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Shane's two previous relationships had been mostly simple. Jessica was nice, but they were basically teenagers, while dating. Rose was more a friend than a girlfriend (especially when Shane realised he’s gay). Then Ilya and their almost ten-years-long situationship happened. Shane got used to this type of arrangement, so he had absolutely no intention of falling in love with the chaos named Ilya Rozanov.
But he did. Shane fell in love with Ilya, a man who was deeply depressed, probably since his childhood, when his mom’s commited suicide. But Ilya realised he is not okay only when he was an adult, almost thirty years old. And he reacted immediately: started therapy, started taking meds. Thanks to that, most of the time it was stable and fine. But there came times when he felt helpless, unable to get out of the bed, do anything, other than sleeping.
Ilya was the first person with depression Shane ever met intimately, and he often didn't know how to act when it hit. Should he console? Call Galina? Call his parents? Should he silently be beside his husband? All of these things seemed too small, and Shane wanted to help with all of himself. If he could, he would have taken the entire burden of Ilya's illness and all his worries on his own shoulders, because Ilya didn't deserve even a fraction of what was going on in his life and head. Sometimes Shane just felt that despite wanting to, he was not helping enough.
There were moments for better and moments for worse. Because depression is not an illness that always remains at the same level. It likes to lie hidden for days on end, not manifesting its presence, only to strike suddenly and wreak havoc in the mind and heart of its victim. Sometimes Ilya didn't let on that anything was bothering him. He went to hockey training sessions, took Shane on dates, met up with friends from the team, and had sex with his husband on the couch. He was then able to argue loudly with Hayden, get up at five o'clock to go to the gym, design new tattoos and drive his sports car aimlessly on Ottawa’s roads. Other evenings were difficult, silent, during which Ilya would quietly cry or wouldn't let Shane go even an inch, cuddling in his arms. For Shane, it was a rollercoaster of emotions, but for this man he would endure anything. Because what's important is that Shane Hollander is irretrievably lost and has fallen head over heels in love with his ex-arch-rival.
Precisely because of the aforementioned difficult past and illness, a lack of contact from Ilya during the day usually meant one thing: a bigger depressive episode, hitting like a tornado. Ilya wasn't a master of answering the phone, but for Shane he made an exception and even if he didn't manage to answer, he called back or texted. That's why when, one afternoon, Shane is unable to contact his husband and only the voice mail has been answering him for hours, he gets into his car and drives home without a second thought.
Ilya doesn't answer the door. Shanes takes out his own key, opens the door and the first thing that appears to his eyes is absolute darkness, engulfing the house. The radio, standing in the kitchen, is off, the Tiffany-style lamp they bought at an antique market a few weeks ago is off (which is rare - Ilya is in love with it), and the bathroom door is open wide, even though Shane hates it when someone (Ilya, of course) forgets to close it. However, for years, Rozanov had never forgotten to close the bathroom door, knowing that this was - along with unbrushed teeth – his husband's biggest pet peeve.
The flat looks at first glance as if the owner isn't in it. However, Shane knows this is nonsense and Ilya is inside. All his shoes are stacked not far from the door and his keys hang on a metal hook.
"Ilya?" calls out Shane, slowly making his way deeper into the flat. „Moy lubimyj, I've come to see if you're okay. You weren't answering your phone. I know that's not unusual, but..."
Ilya doesn't answer, but Shane knows where to find his husband. He's probably lying in the bedroom, buried in a pile of blankets and duvets, not sticking his head out even if it's too warm and airless inside this bizarre cocoon. What Shane doesn't yet know, however, is that this isn't a typical bad day for the man, which will pass after a while. Situation is much, much worse.
Indeed, Ilya is lying among the cushions in an embryonic position. Shane can't see his face, but he's convinced that if he looked into those weeping eyes just once, he would break down himself. That's why he doesn't turn on the lights and sits on the corner of the bed, placing his hand against Ilya's cheek.
"Love," he begins, wondering what to say next. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Ilya is as if in lethargy and doesn't answer. Usually, at similar moments, he would react to Shane's presence and hug, which was just a silent response: just be with me. This evening, however, Ilya seems to be a prisoner in his own head, paying no attention to the outside world around him.
"I'll lie down next to you, okay?" asks Shane, slowly crawling under the duvet.
They are silent for a moment and lie in an uncharacteristic way: Ilya is still lying curled up, and Shane himself, propped up on his elbow, is not touching him other than through his fingers on Ilya's cheeks and neck.
"Maybe... why don't we get up and I'll make you something to eat? You probably haven't eaten," Shane finally offers, knowing that during these kinds of episodes Ilya forgets to eat and hydrate himself. "We can lie on the couch if you don't want to talk."
Surprisingly, Ilya finally turns his head and nods.
"Da," he whispers, and his voice is as hoarse as if he hasn't spoken or drunk in months. "Da, divan.”
"Come on, I'll help you up," Shane says, catching Ilya's forearm gently, to which only a hiss comes out of his mouth, like a sign of pain.
Ilya immediately pulls away, pulling gently on the sleeves of Shane's old jersey, and Shane already knows what the man was trying to do when he didn't answer his phone calls or messages. Shane is close to tears, but knows that if he breaks down now, he will only make things worse. Ilya will think Shane's reaction is his fault, he will start to feel remorseful, and the overthinking will lead to an even worse state than the current one. That's why Shane knows he has to leave the tears for later and now, without panicking, somehow broach the subject he had hoped to avoid, even despite his loved one's illness. Because, after all, depression didn't have to involve self-harm, at least that's what Shane hoped for. That was something he was the most terrified of. In his head, Shaned called it Irina situation.
"Ilya, love, did you..." he begins, then takes a deep breath. "Did you try to hurt yourself?"
Ilya doesn't answer and avoids Shane's gaze.
"Please show me, it probably needs to be bandaged."
"I don't fucking want you to..." Ilya doesn't finish, but Shane knows what he was going to say: I don't want you to start looking at me any differently.
"Please, Ilya, I promise it won't change the way I feel if you're afraid of that. It's just... I just need to see it, we can't let infection set in, or wounds start to open up, okay?"
Ilya reluctantly, carefully rolles up the sleeves and to Shane's eyes there was a, well, gruesome sight. He had expected a few shallow wounds, perhaps stuck to the fabric, but not bloody carnage on those beautiful, muscled forearms. Thick and deep wounds ran along both forearms, with blood still oozing from them. Shane has no experience of suicide, but he knows that these kinds of cuts are not an attempt to punish himself or relieve pain. The cuts along entire arm are the wounds of would-be suicider.
"Roz, fuck, do you..." he doesn't know what to say. "Do you want to tell me what happened? Why... why you tried to...”
The words bog down in his throat, unable to finish the sentence why did you try to kill yourself? Shane doesn't want to allow himself the thought of Ilya’s death. The evening might as well have ended differently. In an alternative scenario, Ilya could have succeeded and Shane would have arrived too late. He would have found his husband's lifeless body in the dark bathroom, with all life having fled, along with the red blood that would have stained the tile grout.
Shane gently runs the pad of his thumb over Ilya's skin, far enough away to avoid snagging the wound, but close enough to look at how deep the blade had reached. The man's forearms, at first glance, do not require the intervention of a surgeon and stitching, but they certainly need disinfecting and some bandages. Shane knows that talking about what happened can wait, so with a gesture of his head and a look he indicates that they should go to the bathroom and take care of the wounds.
The man, however, is not ready for what he finds in the bathroom. There are still remnants of water in the bathtub, mixed with blood, its porcelain edges are stained with dried, dark red stains, and there are streaks along the beige tiles, showing the path Ilya took to get to the bedroom. Shane clenches his teeth again and, without further comment, plants Ilya on the edge of the bath, carefully pulling off his jersey. Shane pulls from the cupboard above the sink the hydrogen peroxide and bandages that Ilya bought after Shane fell over on the ice.
"It'll pinch a bit. Can I?"
Ilya nods, clenching his eyes. Shane almost envies him that he can close his eyes and not look at the wounds that are tearing at his heart. He feels as if he himself is bleeding from every organ, every piece of skin, cleaning the wounds on Ilya's forearms.
"Now I'm going to bandage this for you, tell me if the bandage gets too tight around your skin," Shane instructs, trying to wrap the bandages around Ilya's arms as gently as possible.
The white material begins to soak in quickly, and after just a moment Shane has to repeat the whole process, at the same time wondering if it would be a good idea to go to the hospital after all. Ilya would probably hate him for it, but on the other hand, his safety is more important now. Fortunately, when his arms are bandaged for the second time, the blood stops flowing, so the vision of a hospital somewhat goes away.
"Aren't you dizzy? You've lost a lot of blood."
"Nyet," he speaks up for only the second time since Shane arrived. "I want to... I need to tell you what happened."
Shane doesn't need additional words, nor does he ask questions. Ilya is ready to tell him what happened, so he leads him into the living room, turns on the lamp and plants him on the couch. Ilya seems a tad calmer, so Shane takes the opportunity to brew him some coffee and prepare toast with orange marmalade and goat cheese. Every now and then he leans over to see if Ilya is still in the same place. Shane realizes that he probably won't be able to let Ilya out of his sight anytime soon, and while in a normal situation he would be happy to be by his side all the time, the circumstances don't allow him to find any joy in it.
"Eat first," he says, handing Ilya a plate. "You can tell me later."
Ilya silently, slowly begins to chew his toast, and Shane wonders what he should do. The logical thing would be to call his parents, then take him to the hospital and consult with Galina, his psychiatrist, but he knows how angry Ilya will get. He will have to discuss it simply with his husband.
„I've been feeling unwell for some time now. Not just mentally. I feel dizzy, especially when I'm on the ice and skating too fast. Recently, I forgot the way to the ice rink. I thought, what if... what if I'm cursed with both my parents' illnesses? Mama's depression, papa's dementia? How quickly does dementia progress if it starts so early? Will I still be able to play, or will the headaches mean that all I can do is sit at home? I thought maybe I should start writing things down, like a diary. In case I forget. Like a letter to myself from the future. And then it suddenly dawned on me that my father was forgetting his family. That my mother was dead, that I didn't live in Russia, that he had a new wife. Then he didn't even know who I was. What if I forget you, Shane? One day I'll wake up terrified that a stranger is sleeping in my bed? And... I don't...”
„Calm down, love, take a breath, if you need a break...”
Ilya shakes his head negatively.
"No, you need to know. I started reading about dementia. More than when my father was ill. I found information that if the symptoms appear so early, there is little time left in... consciousness. I finally thought that I was a real mama's boy. Depression, catastrophic thoughts, maybe I was doomed from the start. And somewhere in between, I thought that... maybe it would be easier to disappear on my own terms. Before you have to watch me not know who I am and not recognise myself in the mirror. Before I ask you who you are for the first time. Because you'll stay with me, that's who you are, even if you can't love me anymore because I won't be myself anymore. Besides that, I had thoughts that I was a nuisance, that I was constantly worrying and stressing you out when I didn't reply for too long. And so, from thought to thought, I took out a razor blade and... You know what happened next."
Shane isn't able to hold back the tears anymore, he has been brave for too long.
"Ilya," Shane finally says, moving closer. "There is no universe in which I don't love you. Regardless of whether you are ill or not. Regardless of how much attention you need. If you are scared of dementia we can visit a neurologist. The dizziness is probably caused by the fact that you drink coke instead of water. And you have no idea how many times I've lost my way home. And I've lived here all my life.
Ilya no longer suppresses his crying and merely presses himself into Shane's arms, as he is accustomed to doing during lighter depressive episodes. Shane reassuringly strokes his head and whispers all the beautiful words he can think of to assure this absurdly beautiful man that he is good, loved and taken care of. And he deserves the best of everything in life.
Finally, Ilya falls asleep, with his head just below Shane's neck. The man hopes that the worst is over. All that's left is to make a couple of phone calls and see Galina to assess what's best to do about it. But that's something that can wait until next morning.