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On a loop in his mind.
It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. It’s not fair.
And he is so fucking angry about it.
When the street lights become farther apart and the road around him empties until it’s just him he lets out a deep breath. He presses his foot down quickly, his car jumping from 30 to 70 in seconds. Really, he’s being reserved about the speed tonight, this car can go much faster.
Any guilt he should feel about doing something maybe dangerous is lost in the rush of adrenaline that surges through his chest. It’s nice to know, at least for those moments as the world around the car blurs into flashes of green, what to call the feeling in his chest.
Ilya only slows down when he gets close to the house. Shane has always hated how fast he drives and he can’t handle hearing about it. Not today.
With the car in their garage the adrenaline fades too quickly and leaves behind only the smouldering anger he’d wanted to be rid of.
He feels hot, like a fire has taken residence in his body and is burning him from the inside out. The shakiness in his hands is matched only by that of his breathing.
“Fuck!”
He smacks his steering wheel as hard as he can.
Shane can’t see him like this. Not while he’s trembling with rage he hasn’t felt since the last time he saw his brother.
He’s on a cliff staring at the edge and Shane might be able to talk him away from the open air, but he shouldn’t have to. Ilya shouldn’t be putting this kind of stress on him.
His husband knows that he was at therapy and when Ilya walks in he’ll ask how it went, and what they talked about, and when his next appointment is, and if he learned any new coping mechanisms, and did she five him any fucking homework. Ilya knows he’ll ask because he cares and wants to support him. But he shouldn’t fucking have to. It’s not Shane’s problem that Ilya’s brain is fucking broken.
It’s not even the first time he’s come back from an appointment upset, of course it’s hard to talk about the things that upset him and he can come home with burns that Shane will soothe with his gentle touches and even more gentle words that remind him he’s loved.
But he knows he doesn’t deserve that tonight.
If you’re struggling, get help. There’s ads and instagram posts about it everywhere. Fuck, even their own charity has made resources and fucking pamphlets about how and where to get help.
But what the fuck are you supposed to do when the help isn’t helping the way it should?
He’s done it all right. He sees his therapist every week. He talks with his partner when they have problems. He barely ever drinks. He’s stopped smoking. He got a dog that he loves like it’s his child. He has an amazing, supportive team that his husband is a part of. He works out all the time. There is no reason for him to feel like this anymore.
And yet, it’s like nothing has changed. He’s still so fucking weak.
He smacks the steering wheel one more time before throwing the door open. There’s no option but to get it over with. He’ll say hi to Shane, ask for space and go on a walk.
~
“Hey, how was your session today?”
“I do not want to talk about it.”
“Okay… Wait, where are you going?” Shane pushes himself up from where he’d been lounging on the couch with Anya to watch as Ilya throws down his car keys and walks out the front door.
“For a walk, don’t follow me,” he calls behind him.
Worry swirls in Shane’s gut. On one hand, he knows that Ilya needs space when he’s upset, he hates for anyone to see him like that. But on the other hand, it’s been a long time since Ilya had dismissed him like that. If he ever had.
It’s not not his place to figure out what's bothering him, right? They’re married, they were supposed to share everything. Shane just wasn’t sure how he can make Ilya believe that his worries were something they should be tackling together.
He’ll give him five minutes to stomp around by himself, and then he’ll go and see what happened.
His eyes don’t leave the clock on the wall until his self imposed time limit is up and then he’s on his feet.
It doesn’t take long to find him.
~
Through the haze of his rage he can see the damp ground beneath his feet, the bark of the old tree, the breaking skin as his fist strikes it.
He doesn’t even feel it.
He’s putting all of his weight behind each strike, and he still doesn’t fucking feel it.
Is it too much to ask? To feel one thing other than anger today?
He hits the tree even harder, a piece of bark goes flying.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
He’s at the bottom of the ocean and the sounds reach him only through the water, muffled and dulled.
Thud after thud.
A loon’s call in the distance.
The crunch of leaves.
Then, Shane’s voice.
“Ilya!”
No, no, no, no, no.
His own voice is even farther away.
“I told you not to follow me, Hollander.”
Shane was supposed to be inside waiting for him on the couch.
“Stop it, you're hurting yourself!”
Ilya was going to deal with whatever the fuck was wrong with him out here, and then be fine when he went back in and sat with his husband.
“Leave.”
“No.”
Ilya sees out of the corner of his eye that Shane is about to reach out, his arm in the air only feet away from him.
“Don’t touch me,” he spits out, ignoring the pleading he knows is leaking into his tone.
Shane freezes. And Ilya hates it. He’s never asked that of him before. He would laugh at anyone who told him there could ever be a time he asked Shane not to touch him.
“Okay, I won’t. Just… step away from the tree.”
He wants to listen, he does. He knows that this is upsetting his partner, and he fucking hates that… But it’s like he’s lost control of his body. His arms don’t belong to him, even if he wanted to he can’t get them to stop.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
“Go inside. It’s not safe to be here with me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Do you not understand what I’m saying? I do not want you to see this. Go!” The last word is accentuated with another, harsher punch to the tree. He hisses and his arm involuntarily snaps to be held against his chest. The pain finally cutting through the fog in his mind.
Shane’s arms are suddenly around him, hands sliding down Ilya’s arms to firmly take hold of Ilya’s wrists.
Ilya wrenches his arms away, ignoring the stinging in his knuckles when they slide through Shane's grip. He puts a few feet of distance back between them and turns back to the tree. His fist flies again. He can’t hold back the gasp that leaves him from the pain ringing through his body. It doesn’t stop him from pulling his arm back to do it again.
“Stop!”
Every muscle freezes at once.
Shane is standing between him and the tree. Arms up ready to catch Ilya’s next move.
His body is screaming and his anger still needs somewhere to go, but Ilya will kill himself before he ever lays a finger on his husband.
“Don’t ever say that I’m not safe when I’m with you.” Shane closes the small distance between them and grips his husband’s wrists again. “The only person you’re hurting is yourself.”
Ilya makes a weak attempt to pull his arms free but Shane doesn’t let him this time.
“Please, go away. I will come back inside in a few minutes and it will be fine. I just need to…” Ilya trails off his eyes landing on the tree, there’s a small patch where the bark has been chipped off, it’s stained red.
“I don’t know what happened at your appointment that made you so upset, but I’m not going to stand here and let you keep punching the fucking tree. What kind of husband would leave their partner alone to hurt themselves?”
“One who knows how to listen.”
“Fuck you. What would you do if it was me?”
Ilya shakes his head. As if Shane would ever let himself lose control like this.
“What, would, you, do?” Shane draws out each word this time, like Ilya hadn’t already understood his point.
“It doesn’t matter because it would never be you. You are not pathetic like I am.”
“Hey!” One of his wrists is freed by Shane cupping his cheek, “Don’t call my husband pathetic.”
“I am only saying truth.”
“I love you. Do you fucking get that? I fucking love you. You don’t have to tell me everything that’s going on in your head, that’s okay. I know it can be hard. But I love you, and I will not stand by or stay inside and let you hurt yourself. You actually hitting me would hurt less than you asking me to do that.”
Ilya’s whole body flinches and he looks away. “I would never hit you.”
Shane turns his face so he can look into his eyes, the fierce protectiveness he’s met with makes Ilya want to run and hide.
“I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have said that… but I need you to hear me right now. We have a punching bag in the gym. This wasn’t about you getting your anger out. This was you looking to hurt. And that’s not okay. You don’t get to do that and then tell me to go away so you can do it more.
“So, we are going to go inside and take care of your hands. And I’m going to comfort you and hold you. We don’t even have to talk about it tonight. Just… let me be here for you.”
All at once the fight still lingering in his bones dies and Ilya falls. Every bit of the anger that tightened the strings in his muscles and played him like a marionette is gone. And Shane catches him, the lightning fast reflex he’d honed for playing on the ice making it second nature (if he wasn’t so messed up right now Ilya would be commenting on how hot it was that Shane was able to).
“I’m sorry.” The broken words are whispered into Shane’s neck where Ilya has buried his face and it breaks him all over again.
“I know…”
~
The rubbing alcohol stings on the broken skin of his knuckles, but all Ilya can focus on is the concentration on Shane’s face. He holds his hand like it is the most precious thing he's ever touched. He flinches when he reaches a new spot as if it’s his own hand being tended to. Ilya thanks whatever god is out there that no amount of love will make them share physical pain. He never wants Shane to be hurt.
“Can you move your fingers?”
Ilya slowly tests each hand, the joints are stiff and swollen, but he doesn’t think any of them are broken. At least hockey had taught him what a fractured bone feels like and Shane won’t have to force him to Urgent Care to get an Xray.
“They are okay.”
Shane gives him a dirty look.
“Sorry, they are just sore I think. They will feel better with some ice and maybe a kiss from cute man.”
Silence settles back over them, and heavy weight returns to Ilya's shoulders like it has never left. He almost wishes the anger was back. At least it made him move, pushed him into feeling something other than sadness.
It’s only the knowledge that Shane will worry even more that makes Ilya let him wrap his knuckles with bandages. If he had it his way he would have left them alone and already made his home under the covers of their bed where he can pull the wool over his eyes and hide from the world and the conversations he has no choice but to have.
After scaring his husband like that he owes him an explanation. The fact that it’s been killing him to keep it to himself makes the admission easier.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was- I am just so angry at myself. Yesterday was a perfect day. Perfect. I woke up in bed with you in my arms, and my puppy at my feet. We went on a run and I beat you at race. I was so happy, and today I woke up feeling like the world is going to end.
“I am trying so hard to not be the way I am, to not feel the way I do. But I don't change. I go to therapy like a good boy. I exercise and eat all the foods I don’t want to because they have vitamins. I have a perfect husband and great team. There is no reason for me to still be like this. I wake up, and I am so tired. I have a good day, and I still feel so empty. I should be happy. I am happy but my brain does not know it. And it makes me so mad. Why can’t I just be normal?”
He keeps his eyes on Shane’s nimble fingers tending to his bruised hands.
“Ilya… it's normal to struggle.”
“Not like I do. Not the way that my stupid fucking brain doesn’t work right. There is no reason for it and it is wrong. It is weak.”
Shane finishes with his hands and gently tilts Ilya’s face up to look at him.
“You once told me you didn’t want me to think your mother was weak. Today I’m telling you the same thing about my husband. Don’t think my husband is weak. He is so funny and beautiful. And I hate to see him so hard on himself.”
Ilya presses a tear wet kiss to the corner of his husband’s mouth.
“I will try but, you know, I am bad at listening.”
~
“Galina mentioned medication again. That is what I was so angry about when I came back. You know, besides my stupid brain.”
Shane scoots closer to Ilya under their covers and wraps his arm around his waist before replying, “Okay…”
Ilya can hear the hesitance. Shane doesn’t have the same aversion to medication that Ilya does, but he has tried to respect it which Ilya appreciates.
“I don’t want it but, I think I might need it. I do not want to feel like this anymore. I don’t want to do things that scare you.”
It’s easier to say these words now, in the dark with their covers weighing him down and stopping the world pressing in on him. He’s so fucking tired and if every thing else is not working, what is there left to do?
“You don’t scare me the way you’re thinking. I’m worried, that you’re-” Shane cuts himself off and presses a gentle kiss to the bandages he’d applied so carefully, “-that you’re hurting yourself.”
He has no reply to that, not this time.
“What do you think?”
“Of medication?”
“Da.”
Shane takes a minute before replying. Ilya can almost hear the typewriter of his thoughts sorting out how to reply.
“I think that if all of the things you’re already doing for yourself aren’t helping enough, medication is worth considering. We should meet with a psychiatrist and see what their professional opinion is. In the end it’s your decision to make, but I’ll be with you no matter what you do. No matter how many doctors appointments or medications it takes. I’ll always be with you.”
“You don’t think it’s weak?” He can barely manage to whisper the question.
“No. Would you say that to someone who has diabetes or high blood pressure and takes medication?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would you say that it’s wrong or weak of them to have prescriptions for their conditions?”
He huffs, what is Shane talking about?
“No, medicine is to help them.”
Shane’s fingers begin tracing patterns on Ilya’s side as he goes on, “Depression is just another medical condition. Sometimes people’s bodies need more help from medication than others. It’s not a flaw in the person.”
Ilya sighs and leans farther back into his husband’s arms, relishing in the familiar warmth, “Maybe, can we be done with talking now?”
“Okay.” Shane hides his face in Ilya’s curls, “If your knuckles are more swollen in the morning you’re getting X-rays.”
Ilya chuckles and nods. He’ll do anything Shane tells him tomorrow, it’s the least he could do after today's shit show. The anger at himself is still inside him somewhere, simmering and waiting until his next moment of weakness. But it’s hard to imagine that it could happen anytime soon when he’s cocooned in Shane’s arms.