Mickey - The View From Here - Gallavich

The New Frank And Monica

I stayed on my bender, letting woe rot into resentment. Hating Ian was easier than loving him, and I could think of plenty of reasons to hate him right now. Blaming him instead of his disorder was also easier. Dealing with a glitch in someone’s brain was too complicated for me to decipher in my brokenhearted state. Ian had run away from me twice now. He kidnapped my child, putting Yevgeny in danger and landing himself in jail. It was Ian’s fault Svetlana left us. It was Ian’s fault Svetlana wouldn’t let me see Yevgeny. Ian did those things. Disorder or not, I could only take so much punishment for trying to love him.

I give up, I thought to myself. I’ll just drink until all of those stupid fuckin' feelings fade. He probably doesn’t even love me anymore anyways.

The house had never been so empty. It was just me and Iggy now, but Iggy spend a lot of time on the road, drug running between here and Mexico. He and my other brothers were in charge of Terry's dealings now. As expected, I’d been cut out. This hadn’t bothered me until now. I needed the work and a distraction.

Drunk and a little high, I tried to play my old electric guitar along to a heavy metal song, stark naked in my bedroom. Today was rough, so I was doing everything I could think of to forget this was the day Ian was released from the hospital. Anytime concern tried to dig its way to the surface, I took another drink and thought, fuck you, Gallagher.

Bypassing Iggy in the living room, Ian’s younger sister, Debbie barged into my room.

My guitar was hiding my shame, so I didn’t bother scrambling for clothes. Pausing my guitar practice, I stared at her as the music from my stereo continued to blast from the speakers.

While she badgered me about finding pills for Ian, I fixated on the orange-crimson shade of her hair. I hated it. The color only reminded me of him and happy times instead of the bad. I needed to remember the bad.

“He flushed them,” she explained about Ian's medication, tossing me the empty bottles.

I shrugged. He tends to do that.

I couldn’t help her and neither could Iggy. There wasn’t much of a demand for drugs that didn’t get you high.

“When are you gonna come by to see Ian?” Debbie wondered. “He's been home all day. Maybe if you were there--"

I burped as a reply. Not my fucking problem anymore.

Shouting over the music, she asked, “did you guys break up or something? Because I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to kidnap your baby.”

“I’m fuckin’ busy, Peppermint Patty,” I snapped, trying to play along to the song again. “Go whine to someone who gives a shit.”

I didn’t want to know how bad it was. I didn’t want to know if he was suffering, or sorry, or having the time of his life. I was too fucking tired of his shit to care.

Debbie shut off the music, prompting me to stop playing.

Will you Gallaghers just leave me alone?

“Frank used to drink like this. When Monica was around, and they would fight, he would angry drink,” Debbie said, calling out my bender. “It never worked. He always came back to her.”

I met her gaze, wondering if I should challenge the comparison.

“You can’t drink him away, Mickey. It won’t work.”

As she saw herself out of my house, I was already faltering in my resignation. She was right. Ian had made his way under my skin. There was no getting rid of him. Just as Ian didn’t want to become Monica, I didn’t want to become Frank, a depressing mess of a man whose family hated him. Learning from their mistakes, I knew there had to be a way for us to handle this better than they had.

It took me a few hours to sober up, then I walked over to the Gallagher house. Debbie let me in, smirking to find me at their doorstep.

Ian was resting in his old, narrow bed in his room, his back to the door when I cautiously walked in. I approached the bed as his eyes fluttered open at the sound of my footsteps.

“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice upbeat and level.

Turning in his bed, Ian stared at me with uncertainty. He had really believed I wouldn’t show up.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I told him, hearing my voice break ever so slightly.

Eyes still wide and unsure, Ian scooted to the side to give me room in the bed while I took off my sweater.

Carefully, I climbed into bed with him, curled up on my side to face him. Holding the side of his face with a soft touch, I kissed the man I loved on the top of his head and pressed our foreheads together.

Do you hate me? his beautiful green eyes silently wondered as they gazed into mine.

Not even a little bit, I thought, realizing that Debbie was right. I couldn’t drink him away. I couldn’t drown myself in anger. Like Monica was to Frank, Ian was my greatest love. No matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to completely let him go.