Gallavich Fanfics (English version)

2.

Ian was lying in bed. The room was completely dark. No sounds, no light.

Ian hated feeling like this. In pain, with short breath and mind full of awful thoughts.
Damn thoughts. They came before he could even try to control or restrain them.
They just came. At any time of the day, for reasons that he still didn't know how to rationally explain.
They were loud and intrusive. They spoke of fear, hatred, revenge, despair, loss and sorrow.
They were the worst things that Ian had ever experienced.
And they were accompanied by a feeling of discomfort, loneliness and fucking fear.
Ian was terrorized by those thoughts, because they reminded him of who he really was, that his life was useless, that there was no point in trying to fight back because now everything was already decided.

Living in the South Side, having Monica and Frank as parents. Messing up with the army.
Ian felt the failure. He didn't feel the strength to fight back. Nothing was left to fight back.
All he could do was lie down under the covers, tucked away from the rest of the world. Protected by darkness and silence.

At first he believed that getting distracted with other people, working at the club or taking drugs could make him feel better. He believed that these things could distract him, but after a few episodes he realized that the situation could easily get out of control.
Like the time he was way too high - on the other hand it seemed to be the only way to ward off evil thoughts - and had decided that lying down on the ledge of a building was a funny thing. And it took two slaps from Mickey and Mandy's concerned screams to understand that it was not.

After that he realized that his whole family and even Mick and Mandy were worried about him. He hated that people treated him as if he were ill. Or an incompetent child. So he opted for the second option: stay in bed for days and hope things would improve sooner or later.
Lights off, door locked and sometimes music at maximum volume. So if he started to cry no one would hear.
Ian was crying very often without even realizing it. It happened when his thoughts were just too painful to be restrained. There was no rational part that could help him. There was no positive thinking that could get him out of that mess.
He felt lost and simply misunderstood.

He just wished Mickey and Fiona listened to him. But no, they just wanted to stuff him with medicine - he grimaced at the thought of taking those pills again - and weren't even paying attention to what he really wanted.
He did not want a shrink. He wanted someone who would fucking understand. That's why he decided to run away with Monica. That's why he decided to leave Mickey.

A year had passed. One year, two months and six days without talking to him, without calling him or writing him. He had, obviously. Hundreds of calls and messages. Ian had been strong enough to avoid them all. By Fiona he had known that he was fine, that he often got drunk the Alibi and he had done some shit with Iggy. But he was fine, maybe even better than before.
The thought of Mickey living his life without him made him feel less guilty. He actually didn't believe that he was that important to Mickey anyway.

Mickey could never understand, he just wanted to fix him. He would become an unbearable burden. Ian could vividly imagine the smile of Mickey fading away over the years, stiffening and definitely losing that bit of happiness that he had earned with time and effort.
This thought made Ian feel even worse, realizing that if he stayed with Mickey he would have ruined his life, just as it would have happened with Monica if she decided to stay with the family.

Still, he missed Mickey so much. Sometimes she felt suffocating knowing that he would never sleep with him again, that he would never kiss him and be his boyfriend.
He missed his scent. And the way he looked after an amazing fuck. He missed falling asleep against his naked back and wake up in the exact same position.
Ian missed Mickey as he missed the life he had before.
A wry smile came up on his face.