Mickey - The View From Here - Gallavich

Unfaithful

Svetlana was staying at a new girlfriend's place for the night, which would give me the opportunity to talk with Ian. I cooked dinner, I got his favorite brand of booze, and I planned to shower him with affection before I would plead with him to get the mental health assessment. If he could understand how much I cared for him, maybe, if he was feeling like himself, he would listen to me.

So, I cooked his favorite meal, stashed a pack of beer in the fridge, and picked out a movie he liked.

Ian was due to be home around 6:45 or 7:00. At 7:05, I got anxious but kept a level head. At 7:10, more anxiety with a dash of surface level impatience. At 7:15, that impatience turned to aggravation; he knew I worried, why would he take so long? At 7:20, aggravation gave way to anxiety. At 7:30, I was out the door en route to the club where Ian worked.

Once I got there, I scanned the club for his ghostly complexion that let him stand out against anyone with a healthy pigment. He was starting to look like a ginger vampire.

When I couldn’t spot him, I headed to the back, hoping to find Ian just on his way out after taking on overtime.

All I found in the back was a bartender that informed me this place was for employees only.

Annoyed and repressing my panic, I sneered at him. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m with Ian. You seen him?”

“Not tonight, you’re not,” the bartender informed me.

The breath caught in my lungs. “What the fuck does that mean? He was supposed to be home an hour ago. You know where he is?”

With a jovial grin, he shrugged. “Only know he didn’t leave alone.”

I know it’s a cliché, but I couldn’t believe it.

“Don’t get jealous,” he grinned. “If we weren't allowed to bang other guys, we’d be just as boring as straight people.”

Before my emotions could paralyze me, I turned away with the intention of going home before I snapped.

The bartender chuckled before he beckoned me back, “hey, don’t leave.”

I turned back to him. “What’d you say?”

Checking me out, he began to approach me.

I snapped. I punched him in the stomach and just kept beating him as I broke down. “Fucking cheat on me, Ian. Won’t get out of bed, and you’re fucking bouncing off the walls. I came out for you, you piece of shit,” I rambled, my voice quavering as I held in the flow of tears, kicking the bartender over and over. Before I killed the poor guy, I stepped away to get lost, eventually finding my way to the Alibi.

I spent the night drinking and getting high with my brothers, getting home around 3:30 in the morning. I stayed out for as long as I could, hoping Ian would get home before me and maybe, just maybe, he would worry about where I was for a change. Of course, I got home and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t even aware I was out for most of the night to spite him. He was too busy with someone else.

Sitting in our bed, I let my mind race over where he could be, who he was with, what he was doing.

As angry as I was at Ian and the situation, I hated myself for ignoring his siblings. I clearly fucked this up worse than any doctor would have. As I realized before, loving Ian wasn’t enough, but I wasn’t entirely sure Ian even loved me back on a daily basis, or if he ever meant it when he said it. Maybe I had this wrong.

I risked losing my brothers for him. I ruined what little of a relationship I had with my father for him. I got shot twice fot him. I even fucking got married to protect him. Still, I couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t his disorder. Ian cheated because I wasn’t enough.

In a moment of desperation, I invaded my boyfriend’s privacy by rifling through the drawer of his side table. I didn’t find much of any interest aside from a notebook that had the contact info of some of his work associates. With ease, I found the phone number I wanted, punched it into my phone, and tossed the notebook back into the drawer.

Worried I would lose the number, I made a new contact in my phone. I didn’t hide anything, adding Russ to my contacts under his own name.

I could call him, I thought, still drunk. I bet he would come over. Ian can’t get mad. He started it.

I almost called Russ several times before I put my phone away, accepting that I didn’t actually want to cheat on Ian. I didn’t want to get back at him or hurt him. At this point, I just wanted him to call so I knew he was alright.