Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

Him Again

According to Andy, my shrink, I was regressing. I hated to talk, saw no point in it anymore. For some reason, nothing seemed to matter.

“You’re depressed,” Ian had told me a few times, but I always disagreed. It wasn’t sadness pestering me, it was guilt and a hollowness in my chest.

When the weekend finally rolled around, Ian and I met with Lip and Tammi downtown at a nice restaurant that we were very out of place in. Though we had reservations, our table wasn’t ready for us yet.

I ducked out for a cigarette while Ian chatted with Lip and Tami and in the luxury entryway. Ian was trying to quit, so I was smoking solo on the restaurant’s front steps.

A lone patron sauntered past me only to make a double take. “Mickey?”

Temporary paralysis took hold of my entire being at the sound of his voice. It was as light and jovial as ever. Unable to breathe, it took great effort to turn to face him. I'd been recognized, no use in pretending when he had so easily pointed me out.

The smile on Russ’ face was strangely heartwarming. Subconsciously, I had believed he hated me for taking his gift of freedom only to leave it in Mexico and come home to prison once more, all to be with Ian. It defied most logic that I wasn’t in prison now, completely forgotten by both Russ and Ian.

“Wow, it is you,” he beamed, looking me over before he blurted out, “damn, you look great.”

I swallowed at a lump in my throat, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I thought you were out in Cancun. The hell are you doin’ back in this shithole?”

His focus flashed to the falling snowflakes around us and the grey slush on the ground. “I missed the weather,” he grinned, focus pinned back onto me. “I thought you were locked up.”

I took a long drag from my cigarette. “Early release. Overcrowding.”

Russ crooked a brow and chuckled. “I didn’t know violent offenders were included in those released early for overcrowding.”

I bit back my the urge to be defensive. “There’re a lot of assholes more violent than I am.”

He only continued to smile, eyes wide at the sight of me. It was as though he was amazed that I was standing right in front of him. I hated the way he was looking at me. It felt dangerously pleasant.

“Are you here with anybody?” Russ asked me, not bothering to let me answer before, “let me buy you a drink.”

“Um, yeah--"

“Great,” he said, motioning for me to hurry. “Lets go.”

“I'm here with family, actually,” I was able to force out before I held up my hand for him to behold the wedding ring around my finger.

With disbelief, his smile wavered as he thought it over. “No way. You got married? When? To who?”

“Yeah, like a while ago,” I informed him.

“To who?” Russ inquired once more, a curious, mischievous twinkle in his eye. He didn’t believe me, that or he was hoping I was in a doomed marriage. Russ had loved and cared for me well when we were together, but he was a possessive person at the end of the day. Though he had assisted in returning me to Ian, he had made it clear that he was waiting for it to fail. Years later, it seemed not much had changed.

“I'll give you three guesses,” I quipped.

Russ dropped his jaw overdramatically. “No fucking way. Ian married you?”

I caught myself balling my fists. I forgot about the veiled insults. Ian married you.

“Yeah. Bein’ in jail together turned out to be like marriage boot camp. We've never been better.”

That smile persisted upon his lips, lips I had kissed over and over again in the span of a few months. I had thought it was love, but I could never find a way to love him as much as I loved Ian. I knew now that there was a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. I could never force myself to fall in love with Russ, no matter how much I cared for him.

Even still, his smile and the way he was eating me up with his gaze stirred a longing I thought had been extinguished. Given my comfortable life with a man I have always loved, I disliked this stirring.

“Stop,” I snapped at him.

The smile grew wider. “Stop what?”

Flicking away my spent cigarette, I stared into my ex knowingly. “Just stop.”

He didn’t move, wonder now brimming his handsome eyes. “Wow. Mickey Milkovich.”

“I said stop.”

The entrance doors swung open and Ian approached me, paying Russ no mind at first. “Hey, table's ready and Tami's getting hangry.” As an afterthought, he gave Russ a nod before he recognized him. Pointing, he tried to smile, “Russ, right?”

The smile shrunk as Russ' lips thinned. “We’ve met several times. How are you, Ian?”

Glancing at me, Ian noticed the red in my cheeks. Putting a possessive arm around me, he replied, “great. We're great. How about yourself?”

“I’m doing well,” Russ told him, unable to stop his eyes from periodically flashing to me. “I guess we should all head inside.” Focus completely on me, he continued, “I’m meeting friends and you two wouldn’t want Tami to get too hangry.”

Squeezing my shoulder, crushing my side into his, Ian released a fake laugh. “So true. But, you know, we should exchange numbers,” he suggested. “We should have you over for dinner. At our condo.”

That same smile returned to Russ' lips. “I'd love that.”

Furious, I glared at my husband. What the actual fuck?