A/N: This one-shot was inspired by Tokio Hotel's Rescue Me. It's just a drabble on what Adrian would've (must've) felt about the whole 'Rose getting back together with Dimitri behind his back' thing. So, what do you think? R&R please!

What was her issue? Okay, she was in love with him. Alright, she'd been to hell and back just to get him back to where he belonged. I got that. What I didn't get was why she had to get back together with him behind my back. That was cheating wasn't it? It could be counted as stabbing me in the back, having a secret affair, right? She basically betrayed me. So, really, what was her issue? Or maybe the question should be what's my issue. I'd known all along how in love she'd been with Belikov, despite her claims of being over him, of wanting to start something new with me, because eventually, she'd always go back to him. Maybe not physically, but her heart was something I could never possess. Not to the extent that Belikov did, that is. Or perhaps I had never had it in the first place. When one loved someone that much, I didn't think that it was possible to even let someone knock, much less get in.

I thought about it even more as I took a swig of the whiskey my father had so cleverly concealed from my mother and myself—although, not clever enough to ensure that I never found it for the rest of my life. To be fair, however, he probably never thought of me being in his office without being coerced—quite forcibly, I might add. The whiskey was good, like a trail of fire going down my throat and into my gut. It was good to feel like I was on fire. At least I could entertain the thought of dying for the second or two that it lasted. But, however good the whiskey might've been, it was not enough to keep a realization which was beyond important from dawning on me: I was a stupid, gullible, trusting moron. It was so painfully obvious that she was in love with him! Right from the beginning—and I mean the beginning—she had been in love with him. Why did I have to go ahead and deny it when it all that pent up, forbidden love had been growing and growing right in front of me?

I had to be an idiot. There was no other explanation.

But even as I thought it, I felt like punching myself. And it wasn't just talk. I would have happily punched myself had there actually been a way to do it. There was another explanation. There had always been another explanation.

I can't even begin to explain what it felt like to see her and Belikov behind that car. I suppose, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had seen this coming, but I always believed that she wasn't that sort of person. And the extent of how hurt I felt was surprising even to me. I suppose I had simply loved her that much. And this statement wasn't just talk either. I had loved her. I knew I did. I gave her my heart on a string, wore it on my sleeve on more than one occasion. I had this perfect dream, and then suddenly it came apart. It was all a lie. Not just the dream walking thing that I always did with her, but everything. All the dreams. They were all lies.

And yet, all I wanted was her. I felt like I was on fire. I was burning and the only person who could rescue me was her. My soul was screaming for her. I knew it was. It had always screamed for her. It reached out to feel her, to feel the happiness that she gave me, that she gave to it, and it could feel nothing. She was gone. She was out of my life, well and truly. I should hate her. I really should, and from what I had said to her about ruining lives, she probably thought I did. Hell, I thought I did. But I didn't, did I? How could one move on from such love to hate in such a short amount of time? Well, you couldn't, let me tell you that. It wasn't possible.

Or it was. Dad had always seemed distant from Mum, but I find it hard to believe that they had never been in love. I was always on Mum's side on everything—partly because Dad was about as bad as a jerk came and the other part because Mum was always on my side—but I'd be lying if I said that I never saw that look in his eyes. The one that had anguish and pain written all over it in bold letters.

When I enter my house, I see all these pictures of my family, of us together in some picnic spot I can no longer remember and we seem happy. Even in recent pictures, we seemed happy. Or we made it look like we were, at least. Perhaps even when I was a child, we had always pretended to be a small, but happy and content family which, judging from Mum's affair with Ambrose, was a great, big, fat lie.

I wonder if Dad knew about her affair. What sort of lies did she feed him when she went off with Ambrose? Did Dad even notice her being gone? Was Mum the one to start their relationship or had it been Dad all along who had been in love with her? If Mum loved him, though, she wouldn't have cheated on him now, would she? So it must mean that she had never been in love with Dad. Or, if one could fall in love then perhaps it was possible to fall out of love?

Alright, so there were too many questions swimming about in my head, but there was room for one more. Why the hell was the light on?

"I suppose it was only a matter of time until you found it," came the gruff voice of Nathan Ivashkov or Lord Ivashkov, as he was most commonly referred to. I wasn't one of the people who commonly referred to him as such, though. No, I called him Dad. "You were always good in finding comfort. It used to be your great aunt when you were a child, but you've moved onto intoxicating drinks now."

I hated it when he spoke to me like that, as if I was some delinquent child, fresh out of juvenile detention whom he abhorred. I gazed steadily back at him. Well, no, that wouldn't be quite right. I gazed steadily at him. He wasn't looking at me.

He kept his face down as he flopped down onto a nearby couch, but I caught just a glimpse of his eyes closing as he inhaled sharply as if he'd just been punched in the gut. "It's only normal, though," he said, sighing as his eyes opened again to look at me and for the first time in a long time, Nathan Ivashkov smiled at his son, at me. "Although I don't suppose many drink themselves stupid like you always do."

"I never drink myself stupid," I said, and instantly regretted it. That sounded just a touch too defensive. And, just as hurt flashed briefly in my father's eyes, right when he had started with his, "I hadn't meant it in that way," I said, "I mean, it's easier sometimes to be intoxicated to the verge of stupidity than to be aware of what's going on around you. Especially if it hurts."

The whole point of my adding that last line was to keep Dad from getting all guilty and feeling unloved by his only son, but I don't think it worked. He looked even more hurt after that than he had earlier.

If it was possible, Dad burrowed even deeper into the couch, just like he had when Ambrose came over months ago to drop off Mum's purse which he had supposedly found lying around in some ballroom or another, but of course, I knew better now. She'd left it with him by accident during one of their escapades.

Dad should know, I suddenly thought. He should know what was going on behind his back. He'd be hurt—maybe. I haven't quite figured out if he loved Mum—but he should know. I wouldn't want him to find out about something like this as I had and be swallowed up whole by his misery. "Dad, there's something…um, about Ambrose. I know that you probably don't want to hear it, but you have to know. It's not fair for you to live like this, with Mum telling you lies all the time."

I inhaled deeply, as if steeling myself for a fight, bracing myself for all the pain that was to come. I could feel my heart beating rapidly within the confines of my chest. It was like a sports car, going from zero to sixty in 3.5 seconds. Well, actually, it was better than a sports car. It went from zero to a hundred in 0.5 seconds. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I couldn't tell Dad. My parents might not have had the happiest marriage, but they were fine with it. They've lived with it for God only knows how long and I—well, I've existed with it. I couldn't tell him. It would ruin everything.

Not that he needed telling in the first place. "You've found out about your mother, then?" He put a hand on his chest, right where his heart was and unconsciously squeezed. I recognized the gesture in a heartbeat. I'd recently done it, when my heart felt like it was contracting, trying to save itself from all the heartbreak and pain. "Of course you have. He would have had no choice but to tell you, what with you being so adamant to save your dhampir friend."

His eyes searched my face, and something formed in them. Something which told me that he was mad. I hadn't suddenly become an expert in reading emotions from one's eyes over night, but I could see them clearly in his. Well, that and also because his aura had turned a bright shade of red. He was angry. But what was he mad at? Or who? Me? Why? Because I'd found out about Mum and Ambrose? But he hadn't looked angry five seconds ago.

Dad suddenly stood. Oh, God. This was it. Our father-son moment was gone and he would proceed to berate me about whatever it was he was pissed off about.

However, I was surprised—and I mean seriously surprised—when he pulled me up and into a hug. And then all the sadness that I've felt since that night came pouring out. And so did the tears. My father made soft, soothing sounds which I hadn't heard since I was five and had scraped my knee from falling off a bicycle while learning to ride it. It should have been comforting. Instead, the tears started coming more rapidly and breathing suddenly became hard labour.

"Had I known you would be forced to go through this, I would have killed her," he said, holding me tight in his embrace.

I don't know how long we stayed that way, with me in his arms, sobbing like a big baby, but when the tears finally ceased and air filled my lungs without needing me to gulp like a fish out of water, I sank to the floor with Dad following me mere seconds after. I sighed audibly, my cheeks wet with all the tears I'd shed. Had there been tiny, microscopic houses on my cheeks, my tears would have washed them away like a tsunami. "I just…I thought…"

"You thought it'd last forever?" he asked.

That question struck me with a force that could've knocked me down had I been standing. It was ridiculous, but I had thought that it'd last forever. Somehow, despite knowing what I did, I always had this hope buried deep inside me that she would get over Dimitri for real and settle for me. I wouldn't mind being the rebound guy. I just wanted her to be around, for her to love me as she did him. But it wasn't enough, was it? Just hoping wasn't enough to make her stay, and now she's left. She's gotten her happy ending and there was not a chance that she'd turn back and I, Adrian Ivashkov, have lost my ground. All this time, we had been in a relationship in which I could count on her being there, on her never leaving me and now, I was hiding alone. My soul, my heart was screaming for her, begging her to come back, to simply turn around and help it heal, but she couldn't hear it. My heart could scream until it was so cracked and wounded that it would no longer care, but she wouldn't hear. She didn't want to hear. She had him. She had him and all the happiness in the world.

I looked up at my Dad and noticed that single tear trickling down his cheek like a diamond. There was no concealing the fact that he was crying. "You have to let it go, Adrian. You have to let her go. You won't be happy otherwise."

"But she…but I need her, Dad. I can't explain it, but I do."

Wiping the tear away with the back of his hand, he shook his head. It was a small move. Tiny even. It was barely perceptible, but I saw it and I felt an unexpected anger surge up within me. How could he ask me to let Rose go when he had stayed with Mum through all these years, stuck to her side as if he'd been pasted there by some three year old with glue? He was a hypocrite!

"You didn't let Mum go," I said accusingly, knowing exactly what I wanted to say to him after having formed the thought in my mind. "You'd known about her and Ambrose, yet you stayed with her anyway. Who are you to tell me to let Rose go?"

I couldn't help the rising of my tone at my last sentence, but I was glad that it did rise. At least then Dad would know that he'd struck a nerve. He seemed not to notice it, though, and instead turned towards me, his eyes fiery and stern. They were the eyes that I recognized, the ones that never failed to turn up when he was upset with me, when he was scolding me. But when he spoke, he didn't have the usual anger that came with those eyes. "I am your father. That is who I am. And I ask you to let your little dhampir friend go because you could never be happy for as long as you don't. I know that." I watched Dad in horror as his hands came up to grab me by the shoulder, his nails digging into my skin, as if trying to wake me from a dream. "I made the mistake of not letting your mother go and now I can't. I love her too much. But it's not too late for you. Please, Adrian, just let her go. Build your fairytale with someone else. Please heal."

I broke away from my father's grasp and insolently, defiantly turned my back to him. What did he know? I heard the rustling of his clothes as he stood up just as the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor was heard outside in the hallway. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, kissing me briefly on the top of my head before walking away. The door creaked as he opened it. Not a lot of things in our home creaked. In fact, that door was the one thing that did. I expected a flood of relief to wash through me when he left, but as I listened to the door shut with a decisive click, my heart sank. I had been in denial about so many things since this whole Rose affair blew up. What did he know? Of course my father knew a lot! He might love Mum, but he wasn't happy and he never could be anymore. Not with her not loving him in return. I truly did have to let her go. There were so many things around me that reminded me of Rose. It was like every memory I had of her had been drawn onto a wall somewhere, and I had to get to work on washing them off.

Because Rose didn't love me back.