That scene kept replaying in Mickey's head.

Gallagher showing up asking if it was true. Mickey wished it fucking wasn't true.

Mickey still felt Ian's flesh under his fist.

It was making him nauseous.

Ian's words echoed in Mickey's head. He could hear the redhead almost begging Mickey to admit that he loved him, just once. Pleading for him to just admit that he's gay.

Mickey was getting a headache.

Mickey lit a cigarette hoping to calm himself.

It wasn't helping.

Mickey had left Ian bleeding and in pain.

He hoped the redhead got home safely.

Mickey wanted to punch something-anything.

His fist went through the drywall.

Mickey's hand throbbed.

It reminded him of the sting he'd felt when his hand connected with Ian's solid stomach, then face.

Mickey grabbed a cheap bottle of booze off the counter-hoping to drown his sorrows.

He drank no more than a sip before he threw up. He kept telling himself he'd thrown up because he'd drank to much earlier; Mickey knew he was lying to himself.

Every time he closed his eyes as he blinked he saw Gallagher's bloody, sorrow filled face.

Tears formed in Mickey's eyes.

"I feel better now."

Mickey regretted those words. He didn't feel better. He'd never feel better, not when he was being forced to get married. Not when he was having a child that may or may not even be his.

Mickey wished he could go back in time.

Time travel was not yet invented, and Mickey knew he wasn't smart enough to invent it.

Mickey wanted to say those six words to Ian-he really did.

Those words felt like acid in Mickey's mouth; maybe that was just the bile he was throwing up, again.

Mickey wished he had the strength to stand up to Terry. He wished he could tell Terry, "No." and tell him that he wasn't getting married.

Mickey was scared though, he didn't want his father to kill him. But more than anything he didn't want his father to kill Ian. Mickey would do anything to fucking keep Ian Clayton Gallagher safe.

Mickey's vision blurred, he thought it was the alcohol-it wasn't.

Mickey realized that when he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

Mickey Milkovich didn't fucking cry; Milkovich's weren't allowed to cry.

Mickey stumbled into the bathroom and yanked open the medicine cabinet.

Vicodin-they'd dull the pain.

Mickey swallowed pill after pill.

As he passed out that scene replayed again.

Except this time, he said it.

"I'm gay. I love you Ian."