Mickey hadn’t come by the club, and as he walked back home he wondered if he had already fallen asleep or was he waiting for him as usual on the front steps with a lit cigarette which was the only indicator that someone was there. Ian walked quickly, not because the cold bothered him or because he wanted to get to his bed sooner, it had more to do with the tranquility that would fall over the neighborhood. There was something with the peace and calm that made him anxious and edgy. When things got too still and quiet, he couldn’t help but wait for the hammer to drop and make some noise, in those most silent moments, he felt trapped, like the tide was coming only there was nowhere to hide. The sidewalk was icy but he didn’t pay much attention to it, neither did he pay attention to the cars that were passing by, or the few lit windows in the houses that he passed.
The wind picked up, but it was a nice feeling. An icy kiss over his burning cheeks. His fingers touched every street lamp he would pass, for he tried to force his mind into focusing on what was to come and not what had happened before. It wasn’t like he hated the club, or the way he could feel their eyes on his body. The oozing compliments that had that slimy undertone as he heard them, or even the hands, the tugs and tears. Usually Mickey was there, always standing a bit far away, always looking, never moving, never missing a beat. But now and again he couldn’t make it, and when he’d get home, Mickey would have a million questions as he’d look at him from the floor with those eyes that seemed to have a mind of their own. But as he came close to his house, there was no lit cigarette, there was no Mickey waiting for him. It was cold, and maybe he had decided to wait for him in the room.
Ian walked inside, not bothering to get a bite to eat or something to drink. He had too much energy to waste his time on that, he almost flew up the stairs and opened the door to his room, their room now, but Mickey wasn’t there. The usual fake place where everyone thought he slept was empty, and there was no one in his bed. His eyes scanned the room, and he could see Liam sleeping peacefully in his crib, and Carl was sleeping in Lip’s bed.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up.” his voice was frantic and urgent as he shook Carl awake.
“Ian?” the boy asked, but there was no time. “Where’s Mickey?” was all he asked, and all he wanted to know. “Back at his house, his dad came back home.” Ian stood there for what seemed like an hour, he had no idea how long it was, but Carl had managed to get back to sleep and was now peacefully snoring. Terry was back. And with that thought, he felt anger, he felt like he could break apart the Milkovich house and search him out. He’ll kill him, he needed to die. It all seemed clear now. That was the only obstacle, that was the only way he could help Mickey, he could help himself. Help everyone. Help Mandy. Ian walked over to his bed, and started searching, throwing pillows and blankets around, he went through his drawers but there was no luck, no luck until he looked under the bed. One of Mickey’s guns. Perfect.
He didn’t have a plan, but he didn’t think he needed one. It was all clear and he could finally see it, he would be doing everyone a favor by killing Terry and nothing could stop him. Ian paced restlessly in the kitchen wondering for a split second if what he was about to do was right, but there was no one to tell him otherwise and knowing what taking Terry out of the picture would mean he didn’t dare to ponder it any longer. With the gun resting safely in his front pocket he walked outside being greeted once again by the cold March air he continued to walk to Mickey. He had no idea what would happen afterward but he didn’t need to know right now. All he needed to do was imagine Terry gone. They would free, all of them. Mickey and Mandy and him. And he could save them, he could protect them, he could finally be useful. He wasn’t able to be just that for his own family, for Fiona or anyone else since he was back, but he could save the two people that always looked after him and had his back. Ian took a few deep breaths as he approached the Milkovich house, the lights were on and he couldn’t help but be excited. He could feel the blood in his veins rushing to move his limbs as he climbed the stairs to the front door. There was no turning back and it felt perfect. It felt like something he should have done long ago.
His hand reached the door knob but it was locked. “Mickey” he yelled out pounding on the door. His whole body felt like it was attached to electricity, he could feel tinges running up and down his legs and arms. Wanting to reach for the gun, he managed to stop himself and wait, as if someone had put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Kill Terry. That was his mantra, that was his aim, that was why he was there. The door opened and he didn’t bother looking what face was there to stare at him blankly. “Where is he?” he could feel himself demand it, the information. Walking inside he felt like he would at his own home, he knew every little detail, every torn out piece of furniture that was before him. Memories of things passed by rushed and flooded his brain. Mickey and him on the sofa watching movies, laughing, feeling happy and safe. Kissing, holding each other. Knowing that they could do whatever they wanted as long as they were there, living in that little bubble of space without Terry, without the overwhelming sense of doom and terror.
“Where’s Terry? I need to see him.” he asked, he yelled but no one answered and as he turned to face the person that was behind him, he saw Mickey’s face. “You weren’t there.” was all he could say, it was a question and a statement all at once. He needed him to be there, he needed him to wait for him. Because if it wasn’t him, who else would look out for him, who else would worry for him. Mickey was the one thing that was there, always and that needed to stay, that couldn’t change. But all Mickey did was look back, helplessly and he hated seeing him like that. Mickey was fearless, he was the rock to which he could grip no matter what, and what if that changed. What would that mean?
“Ian…” he started and he could hear that desperation in his voice. “Where is he?” was all he wanted to know. He needed to end this, he needed to finish this. What use was he if he couldn’t save Mickey, if he couldn’t help Mandy. Why was he here? Not only in the Milkovich house, but on this planet? Why was he alive? His mind was racing and he couldn’t hold onto a single thought.
“Mickey…” he finally spoke up and he heard himself say the word but it was as if someone else was speaking. It was as if he was having an out of body experience. Someone else was commanding his limbs, his actions. He wanted to stay put and run away at the same time which only made him feel torn into two opposite directions. “I’ll stop him.”his own words felt fake and deflated from all meaning as he took the gun out from his pocket. He didn’t feel brave or ready, he just wanted it all to end. He wasn’t sure what “it” was, but he wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop plaguing him and at his point in time Terry felt like the safest bet. Once again Terry was the once primary target. He didn’t wait for Mickey to talk, he started moving to where he knew Terry’s room was and sure enough as he looked in, the object of his pain was there, sleeping as a baby, which only proved to anger him even more if that was even possible.
“Don’t…” he felt a grip on his hand, the familiar smell filled him and he looked Mickey in the eye. “I have to, I’m doing this for both of us, for Mandy. We can be happy Mick, we can, trust me. I just need to do this. I need to be helpful, I need to fix this. I need you here. You’re not safe, you have to be safe.” his tone of voice was urgent and low. He could barely breath in and out as he spoke. “Ian that won’t solve anything, please..” he had never heard him plead him, he could feel the hurt in his voice. His hand automatically reached for his face and he held it like the most praised possession in the whole entire world, which it was to him. “If he’s dead, we can be us, without fear. You can love me without fear…” Mickey had never told him that he loved him, he had never uttered those words and maybe that was too much for him, too much to ask, but he knew it to be true. He didn’t need him saying it, he didn’t need validation. All he needed was him, there. And the only way he would get that if the snoring body on the bed before him was gone, was out of their life.
“Please..” he heard Mickey say from far away, but it was already too late, he was too detached from himself, from his body, that was happened next seemed like a blur.
