Author's Note: Hey, hi, hello, it's been a while since I posted, well, anything. I finished my graduate program and graduated Dec. 14th with a Master of Science in Clinical Mental Health. I start work at a private practice early next year, once I get alllll the paperwork dealt with. In the meantime, I want to get back into posting and talking with y'all. I haven't stopped writing at all, just couldn't find time and energy to post.
If you're interested in this series, Chapter 1 is here so that you can start from the beginning. :)
Without further ado, here's chapter 8:
Chapter 8: Confrontation & Calamity
(Chapter 7: Conversations)
Ian returns to the McCartney’s house mid-day Sunday. Paul, Aisha, and John arrive at the same time, ready to help Ian remove his limited belongings from the house. Ian has agreed to immediately move in with Aisha and John. They had worked on cleaning the apartment all day Saturday, moving furniture around and swapping out a few pieces from Ian’s storage unit. As much as Ian hated the fuss that went along with the moving, he couldn’t help but admit at the end of the day — curled up in his own, favorite armchair once again — that it felt good being amongst some of his things again. And in a household that seemed to actually want him there.
Now, though, he’s staring up the walk at the front door to the McCartney’s house. He knows he has to go in there, knows he has to face Abby. He can see her at the door already, staring out at Ian and his gathered posse.
“Do you want us to come in with you?” Paul asks softly.
Ian shakes his head, not taking his eyes off of Abby. “No, I need to do this myself. Just … um, stay close? In case … something goes wrong?” He turns halfway and offers his friends a wobbly smile. “I got this.” He laughs halfheartedly. “I talk people down for a living. Why is this one so much different?”
Paul steps in close. “This one hits home, Ian.” He reaches out and squeezes Ian’s arm. “You’ve got this. We’re right behind you.”
Ian takes a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this.” He turns and glances up at the house, where Abby has now opened the door and is glaring down at him. “I’ll let y’all know when you can come up.” He squares his shoulders and starts what feels like a death march up to Abby.
Abby stares at him the whole way, seething anger apparent in her eyes and her body language. Ian forces himself not to bow under her withering glare. He finds that it gets easier, the closer he gets. She’s angry — incredibly angry — and as Ian approaches, the level of her anger seems more and more ridiculous. She kicked him out. She threw him out with nowhere to go. She hasn’t answered any of his texts or calls, nor has she even bothered to reach out to find out if he has been okay.
Ian finds himself getting more and more frustrated with each step he takes. It’s as if the twenty-four hours spent with Aisha and John has jump started the self-preservation instinct in Ian’s mind again. Ian is suddenly aware of how shitty Abby has treated him, and how much he hates Dennis’ perpetual horniness. Ian feels used, and he’s finally tired of it.
He reaches the door and stops.
Abby doesn’t move.
“Can I come in? We need to talk.” An eerie calm settles over Ian. He can do this. He is doing this.
Abby raises an eyebrow. Her gaze flicks over Ian’s shoulder to the friends Ian knows are there to support him. “Wanna talk about why you decided to bring you friends with you?”
“Inside, Abby. This doesn’t need to be something the neighbors watch.”
Abby stares him down. When Ian neither flinches nor caves, she rolls her eyes. “You’re just going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?”
“I just want to talk in private,” Ian says, his voice level.
Abby huffs. “Fine.” She shoves the door open and steps back.
Ian follows her inside. He quickly clocks Dennis rising from the couch off to his left. Abby retreats to lean against the side table, the one with the huge glass vase of faux fall flowers in it.
Ian takes a deep breath. “There’s … not really an easy way to say this.” He glances between Abby and Dennis. “I’m done. This … this isn’t working. It hasn’t been working for a long time, but after Tuesday …” Ian focuses on Abby. “We’re over. I’m moving out today. That’s … why they’re here.” He motions in the direction of his friends.
Abby sneers. “Oh, can’t take consequences, can we? Bastard.”
Ian swallows. “There’s no need to belittle me anymore, Abby. I’m not putting up with this.”
Abby’s face takes on a horrific mockery of amusement. “Fuck you, Ian,” she spits. She jabs a finger at him. “You are such a pathetic excuse of a man. Can’t take anything we dish out, can you?” She flicks her hand at Dennis, who has inched a bit closer. “Can’t be there for Dennis when he needs you, can even take a night off from your friends to spend an evening with your partners.” Abby shakes her head. “You’re a fucking disaster of a partner.”
Ian forces his breathing to stay even. He can’t let her get to him. He has to hold strong. “Abby. Stop.” He glances at Dennis and then back to Abby. “As for being there for either of you — I’ve never been anything but there. Every time one of you wants a part of me, I’ve given in. And I hate it. I hate it so much. I don’t want to be used anymore. I’m done.”
“Done? Oh, no, honey. You are done when I say so.” Abby takes a threatening step towards Ian. “You don’t get to walk out of here just like that. You’re a part of this household, like it or not. I will not let you leave.”
Ian raises an eyebrow. “You have no say over what I do or do not do.” He sighs. “I’m getting the others. We’re packing up my clothes. This is over.”
“You are not leaving!” Abby screams at him. “Fuck you, you bastard! This isn’t over. It’s over when I say it’s over. Hey! Come back here!”
Ian turns slowly away from her. “We’re done, Abby.” He takes two steps towards the door, ignoring Abby’s enraged shriek.
He doesn’t see her grab the vase. He doesn’t see the thing flying through the air at him.
He does feel the collision of something hard and unforgiving with the back of his head.
Ian stumbles forward, his vision swimming. He hits the floor before he even realizes that he’s falling. Ian blinks once, twice, and manages to make out Abby’s boots approaching.
The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Abby’s boot aiming for his forehead.
Paul, Aisha, and John are standing nervously a few yards from the door when they hear Abby shriek. Then there’s a heavy thud. Paul is on alert instantly, his head whipping towards the house. He hears Abby start screaming obscenities, and realizes that he can no longer see Ian’s figure in the doorway. Paul is moving before his conscious mind catches up to the fact that there’s a threat. It’s only when he hears hurried footsteps behind him that he stops abruptly.
Paul spins around. “Wait here,” he commands.
“What if he’s hurt?” John argues, mutiny in his eyes.
Paul considers him. “I need to assess this. Crisis negotiation is my forte.” He gives John a half smile. “Yours is emergency medicine. Let me get this under control and then you can come in. Do you have a med kit?”
John nods. “In my car.”
“Get it.” Paul turns to Aisha as John jogs to his car. “Be ready to call the cops if I can’t get this under control.” He takes a deep breath. “Or an ambulance.” He glances back up at the house. “Hopefully, I’m wrong.” Paul nods to himself. “Wait outside, out of sight, until I give the all clear, alright?”
“Okay.” Aisha nods.
“Thanks.” Paul turns and strides quickly to the door. Through the glass of the screen door, he can see enough.
Ian is on the floor, unmoving. There’s a heavy glass vase with a crack in it lying by his head and a pool of red slowly growing next to his neck. Abby is towering over Ian, alternating between screaming at Ian and kicking him. Dennis stands off to the side, looking shocked, but not moving to stop Abby.
Paul winces.
“Get the cops here,” he barks in Aisha’s direction. “And an ambulance.” He swings the door open. “Abby McCartney, step away from him,” he orders.
Paul rarely wishes that he had his gun on him on his days off, but this is one of those days. He doesn’t think that this woman is going to listen to him, and his opinion is confirmed when Abby turns wild eyes to him.
“Fuck off, Paul. Fuck off,” Abby snarls. “This is none of your fucking business.” She kicks out at Ian again.
Paul charges forward. He wraps his hands around Abby’s arms and manhandles her backwards away from Ian. She shrieks and starts fighting him, kicking and trying to scratch his arms.
“Stop,” Paul barks. “Stop this right now. This is not going to get you what you want.”
“Fuck you! How the fuck do you know what I want? Get off of me!” Abby lunges forward and tries to bite him. Failing that, she starts screeching for Dennis. “Dennis! Help me! Help! Dennis, you fucking imbecile!”
Paul sees Dennis make an aborted step forward. “Think about this very carefully, Dennis.” Paul keeps his voice even, calm. “While I’m not here in an official capacity, I am a federal officer. Your wife here is already facing charges of assault and assault of a federal officer. Do you really want to deal with charges of obstructing justice and assault on a federal officer?”
Dennis, the mild mannered sleeze that he is, considers for only a moment before taking a step back.
“Good. Sit yourself down on that couch and don’t move.” Paul waits a beat for Dennis to do as he’s told. Then he turns back to Abby, who is now screaming obscenities at Dennis, Paul, and Ian — who is, upon a quick look over his shoulder — still unconscious.
Paul swears. He needs to get John in here, now. He can’t wait. That’s one of his best friends laying there, and he needs help. Fuck Abby and fuck protocol. “John! Aisha! Get in here!”
The door swings open seconds after Paul calls for help. Paul feels himself relax just a fraction. He’s still fighting with Abby — who is now cussing out John and Aisha and using some very racist phrases — but Ian … Ian’s the one who needs help right now.
“Aisha, keep an eye on Dennis. John, please, help Ian.” Paul turns his attention back to Abby and tries to wrestle her back even further from Ian’s prone form.
John grabs the med kit from the car and races back up the path to the house. He can hear Abby’s shrill voice screaming. Aisha is peering into the house while on the phone with emergency services. She turns wide, horrified eyes to John as he approaches.
He’s on the floor, she mouths to John.
John curses. He steps next to Aisha, shading his eyes from the sun as he tries to get a good look inside.
Sure enough, Ian is laying on the floor just to the left of the door. He’s not moving. John can just make out a vase lying next to him — a heavy, glass thing that doesn’t look like it shattered at all. John winces. That’s not good. He knows enough about injuries and physics to know that when something shatters on impact, it absorbs more force. When it doesn’t shatter … well, Ian is going to have one hell of a headache. John hopes that’s all he has.
A shriek catches John’s attention and he glances up. Paul is forcing Abby backwards away from Ian. She’s fighting Paul with all her might, cursing and kicking at him. Dennis moves to help his wife, but something Paul barks at him has the man backing down.
Then John hears his name. He doesn’t hesitate. He swings the door open and steps inside. Aisha follows, still on the phone with EMS.
“Aisha, keep an eye on Dennis. John, please, help Ian.” Paul says. His voice is steady. He’s trained for this type of thing. But there’s a tiny waver on the please that reminds John that none of them are impartial in this situation.
John doesn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees next to Ian. He blocks out Abby’s cursing. This isn’t his first rodeo with domestic violence. He’s been here before, looking after one partner while the cops fight with the abuser. It’s just that this time, the man on the floor is someone John knows, someone he cares about. John takes a deep breath and shuts off his emotions. He doesn’t have time to feel right now. Clinical observation takes over as his emotions and the screaming fade into the background.
Ian is face down on the floor, crumpled in an awkward position. There’s blood seeping from a tw0-inch gash in the back of Ian’s head. John quickly presses two fingers to Ian’s pulse point while his other hand opens his med kit.
Pulse: fast but otherwise strong. Good.
John sets about dealing with the cut on Ian’s head. He needs to stop the bleeding — head wounds bleed too much. He hears Aisha call over her shoulder that Abby was kicking Ian before Paul got her away from him. John nods his understanding and refocuses on the blood.
Once he has that under control, John slowly rolls Ian into the recovery position and begins trying to bring him back to consciousness. After a moment, Ian’s eyes flutter open. They’re distant, unfocused, but mercifully, his pupils are the same size. Lower likelihood of severe brain trauma, John notes in his mind.
“Ian? Hey, you with me?” John reaches down to squeeze Ian’s hand. He just means to check Ian’s reflexes, but Ian instantly latches onto John, curling his fingers tightly around John’s hand.
“J-john?” Ian croaks.
“Bingo,” John jokes. He slips into his cheerful persona — the one he uses with trauma survivors, the one that distracts them from what they’ve gone through, makes them smile even the tiniest bit. “You got me.”
Ian’s lips quirk ever so slightly, and John beams down at him.
“Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”
Ian swallows. His eyes glaze over as he clearly tries to focus around the chaos in the room — there’s sirens in the mix now, as the cops and ambulance are pulling up the street. John sees the moment that Ian’s own training kicks in: triage self-injuries, assess the situation. “Head … hurts. Where’s Abby?”
“Paul has her. Dennis is on the couch, Aisha’s watching over him. You’re safe.” John squeezes Ian’s hand.
Ian squeezes back and nods minutely. “Why … so loud?”
“Cops are here,” John replies. The door opens and John glances up. “And the paramedics. They’re going to fix you right up.”
Ian’s breathing picks up. “Don’t leave?” he asks, fear in his eyes.
John makes eye contact with one of the medics — Bradi, a woman he’s worked with before. She nods an assent as she kneels down on the other side of Ian. “I’m right here, Ian,” John says softly. “Right here.”
Ian nods. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Then he and John both turn their attention to Bradi and Mike, who quickly take over Ian’s care. John and Ian answer the medic’s questions, and John tries really hard not to think about how right Ian’s hand feels in his.
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