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The air in the guidance counsellor's office was stuffy, and it made Shane fidget quietly. It reminded him of being ‘randomly’ pulled from class to talk with a therapist. The same thing was happening with Irina, but for a drastically different reason. Irina was excused back to class fifteen minutes ago, and the guidance counsellor who had gone with her hadn’t returned yet.
“Hey,” Shane interlocked his hand with Ilya’s, his voice just above a murmur. They both had a deep fear that they knew exactly why Irina’s grades were plummeting, and her attendance was abysmal. They tried to put off this type of meeting. Rewards for attending class, encouragement to get out of bed, and constant monitoring when she did stay home. Everything, but they were just delaying the inevitable. Ilya tried to not look so shaken, but guilt was written all over Ilya’s face. “It’s okay, we can help her.”
“This is my fault,” Ilya said. “I knew about genetics, and I still insisted on being a donor.”
“Nothing is wrong with her. We’re here to find resources so she can succeed, just like you did.” Shane pressed a soft kiss on Ilya’s lips. “No one is blaming you.” Ilya hummed softly, and his heartbeat skipped when the counsellor returned. The look on her face was unmissable. A deep concern, one that told Ilya everything he needed to know. He’d seen that expression on Shane a million times. When Ilya would get into his low moments, he didn’t know if he could ever get back out. She shut the door quietly and handed Ilya a folder.
“In my professional opinion,” the woman sat down in her desk chair, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Irina is severely depressed. I’ve seen this behaviour in my students before, but there is an upside.” Ilya opened the folder, and Shane leaned over slightly to look at its contents. Pamphlets were tucked in between failed assignments with Irina’s name on them.
“What’s that?” Shane looked up, his hand resting on Ilya’s thigh.
“There is a therapist who specializes in teenage girls. Depression can hit women differently, and mixing low serotonin levels with the hormonal shifts of a teenage girl makes this period of her life feel like an all-time low.”
“Could it just be that?” Shane asked, and Ilya fingered a thin pamphlet from the back of the stack. “Hormones?” The pamphlet was littered with information on therapy, and Ilya felt a bit more at ease, knowing that there was a way out for Irina. His mother may not have had this option in Moscow, but Irina did, and Ilya was going to help in every way he could.
“If she’d come to school once or twice with that level of low self-esteem, I’d consider it.” The woman slid a piece of grid paper in Shane's direction. “But she’s two absences away from not graduating next year.” The woman shifted in her seat again, the chair's bottom making a small, annoying creaking sound in the stuffy air of the office. “Of course, I have compassion for the girl. I’m able to pull some strings, and she can restart her sophomore year with the same credits as she has now.”
“What can we do?” Ilya asked, placing the folder back onto the desk, save for the pamphlet he grasped like a lifeline.
“Therapy. A therapist can assess her condition, and she can pass you along to a psychiatrist, who can prescribe medication for Irina.” The idea of Irina being anywhere near a bottle of pills in her current state terrified Ilya, but he had to keep reminding himself that he could watch her at all times. He would watch her sleep if it meant keeping her alive. He was already considering retiring to stay home with Irina all day.
The drive home was quiet. “Irina,” Ilya said softly, trying to keep the fear in his voice hidden. Irina was pressed against the car door, her eyes fluttering open with the least amount of energy. Her expression was lifeless, tired. “You can talk to us. You know that?” Irina hummed softly as she crossed her arms tiredly.
“Or not. You can talk to someone else, anything you want.” Shane added, flicking his gaze into the rearview mirror. Irina didn’t respond, and Shane glanced at Ilya. They shared a knowing look, one that said everything they needed to. We’re going to help her.
It’d been a week since Irina started her regular therapy sessions, but Ilya couldn’t help but stay awake nearly every night. He listened for any sign that Irina was leaving her room. He listened for the sound of the medicine cabinet opening with a shrill squeak. Ilya kept his own medication in the en-suite bathroom, but there was over-the-counter medicine in Irina’s bathroom, something that if you took too much of…
Ilya tried not to think about that. He would hear if Irina tried to hurt herself. He would know, because his daughter was the spitting image of himself, and he’d mapped out this event a million times in his head. He knew how she thought, and he’d do anything to stop those thoughts from taking her away from him.
“How was your session with Dr. Patell?” Shane asked at the dinner table, a hint of hope in his eyes as he saw Irina start to eat a bit of food.
“Fine, we mostly talked about school,” Irina mumbled. Dr. Patell warned Shane and Ilya not to worry when Irina seemed tired after a session. Therapy took a lot out of her, and fatigue was normal in any teenager, depression or not. They were given a list of warning signs, and Ilya mentally scanned every small moment he had with Irina, making sure she was okay.
“Good, we can look at going back to school next September too.” Shane rubbed a hand over Irina's, smiling warmly. Irina matched his smile, the first one Ilya or Shane had seen in a while.
“Okay, Dad.” Irina helped with dishes and ate a small amount of ice cream after dinner. Ilya saw his daughter getting better, and he couldn’t have asked for anything else. As the three began winding down, Irina stopped on the staircase, looking down at her dads. “I love you, goodnight.” She smiled.
“We love you too.” Shane and Ilya said in unison.
Shane and Ilya settled on the couch with a movie, one that they really only used as background noise as they slowly drifted to sleep on the couch. The last couple of months had been exhausting, but in their eyes, it was worth it. Ilya finally felt like he could fall asleep, knowing that his daughter would be okay. If he could learn to manage his depression, she could too. And as the guidance counsellor said, she could get to a better spot in her mental health after puberty. Everything was going to be okay. The three of them would be okay.
Ilya was drifting in and out of consciousness, catching fragmented scenes of the sit-com reruns on TV, Shane softly murmuring in his lap. The two were only minutes away from a deep sleep when something heavy hit the floor upstairs. A heart-stopping thud felt as though it rattled the house to its core. Shane and Ilya were suddenly too awake as they glanced at each other. They didn’t hesitate to run upstairs, and Ilya found it as though he couldn’t move fast enough. The two shouted through the echoed hallway, but every word that came out of Ilya’s mouth sounded muffled and not his own. Suddenly, one of the warning signs stuck out to Ilya.
Random declarations of love. A person may feel the need to randomly declare their love for friends or family members before harming themselves.
“Irina!” Ilya saw the closed bathroom door, and he didn’t hesitate to shove himself against it. It was locked, of course, and Ilya must’ve told Shane to call someone because he was suddenly running downstairs. Everything was moving too quickly, and yet Ilya felt like he was going too slow. He was shoving his shoulder against the door, but he was too high on adrenaline to care, or even feel the pain. Eventually, the door gave way, and Ilya found Irina, slumped against the bathtub. Sobbing, holding her hand over the opposite wrist. Blood was leaking from her wrist, and Irina’s broken sobs tore through the air.
“Papa, I’m sorry.” She sniffled as her fingers trembled over the cut. Ilya felt the cold tile hit his knees, and he reached out to cup Irina’s face for a moment. “I’m really, really, sorry.”
“You’re going to be okay.” Everything else in the world stopped as Ilya pulled Irina’s hand from her wrist. He pressed harshly against the cut, and Irina screeched in pain. “I know, I’m sorry.” Ilya felt Irina’s pulse beneath his grasp, and he clung to that erratic beat, keeping himself in reality.
Suddenly, he was back in the nursery, watching as Irina’s small chest slowly rose and fell in her sleep. She fidgeted in her soft sleeper, cooing as she dreamt. She still smelt like the hospital and formula. Though Ilya wasn’t sure if the smell of formula was from the bottle he’d just given her to help her sleep, or if it was the spit-up-stained burping bib he had thrown over his shoulder. Irina was heaven swaddled in a blanket, and Ilya had sworn the first night that Irina slept in her crib, beneath the hockey-themed mobile, that he would never let anything happen to her.
Watching the EMTs haul Irina onto a stretcher and into an ambulance felt unreal. Not unreal like winning the cup, or watching Shane become an Olympic Gold Medalist, but unreal like watching his father slowly forget him, or finding his mother on the floor. Ilya was too late to help his mother, but he wasn’t going to let anything take Irina away from him. Irina was sedated in the ambulance, so all Ilya could do while he sat in the back was hold her cold fingers in his and watch as the EMTs did what they could. He hadn’t realized it until Shane’s thumb swiped across his cheek, but Ilya had been crying just as much as Irina was. “You’ll be okay, Docha,” Ilya muttered.
Ilya nearly collapsed in the waiting room as he watched doctors and nurses rush down the hall beside Irina’s stretcher. They disappeared beyond swinging doors, and it took Shane pulling him into an embrace to stop Ilya from following them.
The two fell into a silent panic for two hours. Ilya pestered the receptionist every few moments, and Shane had entirely shut down. Ilya didn’t blame him; he, too, was trying not to entirely melt down. He resorted to muttering soft Russian hymns from his childhood as he held his head in his hands. “Mr. Hollander and Mr. Rozanov?” A doctor called as he approached the couple. Shane and Ilya stood up quickly, their hearts beating, and Ilya trying to read the doctor's expression. “It was lucky you caught her when you did.” The words took a moment to register in Ilya’s mind. Lucky. So that must’ve meant Irina was going to be okay, right? “She’s still recovering from the surgery, and we have her therapist sitting with her.” Ilya started to push past the doctor, but Shane’s hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he just missed the doctor trying to stop him as well. “Too much attention may make her worse right now. She was overwhelmed with guilt before we put her under anesthesia.”
“How long until we can see her?” Shane asked again, always the first one to ask questions.
“Wait until the morning,” the doctor said softly. “She’ll need a bag for the next few days.”
“Days?” Shane asked.
“Yes. Dr. Patell has suggested we keep her here, where she can be supervised and assessed.” The doctor must’ve read the different kinds of worry on Shane and Ilya’s faces, because he began again, “You can still see her, day and night. You can sleep in her room, if you’d like.”
No one warns you about the smell of iron that fills the house after an attempt. It seeps into every fabric and floorboard, and Ilya wasn't prepared for how difficult it was to clean up blood. Mindlessly, he wiped the puddles of blood around, a futile attempt to do anything. Red sopped into the paper towel and dyed the pads of Ilya’s fingers. “Hey, hey,” Shane said softly as he walked into the bathroom. Hearing Shane’s voice broke Ilya. His entire body started to shake as he tried so hard to suppress his sobs, but it was as effective as Ilya’s cleaning job was. Shane pulled Ilya tight against his chest, Ilya’s tear-stained cheek leaking onto Shane’s shirt. He grasped onto Shane with desperation, the same way he grasped onto his mother’s lifeless body. He hyperventilated with a late-coming panic. Everything hit him at once, the pain in his shoulder coming back as a reminder of what caused it. He hadn’t cried like this since he was twelve. “She’s okay, she’s okay,” Shane murmured as he stroked Ilya’s hair.
Ilya knew it wasn’t the world's job to come to a halt when Irina was harmed, but he was still irritated to see the hospital staff bustling about, smiling as if his daughter wasn’t lying in a hospital bed, wondering where her dads were. “Ah, Mr. Rozanov and Mr. Hollander.” The names might’ve piqued a few interests in the waiting room, but Ilya didn’t look around. He didn’t care about anything other than getting Irina’s room number. “She’s in room 434,” the nurse said, gesturing her head towards the hallway behind her. Shane quickly thanked the nurse while Ilya darted for the room.
Ilya didn’t know what he was suspecting when he walked into that hospital room. He wasn’t prepared for the emotions that would hit him when he saw his sweet girl lying on a bed, hooked up to a bunch of machines like an animal. What he really hadn’t prepared for was seeing Irina’s wrists bound in bandages that were sterile-white and old leather cuffs binding her wrists to the hospital bed. “Holy shit,” Shane said softly, and the click of the door perked up Irina’s head. Her eyes were puffy, and she squinted beneath the fluorescent lights. It didn’t take long before Irina started to cry again.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I really am.” Irina sobbed, looking at Shane. Shane and Ilya rushed to either side of her bed, Shane on the right, Ilya on the left. Shane caressed her cheek, and Ilya grasped her hand, making sure she was still there.
“No, no,” Shane said quickly, “don’t apologize.” Irina sniffled as Shane and Ilya both pressed kisses on her forehead and cheek. Hesitantly, Shane glanced down at Ilya’s hand and the cuffs around Irina’s wrists.
“They don’t want me trying anything again,” Irina said as she tiredly moved her wrist as far away from the bed as it could go, which wasn’t very far. “Can you get me something to eat?” Irina rasped, her voice tired and hoarse.
“Of course, docha.” Ilya waited for Irina’s request with anticipation. “Whatever you want.”
“Dr. Patell brought me some snacks, but I can’t…” Irina hissed softly as she moved her wrists too quickly.
“Okay, okay.” Ilya agreed, but he didn’t move from his side of Irina’s bed. Shane grabbed a pudding cup from the basket of snacks, butterscotch.
“There’s a spoon over there.”
While Shane talked with the doctor, Ilya spoon-fed Irina her butterscotch pudding, one she ate by the tub when she was a kid. She’d beg for a cup almost every hour of the day, and Ilya always found it hard to say no. When she was so excited for her favourite snack and used her cuteness to suckerpunch Ilya’s heart, how could he resist? Irina still smacked her lips when she ate her pudding, a habit Shane hated at the dinner table, but he didn’t say a word when he returned from the hallway.
“I’m so glad you’re okay, Irina,” Ilya said softly, his thumb grazing over her faint freckles.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” The look of guilt in Irina’s face made Ilya’s heart lurch and twist. Sorry? How could she be sorry? She was okay, that’s all that mattered.
“No, no.” Ilya’s voice faltered as he whispered, a straggling tear breaking free from his tear duct. “It’s okay. Just…” Ilya didn’t know what to say, or really how to say it in English. “Ya ne mog tebya poteryat’” Irina smiled, her expression knowing.
“Can you stay here tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”
And for the first time in years, since Irina was a newborn, Ilya and Shane let Irina snuggle between the two of them in the small hospital bed.