|Ian MacKenzie (ianmack) wrote in dalton_rpg,|
@ 2011-01-17 03:13:00
|Entry tags:||! thread, # pairing: ian/jack, @ character: ian mackenzie, @ character: jackson aldama, status: complete|
Who: Jack and Ian
What: Good night, sweet prince, good night.
Where: Ian’s room.
When: Sunday, Jan 16th, afternoon
Rating: SFW for the most part, mentions of drug abuse and cursing.
Ian didn’t want Jack to come over. Not one bit. It seemed that Jack wasn’t exactly giving him a choice though so he did the first thing he could think of... After waffling for a few minutes, he got dressed and started to duck out of his room.
Jack had booked it over to Ian’s room as quickly as possible. The word vomit Ian had been spewing made it clear that Jack needed to sit down and have a serious conversation about where Ian’s head was at. Unfortunately, the minute he stepped up to Ian’s door and was about to knock, the other boy popped out and almost knocked him over. Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and held them apart to keep them from slamming into each other. “Whoa. Where are you going?”
Even hitting the bag with Eoin hadn’t helped... Ian still looked like shit - he hadn’t been eating, hadn’t been sleeping. It showed. Especially in the way that he practically barreled over Jack unable to hit the brakes in time - his reaction time was shite. “Away. Out. I just. I don’t want to have this conversation. I’m tired and my head hurts.” He pulled away from Jack and stepped back into the dorm room though.
Ian looked like hell in hand basket, just like he had all week. Jack didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed earlier. This was obviously more than just being sick or a little depressed because of family problems. “What conversation, the one where you start actually talking to me about some of this?” Ian was right, Jack couldn’t do anything about any of it and it made him feel completely helpless and useless. It was like he could do nothing but stand by and watch Ian spiral down, getting blamed for not fixing it the whole way down. Usually, Jack was good at fixing problems. He was an RA, he did it all the time. This though, for some reason. Ian’s problems seemed impossible to even confront. Jack knew the only decent shot at it getting better was therapy, and he already just knew Ian would fight him every step of the way, even more than Scotty or Mocchi did. They had grown so far apart in such little time...how was that even possible? Sighing, Jack shook himself out of his thoughts and stepped into Ian’s dorm room, closing the door. “You said pills. What kind of pills? You look like shit, Ian. What have you been doing to yourself?” Jack reached up to touch Ian’s cheek worriedly.
He didn’t know why he did it but automatically, Ian withdrew from Jack’s touch, scooting over to his bed and sitting down in such a way that he practically radiated closed offness. Of course Ian wouldn’t go to therapy - he was stubborn. And Jack... Jack just made him feel like shit. All the time anymore. He didn’t know what it was. Embarrassing him, getting upset with him when Ian had every right to still be hurt. Or at least according to other people he had the right. Whatever. “Just shit to make me sleep. It doesn’t even matter. As for the conversation - I figured it would just be another Get Over It thing.”
Jack swallowed hard as Ian flinched away, ignoring the sudden stabbing prickle at the back of his eyes. Fuck, what had happened to them? “Ian, I don’t think any of this is fair. I never said you should ‘just get over it’, okay? You’re going through a lot of shit and it’s not fair to act like I’m just telling you to blow all of it off. I wish you’d talk to me. You’re scaring me. I’m worried about you.”
Ian looked at Jack from between his raised knees, “You act that way. With the Aaron thing. I know, always comes back to that. But it’s just a minor piece in the shit storm that is my life. I’ve fucking tried, okay? I... try. With everything. I have to be the stoic rock. I have to be the one everyone else can lean on. The cool head. When anymore I just want to fucking...” He didn’t finish the sentence. “My head hurts too much. I don’t want to talk about this.”
Jack made a wibbly face, frowning hard and looking sad, feeling like a fucking asshole. Jack took two quick steps, closing the distance between him and Ian’s bed, dropping down onto his knees and squeezing Ian’s hands in his. “I know. I know, you’re right. I’m sorry baby. If I said anything like that that was … If I was being insensitive about the Blaine and Aaron thing, I’m sorry, okay? That’s not what. I didn’t mean it like that.” Fuck, why was this so hard. It was like he was shaking apart at the edges. “I’m sorry, okay... I just feel like you’re going through a lot right now, a whole lot, and it scares me and I don’t know what to do to make it better and I feel like I’m failing you and I’m sorry.” There was totally not a pinched feeling in this throat at all. “You don’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to fucking talk about it, but you never want to talk about it! What am I supposed to do, Ian, leave you alone?! Walk away and play soccer and pretend like my boyfriend isn’t fucking losing it? What do you want me to do?!”
Ian didn’t want to see that face. It made him feel guilty about... everything, like God what was his problem? He should just shut up. But as Jack went on, he just got angry. Always had to be about Jack didn’t it? He was scared. What, he didn’t think Ian was terrified of the things that were going on in his mind? How he dreamt of his mother killing him in his sleep or how he kept daydreaming about killing himself in class? Or... that he was starting to see things. Little things. Shit, he was going insane. “What can you do?” Ian asked in a slow, carefully schooled voice. The one he’d been using all week to keep from crying or screaming at people. “I was raised not to talk about it. Man up, don’t cry. Been kind of failing on that. God, I can’t. I can’t think. My brain is screaming at me.” He flopped back against his bed, pulling his hands away to cover his face, bruised knuckles up.
Jack followed him, perching on the edge and not letting go of Ian’s hands. “Baby, please. Please, talk to someone. I’m really scared for you. You’re scaring me.” Jack squeezed Ian’s hands and resettled, biting his lip and looking heartbreakingly earnest. “You know I care about you, right? Please. I just...you’re in a really bad place right now and I can feel it and. And I don’t know how to help and you won’t let me in. Please let me help?”
“Scaring you. Scaring you...” Ian muttered with a bit more vehemence than he meant to. He pulled his hands away from Jack’s again, “Stop. That hurts.” Not that Jack was doing it hard but his hands were really screwed up from how hard he had been hitting that punching bag. “There’s nothing else to let you in on. I’ve told you everything,” Liar. “What could you possibly do to help? Tell me.” Again he was moving but this time up towards his desk. God, he didn’t want to be close to anyone and his head really hurt. Everything hurt. From his toes to his head and there was this vice like grip on his heart. Ian opened his desk drawer and fished out the prescription bottle with his mother’s name on it. By now he was an expert at swallowing the Vicodin without water which was what he proceeded to do. Jack be damned. He hurt too much.
Jack was … totally not going to cry, ‘cause if he cried now he would feel even shittier about this entire fucking situation, but that didn’t stop the constant tightness in his throat. “I don’t know. I don’t know! I can’t do anything, okay, is that what you want to hear? My fucking boyfriend, who I am crazy in love with, needs me and there’s not a damn fucking thing I can do so please tell me, Ian, what am I supposed to do now? Neither of us can do anything. Am I supposed to just give up and be like ‘oh well damn nothing I can do guess I’ll just move along’? Jack swallowed hard, thickly, standing up. He didn’t like fighting with Ian, he hated fighting with Ian. But everything the boy was saying was like a slap in the face right now, amplifying all of the insecurities Jack had already been telling himself. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know either, Jack. If I had all the fucking answers, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If I had all the answers, I wouldn’t even be in this situation. I mean, God, I’ve even been seeing shit out of the corner of my eyes anymore. I’m going fucking insane.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Why had he said that? Fuck. After he had knocked back the fat white pill, he sort of turned his head to glare at Jack, “I told you. My head hurts. Everything hurts.”
Jack pushed himself up off the bed, snatching the pill bottle out of Ian’s hand, looking at it critically, his face screwing up in anger. He shook it in Ian’s face. “Well that’s really fucking shocking, Ian, considering you’re abusing fucking vicodin!” I mean, vicodin. Where the fuck did Ian get vicodin. Since when did he even use vicodin. Or drugs. He didn’t even smoke pot. Jack looked at him with an incredulous face, shaking his head. “It’s like I don’t even fucking know you anymore. . .”
“Fuck you, it doesn’t make me see things. It’s the depression that’s doing that. The Vicodin just helps me sleep and...” He looked down at his feet, frowning, “Not feel anything.” God, Jack couldn’t have even guessed. Ian had, of course, used it a couple of times over the holidays - more than a couple. He’d even been present for Loopy Ian on more than one occasion but... Ian supposed he was just that good of a liar. “So. Much. Happened, Jack. So much is still happening. It’s not the sort of thing you can emerge unscathed from. I single handedly destroyed my family. And I tried... so hard to be just me again but I...” He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. No tears. Don’t even.
Jack made an exasperated face, huffing and rolling his eyes with a pissed expression. “Well, damn, Ian that doesn’t sound like you’re abusing it or have a problem or something at all.” The sarcasm. God, his boyfriend had a fucking pill problem and he hadn’t even noticed. Not even not noticed, but not even suspected until Ian said something. He...he guessed he hadn’t been around much in the last week or two. He tried not to feel like a shitty boyfriend, but was failing pretty hard. He instantly blamed himself for not being there for Ian more. It made him feel immediately terrible. Jack set the pill bottle down hard on the nearest flat surface, not caring where it went or what happened to it, stepping in and sliding his hands up to cup Ian’s face and look him earnestly in the eye, trying desperately to get through to him. “Ian, I’m sorry okay? I’m really sorry I haven’t ...if I haven’t been there enough for you lately. And it’s shitty, okay, I know it is, and I’m not saying I expect you to be totally fine with all of this or that it’s not normal to be torn up, because it is, and I’m not telling you to ‘just get over it’, but it is not your fault and you have to get help. Or this is going to eat you alive. And I love you and I can’t watch you like this.“ His voice cracked on the word ‘love’ and now his eyes were shining, uncomfortably prickly, and he felt so...
“Fuck you, Jack. I actually know what I’m doing with this shit which I am sorry to say. Only a couple of times a week so I can actually sleep instead of the... staring at the ceiling thing.” Alright, even Ian knew that was being kind of bastardly but he couldn’t take it back, couldn’t even manage the apology. All he wanted to do was crawl under his desk and hide or jump out the stupid window. It wasn’t high enough. Why had he been thinking about that. Part of him wanted to jerk away when Jack touched him again but he was up against the desk with no where else to go. “You’re busy. Everyone’s busy,” he muttered, trying to brush the whole thing off. His jaw worked back and forth for a moment, grinding his teeth just a little. Man up. Get over it. His mother’s voice. “I can’t. I can’t,” his voice squeaked and he curled in on himself, crossing his arms in front of his stomach. He was getting queasy. It was all too much. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m... too scared. I can’t. They won’t believe me about my mother and I’ll just get shipped off again and then God only knows what she’ll do.”
Jack swallowed hard, blinking furiously. “It’s still abusing pills and I just...that’s not you, Ian,” he said quietly. It was so unlike him, Jack didn’t even know what to do. Obviously they were in a serious patch of rough if this was what they were dealing with. “I’m sorry.” God, how much shittier could he feel. He had things, sure, classes and sports, he was busy, it was a valid excuse but it still made him feel shittier than he even figured was physically possible. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, Ian, okay? I’m really, really, really sorry.” He didn’t know how much more he had to apologize, before this pit in his stomach would go away, before he stopped feeling like looking at Ian was like looking into the sad eyes of a puppy he’d been kicking. “Baby, please, you’ve got to. Please. None of that stuff is going to happen, I promise, okay? You’re so not well right now and you just . . . you need to get better and I just. Please?”
He was so tired of arguing, of having to defend himself. At least Noah hadn’t asked questions and just sold him the fucking pills. What did it matter to Noah, after all - money was money. But Jack, it was an issue. Goddamn. Stop apologizing, he wanted to say. He thought he said it. A lot. Except the words never made it out of his mouth and all he wanted to do was shake Jack or throw him into a wall to get the I’m Sorry’s to stop. Wow, where was his head at? And then while the tears started to flow, it was anger that came with them. Pure, irrational anger, “Get better? I’m never going to get better. None of this is ever going to get better! Everything is fucking ruined!” He didn’t know when he started shouting. “God’s fucking punishing me so why would it get fucking better ever?!”
Ian was yelling and Jack wanted to shrink back away from it, from how wrong it made him feel, but he still had his dignity at least. He stood his ground, dropping his eyes to the ground and looking sad. “I just, I can’t even...It’s like I seriously don’t even fucking know you anymore. I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this. I know you’re messed up and I know it hurts, but it’s like you don’t even want me around. It’s like you don’t even want to be near me.” Jack swallowed hard, snapping his head up and pinning Ian with his eyes. “Do you even still love me?” He swallowed again thickly, blinking and sucking in a breath. “Or maybe you never did. I don’t know how you can act like this if. . . if this was mutual. I just. You’re pushing me away and it’s like you don’t even care.”
Ian snorted, glaring at Jack a little, “You think I want to be around me? Or want anyone around me? No one should have to deal with me like this. And it feels like it’s just a matter of time before I snap and seriously hurt someone.” Or himself. That was the bigger option right there. The question shocked him and yet he knew it was totally necessary. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he had to answer this. “I did. Do. I do love you, Jack, but you make it so hard. Constantly embarrassing me in public, sharing private details of our relationship with your friends. Being high is no excuse.” Whoa, wait, why was he saying this? Okay, it was an issue but really, not an issue he wanted to bring up right now when there was so much other shit to sift through. “Fuck. Sorry. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Hurt someone. Like himself. Jack made a pained face, almost going back to it, because if he couldn’t handle something, it would be Ian trying to hurt himself. It would make him. . . he didn’t even know. It would make his heart literally break. But then Ian kept going and Jack slowly felt his expression slip into something dumbstruck and stupid and so fucking hurt that it made his entire face ache. “Did?” He didn’t care, didn’t care if it was a slip of the tongue. Or anything else. There were two, three horrible beats of silence and then Jack was yelling too. “I fucking love you! And now you’re telling me that you...what, you don’t even love me anymore? Because I talk about our sex life with my friends!? Like that’s something that...like that fucking matters?! Ohmygod, Ian. Like, is that really something you’re going to say is an issue for us right now? I talk about our sex life, yeah, because I’m a guy and those are my friends and that’s what we talk about. Is this seriously what you’ve got right now, to throw in my face, to make me feel guilty, to make me feel like a bad boyfriend, like I deserve this, even though I have been worried sick about you? Do you, what, do you think that makes us even now? You...you blow me off and say shit like that and do this shit but hey I talk about us having sex with my friends so I guess I deserve it. I am still fucking here, okay? You are trying to push me away so fucking hard but I am still here because I still fucking love you, I am stupid in love with you, even though you haven’t given me the time of day in like two weeks, have barely spoken to me, blew me off, won’t let me help you. . . but hey, no, that’s cool. Did. Past tense. I guess I can live with that. I get it. I’m not...I was never good enough for you. But I guess as long as there was some point, for however brief, that you returned the feelings, then it wasn’t all for nothing. Just, . . .what the fuck?! How can you say that?!”
Ian winced, recoiling at the way Jack suddenly exploded. Usually this sort of thing preceded getting the shit kicked out of you and he was kind of totally prepared for that. Maybe he needed it. Maybe he needed to bleed and hurt. He couldn’t even really respond to Jack properly, say how Jack had wanted to talk about all the issues and this was one of the many. But all he could do was finally let the dam burst, tears streaking his face. What could he say? He could barely think for one thing. “I do love you, Jack. I don’t know where the did came from. Fuck, I obsessed over you for so long... I just don’t know anything anymore...”
Jack swallowed hard, blinking furiously as Ian started to cry. It hurt him, made his chest ache, standing there and not trying to comfort him, but he had already felt the way Ian tensed up every time Jack had come near him tonight and he couldn’t do it again. “I don’t think you do,” he said quietly, folding into himself.
“I don’t know anything or I don’t love you?” Ian asked stupidly but he knew the answer. He didn’t need Jack to respond. “I do. God, I do. Believe me when I say I love you. You’re the--” He swallowed hard and couldn’t finish his sentence. If he said it... He covered his face with his hands again, curling in on himself even more.
Now Jack was crying too, softly and without any noise, but he could feel the wetness rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t think you do. If you did...If you really did we wouldn’t be here. If you really did...things feel different now, Ian. This whole week. I just. I don’t...I want to be with you so bad. Because I love you so much. But...” He was crying harder now, bottom lip quivering to keep from making a wet sob noise. God help him if he made that noise.
The piece of him that was sane wanted to make a ‘this is so gay’ joke but that piece was ultimately smothered by the depression and terror he was feeling. Jack had it all wrong. Or mostly right. Or something. It was all so confusing and now all he could do was cry and pray he didn’t sob like a baby. Until the But. “But what? Wait, what but?” That made him panic a little. A lot. More than he knew.
Jack did sob now, a broken crying sort of shaking. Fuck this was the most he had cried in a long fucking time, and way way more than he had cried in front of anyone since he’d hit puberty. “But I don’t think I can do this.” God, this hurt. This hurt so much more than he thought relationships would ever hurt.
Ian froze in fear which quashed the sob that got choked away in his throat. What? What? “What?” Okay, good, he managed to get one out in words but he couldn’t comprehend any of what Jack had just said.
Jack took a deep, shuddery wet breath. “I can’t do this anymore, Ian. I...you don’t love me. You can’t. If you did...if you did, you wouldn’t be pushing me away, you would be at least interested in seeing me, you wouldn’t flinch away every time I tried to touch you. You wouldn’t be hurting me so bad right now. If you loved me....if you really loved me, this would all be easier.” That’s how it worked, right? If you loved someone nothing got in the way. Nothing was easy, but it was surely easier than this. This couldn’t be right.
That didn’t even make sense... Did it? Okay, it kind of did but kind of didn’t. It was stupid. When was this shit ever easy? But he couldn’t even vocalize any of that. All Ian could do was stare at Jack, completely dumbfounded. He couldn’t argue, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even move. He could barely breathe. “I-what?” Jack had entirely broken Ian’s brain.
jack shook his head violently, stumbling away from Ian a step or two. “I just...I just can’t, Ian. I love you too much. I just... I can’t fucking deal with this right now, alright? You’re ...you’re all fucked up over your family and stuff and you’re totally depressed, and doing drugs, I mean. Drugs, Ian. You. I just...this is. I’m sorry but this is too intense for me right now. I need...” Jack swallowed hard, fighting back fresh tears behind his eyelids, squeezing his eyes shut, voice tightening painfully as he tried to get the words out. God he felt so fucking shitty. Like the worst person ever. “I just need some space. From...from you. From all this. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, baby, I love you, you don’t even know how much, okay?” God why wouldn’t his voice stop fucking breaking. ”But I just can’t do this right now.”
Jack... Was leaving. Because he couldn’t deal? But. Wait. No. Why didn’t that make sense? Nothing was making sense. And Ian was trying very hard to make his mouth work but he was kind of unable to feel his lips as the Vicodin started to kick in. Work, mouth, work! When he managed to speak, his voice was a croak, stuffed with a multitude of emotions that he couldn’t even figure out, “Space? Like... Temporary space or permanent space?” Panic mostly. Panic and tears.
Jack made a tight noise in his throat, choking back tears and trying to look anywhere but at Ian, because it hurt too much, but it was impossible. Even now, he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. “I don’t know. Would you want me back? Will you always want me back? Because I’m pretty sure I’m always going to love you, Ian.”
Breathing would be good. Breathe. Ian remembered to do just that, hard like he’d just run a marathon. It was the panic. Why didn’t Jack know? He had to know. He was doing the breaking, wasn’t he? Oh God. As much as he wanted to answer, say yes, always, stay, please, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. Beg, plead. He couldn’t get his mouth to work, just staring at Jack’s chest, tears streaming down his cheeks and whimpering a little. Fuck.Fuck.
Jack breathed deep again, shakily, still crying soundlessly. “Just...just space. I just need some fucking space, Ian. But...” Again with the thick swallowing. There was a massive lump in his throat. “But...” He couldn’t even say it. He couldn’t fucking say it. And then Ian was standing there, freaking out and Jack. Jack should’ve just stepped up, wrapped him up in a hug and soothed it away, told him he wasn’t seriously, told him he didn’t mean it, that they were going to be fine, that Jack would be here as much or as little as he wanted, whatever he wanted, that Jack would be around no matter how often Ian pushed him away or snapped at him. But instead Jack just cleared his throat with a weird gasp breath hiccup thing, breath shuddering. “I, uh. I have to go.” And then he spun on his heel and ran.
Nonononononono Jack had to stay. If Jack left, Ian didn’t have anything but the hard part was getting his brain out of its shatteredness and piece it back together to get anything right. When he finally got his arm to work to try and reach out to Jack, grab his arm, make him stay it was too late. Jack was dashing, leaving, running away. Ian followed the movement of his arm and ended up kneeling on the floor, staring after Jack’s feet, barely able to squeak out the tiny “Wait” through the lump in his throat and the tears. Oh good God what had he done?