's sake, divorce? That was the last thing I wanted, yet I had thrust the idea into existence because I was panicking. I had a tendency to say the worst things when I was panicking. I loved Ian so, so much. How could I have tempted fate and thrown him out?

I shook my head to myself. I wouldn’t forgive me, why should he?

To my relief, I spotted Ian’s shoes by the door. He had come back while I was passed out.

I searched around for him until I got up to check the bedroom.

Ian was sitting quietly on the bed, lost in thought as he gazed out the window. When he became aware of my presence, he wrung his hands anxiously. “I can leave if you don’t wanna talk.”

I shook my head no. I never wanted him to leave, no matter what my stupid mouth said.

Ian set his attention onto his fidgeting hands, self soothing, and asked, “did you mean it? You don’t want to be with me?”

Fuck, I hated my fucking mouth.

“No,” I admitted selfishly. I shook my head, hating myself as much as I used to. Terry had always been right; I was too soft and way too emotional. “I don’t know why I said that…I was spinnin’ out, man.”

Ian stood from the bed and approached me with caution. “I know. Gotten used to it,” he teased with the hint of a smirk.

“That makes me feel great,” I muttered with sarcasm.

Ian closed in on me, tenderly holding my face in his big hands. “It's not a dig. Like, look at you. You know all my ticks and triggers, which is why you’re so good at takin’ care of me when I need it. It goes both ways. If I know you’re having a hard time, I can do something about it. At least you won’t be dealing with it alone.”

I tried to see his point, but I only felt like I was shrinking.

Ian laid a soft kiss on my lips. “We help each other, remember? Let me finally take care of you for a change. You kinda earned it.”

“No ‘kinda’ about it,” I half-joked. It seemed impossible to me. “You take your pills, by the way?”

Ian’s smile shined onto me like a spotlight. “See? You’re always about me. And I love you for it, but you matter, too. I want you to be okay, Mick. So, please, let me help. And, yes, I took my pills.”

These kinds of conversations always made my skin crawl. Milkoviches were conditioned not to speak of emotions and mental health, let alone offer or seek help with such things. I didn’t even know what help looked like for someone like me. I’d always assumed none was available. Why bother hoping for assistance when it was all hopeless anyways?

When I touched my husband’s face, some of that hope ignited. Scared, yet proud as I was, I swallowed it all back and wondered, “what do I gotta do?”

“I’d like you to talk to a therapist,” he reiterated from the night before. “And we’ll take it from there.”

Frightened of this new phase in our lives, I lowered my head, ashamed.

Ian held my cheeks and forced me to look at him, chuckling at my squished face between his palms. He gave me a deep, loving kiss before he pulled away to gaze into my eyes. “I love you. More than anything.”

A smile finally appeared on my lips, yet Ian’s features grew stern.

Still holding my face, he said, serious as a heart attack, “you ask me for a divorce again, I’ll stop takin’ my meds. I know you were freaking out, but don’t ever fucking say that to me again.”

“I won’t,” I vowed, laying a peck on his cheek as my eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m so sorry.”

Ian pulled me close, gripping my ass with a cheek in each hand. “I forgive you. For now.”

The look in his eye made me perk up with anticipation.

“Take off your clothes,” Ian suggested more than commanded, deciding our fight and serious conversation were finished.

Gladly, I did as I was told.