Chapter Four: The Fallout

I couldn't sleep that night, and found myself just lying there in the darkness of my bedroom, on my side, staring out through the sliver of silver light which crept through my curtains. The silver soon turned to the gray dawn and then, pink light filtered into my bedroom as I continued to lie there in the same position. The concept of leaving my bed seemed so foreign to me that, even when the light morphed from pink to yellow, and the autumn sun tried its best to convince me through the space it was provided, I made no moves to get out of bed.

"Hey, rise and shine!" came Ian's voice as he knocked on my door, opening it and merely standing in the doorway. "Murph?"

I found myself automatically opening my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It was as if my brain just switched off my voice command system, thus rendering me speechless.

"Murph?" Ian asked, sitting on the bed and touching my shoulder. "It's close to noon. What are you doing still in bed?"

I didn't move to answer him; I didn't even move.

"Murph, this isn't funny. If you're playing a game here, please, don't."

I found myself scooting away from him then, his hand falling off my shoulder and onto the bed behind me.

"Murph, really," Ian said, getting up and circling around to face me, and I avoided his eyes. "I can see that's something's up. What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk," I replied, and was shocked that my voice was devoid of any emotion whatsoever, something very odd.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding nervous. "Murph, you don't mean that."

"I do. Just... You can go," I said, staring at a portion of the cheap carpet which littered the floor of my bedroom.

"Fine. If that's what you want," Ian replied, sounding reluctant as he moved around my bed and walked out of my room, shutting the door behind him. From the other side, I heard him sigh heavily, and then I heard Trevor's voice.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I..." He hesitated then. "I need to call Fiona."

"Why? Everything okay?"

"No," Ian replied, and I heard their footsteps receding in the other direction, as Trevor continued to pepper him with questions.

I remained lying there for god knows how long, until my bedroom door opened sometime later, and I still hadn't moved. I knew it was Fiona by the way the steps sounded, and the scent of the perfume she wore wafted into my ears as she stepped closer. She perched beside me on the bed and leaned over, trying and failing to catch my eye.

"Hey, Murph. What's up?"

I didn't reply.

"Ian's concerned that you randomly stopped texting him last night, after telling him what Lip was doing here," she said softly. "And he says you haven't gotten up yet. He mentioned you've been sleeping until nine during your time off from work, but it's close to three o'clock now, Murph. Is something going on?"

"No."

"Well, at least you're talking to me," she said quietly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Okay," she said. "You're not sad?"

I shrugged, which felt odd, due to my lack of movement. "I don't feel anything."

"Not anything?" Fiona asked.

"No."

"Okay," she replied, and I could sense her voice breaking, and yet, I didn't move to see if I could comfort her in any way. "I'll just... Go and leave you to it," she said, managing to get the rest of her sentence out as she left my bedroom. "Ian, it's not good," Fiona said quietly.

"I thought it was..." He began.

"I'm not a doctor, but it might be," she replied, her voice nervous. "You know how Monica could get when she was in one of her moods."

"Fuck," Ian whispered. "What do we do?"

"Monitor her for a couple days, see what happens," she replied. "Thanksgiving is in a couple of days, so maybe she'll come around..."

"I don't want her going to one of those places," Ian whispered. "I never wanted to speak to you again after I went, initially..."

Fiona sighed. "Ian, we might have to," she replied. "If she keeps acting like this, bringing her in for a diagnosis won't hurt."

"She has fucking depression, Fiona," Ian whispered. "She's not fucking bi-polar—"

"You're not a doctor, Ian," Fiona ruled. "Besides, this thing with Frank could've pushed her over the edge. And she's pregnant. If she doesn't get up and move and eat, it could harm the baby, and I know you don't want that to happen," she said, insinuation behind her tone.

Ian hesitated for a moment. "She told you?"

"Yes, she told me, because I'm her sister. But I'm your sister too, Ian, and I know what's right and wrong here. Right now, just make sure she doesn't do anything reckless..."

"Like what?"

"Like run away, like you did," she replied. "We almost lost you too many times, Ian, and we can't lose Murphy. We can't."

"No, we fucking can't," Ian said quietly. "We just got her back..."

"So keep an eye on her, and make sure she's okay," Fiona told him, her voice firm. "I know she wants this baby as much as you do, even though you try to hide it and keep your distance. I know you want a link to him, a physical link, so don't try to deny it."

"One thing at a time, Fiona."

"I understand," she replied. "Just make sure she's okay, huh?"

"I will," Ian told her.

. . .

"Murph, you can't just stay in bed," Ian said, his voice firm, on Thanksgiving, my first one with my new family. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice pleading.

I turned and looked at him then, the first time I'd done so in days, and found that I felt tears coming down my face, but my emotions didn't match up. "Nothing," I replied, in that same tone of voice, and wondered what I could do to help my mind with cooperating. "Absolutely nothing is wrong, Ian. Why would anything be wrong?"

Ian looked hesitant for a moment before he sat down next to me on the bed, and I automatically rose up, too, and moved as far away from him as possible. "Murphy, don't," he said, getting back up and walking around to the other side of the bed, and grabbing me then, holding me against him and not letting go. "I need you to understand that you're not alone in this—please understand me, Murph. Don't shut me out, please..."

I felt ridged in his arms, like I was either unable or uncaring to get him off me in a physical manner; it was as if I couldn't move in terms of other people, and could barely move myself as it was, due to my stiffness, and my brain not working right. "Nothing's wrong with me," I whispered to him, although I could not get out of the eerie calm that passed through my lips as Ian pulled me back to stare at me. "Nothing is wrong..."

Ian looked more scared than ever then, not knowing what to do with me. "If nothing's wrong, then why are you crying?" he asked, his voice shaking.

I shook my head. "I'm not crying," I replied automatically, despite the fact that I felt the tears rolling down my face. "I'm not crying. You're overreacting."

"Murphy," Ian said with exasperation, shaking my gently. "Come on—I know the real you is in there, and I want to talk to the real you. Where is she?"

"This is the real me," I reply, hanging like a rag doll in Ian's grip. "This is all me, all the time. I can't tell you anything else."

"Murph, we all love you, and we're all worried about you," Ian said desperately. "Can't you see that? Can't you see that we're concerned?"

"You have no reason to be concerned. I'm fine," I said again, my brain still ignoring the fact that I had tears running down my face.

"Murphy," Ian whispered and, somehow, I was able to push through the boundary within my mind for a moment, and my eyes suddenly focused.

I felt as if I could see color again as I looked around. I felt my heart beating erratically then as I felt my breaths come in short gasps. "I'm trapped," I whispered then, and Ian looked at me then, as if he was shocked by my sudden change in demeanor.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"My mind... It won't let me talk to you," I whispered, shaking all over. "I want to talk, I want to tell you, but it won't let me," I said desperately. "I'm so scared, Ian... I'm so scared. I think it's my depression," I whispered, shaking all over. "Dr. Fairfax said I should go off my medication for the sake of the baby... Even when I feel the symptoms start to flare up, the medication stays in my system long enough to ward off any attacks..."

"You went off your meds because your fucking doctor told you to?!"

I nodded, feeling the tears coming more quickly now. "I'm sorry," I replied. "I'll only have a few moments of lucidity, Ian. I need to get admitted, because, if I don't do it voluntarily, they'll make me stay. I don't want to be there," I whispered, throwing myself at Ian then and sobbing in his arms, shaking like a leaf.

"Did something happen to you in one of those places?"

I nodded. "Dr. Normal convinced mental hospitals to admit me, especially after he gave me a particularly bad beating," I whispered. "He had them convinced I was throw myself off of things, and because he was such a good doctor and respected citizen, they believed him." I felt comfort in Ian's arms then, yet still unknowing as to how long my clarity would last. "Dr. Normal authorized the doctors there to do whatever treatment they saw fit—he even favored primitive methods of treatment. The doctor's favorite was torture."

"What would they do?" Ian whispered.

I shuddered. "Lock me in a dark room for a week, with just water. By the time that's over, you're begging to be let out, and will do anything to do it."

"Did they rape you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. No, not until Dr. Normal told them that I'd been sexually active with Jessica, but even then, they didn't go that far. They did other things, of course, but they never went...you know...inside..."

"Shit," Ian whispered as I moved my head onto his shoulder. "You endured so many years of hell on earth, Murph. How'd you survive?"

"By thinking of you guys," I said, lifting my head and smiling at him. "I guess, well, I thought that my biological family wouldn't stand for that kind of treatment. I imagined you all in plenty of different ways, and although I'd never felt physically whole—or something relating to that—until I met you, Ian, I never assumed I'd have a twin..."

"Did you ever imagine a lot of siblings?"

"I only ever imagined the siblings," I confessed, "never the parents. I knew that, no matter who you were, you wouldn't have just let your sister be carried out of the family without a word. I mean, hey, you were three months old, and Lip was two, and Fiona was four, but come on, you all had brains..."

Ian sighed. "I think we should send you to the hospital where I went," he said quietly. "I hated it at the time, and resented the hell out of Fiona and everyone who was involved in taking me there, but you should go."

I shuddered. "How long?"

"If you can find a medication that works for you, and seem to be getting better, they could release you in a week, provided that where you go is considered safe."

I sighed. "Look, Ian, I don't expect you just to wait around for me to get out," I said quietly, and he locked his eyes with mine. "You've got Trevor and Liam to think about—it's not just your twin sister that wandered in off the street three months ago. You've got a bunch of other family members to think about—"

"And we're all going to rally around you, Murph," Ian said firmly. "We're not just going to abandon you in this crisis. You need us, Murph, just like we need you. I know it's scary to think about, but we are not, or ever, going anywhere."

I sighed, feeling more tears spilling from my eyes again. "Promise?"

Ian pulled me back into his arms. "We are not going anywhere, Murphy. Bet on it, because you'd win every time."

. . .

I was admitted to the mental institution the following day, when I had returned to my zombie-like state, although Ian had already downloaded a form online, which meant that I'd consented to being admitted already. Ian and Fiona went with me, each hugging me goodbye before I walked through the doors, an attendant just next to me, likely to make sure I didn't do anything stupid on my first night in this place. Turning around and looking back through the door, I saw Ian and Fiona standing there, waiting for me to walk around the corner before they left the place, which was bittersweet in its own way.

"Let's discuss your previous medical history, Murphy," the intake doctor said patiently to me, once we had reached her office. "Hey," she said, catching my nervous eye for a moment and leaning closer to me, to which I found myself drawing back automatically. "I know this can be scary, Murphy," she went on, moving a good distance away, "but you've got to at least have a positive outlook on this. Know that we'll do everything in our power to help you work through whatever you've got going on up there."

"High depression, high anxiety, and paranoia," I replied, and the doctor raised her eyebrows at my monotone. "My mind doesn't always let me do the talking. I'll say I'm fine, and I'll be sobbing like there's no tomorrow. My brother even told me about my crying yesterday, and I said I was fine..." I felt the other voice take over then. "...because I was fine. There was nothing wrong with me."

"I see you have a history of bipolar disorder on your mother's side, and that your twin brother is also affected with the illness?"

"Yes," I said. "Of course, given that and alcoholism on my father's side, there's no fucking way I'd be destined to come out normal..."

"You were adopted at three months, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Moved to Seattle and lived there until...July of this year?"

"Yes."

"Why the move?"

"I'm an associate attorney with Blomqvist and Torrance," I replied. "It was just a coincidence that my biological family was from here. I only found out I was adopted in June, and I had no idea how to go about finding them..."

"Was your adoption successful?"

"No. My adoptive father, Martin, walked out when I was five—he's a rock musician who travels the globe. My adoptive mother, Tina, got remarried and had three sons with my adoptive stepfather, Norman, who I called Dr. Normal."

"Their sons were biological?"

"Yes. Tina was told she couldn't have children naturally. Once she did, however, I believe she allowed her resentment to cloud her vision as to what was really going on..."

"And what was really going on, Murphy?"

"Dr. Normal was beating me," I replied. "It started when I was six, and it was always for minor and childish infractions. No matter what I did—getting good grades, staying quiet, never asking for anything—it didn't work."

"Were your brothers treated differently?"

I shrugged. "They got physical affection, and trips around the world," I replied. "But other than that, it was the same. I got a phone at thirteen, a computer at fourteen, a car at sixteen, my own private dorm room in college at eighteen. I never went without material things—my clothes were always fashionable and always fit..."

"But the boys weren't beaten?"

"No. If they did something wrong, they lost video game privileges for a week or something, and whatever they did..." I shrugged. "Just treated better..."

"Do you ever feel lost?"

"I used to," I replied. "For years I felt lost. Until I found Ian," I said, and found that, for the first time in a long time, I was smiling. "When I found Ian, things were different..."

"Did you expect that you were twins?"

"No," I replied, "of course not, although we were shocked by the physical and emotional similarities between us..."

"Did anyone think that you were related?"

"Fiona did," I replied. "She immediately thought I was a sibling of theirs, from the moment I was introduced to her."

"It says here in your medical history that you were concerned that your older brother, Lip, could be the biological father of your baby?"

I nodded. "Yes. Lip and I were a couple before I found out about our familial relationship. We slept together the night before I got the paperwork."

"And after you got the paperwork?"

"I ran off to Mexico," I replied. "I just... I didn't want to be around anyone, and I knew Mexico was a place where I wouldn't know anyone. I wanted to get out of my head for a while..."

"What did you do in Mexico?"

"Went to a roadside tequila bar, where I got way too drunk and ended up screwing Ian's ex-boyfriend," I replied.

"And he's the one who got you pregnant?"

"Yes," I replied, "as he was the only other possibility. Before I knew I was pregnant, I was sleeping with my boss's son, but he and I used protection..."

The doctor nodded. "I see. Well, you've definitely engaged in some reckless behavior since you've come to Chicago, Murphy, but I think your inhibitions have been stripped raw to almost nothing, unfortunately. As a result, I want you to begin a pregnancy-safe antidepressant, and we'll go from there."

I nodded. "Okay," I replied.

"You're willing to go through with the treatment?"

I nodded again. "Yes."

"You'll be permitted to see any members of your family you like during visiting hours," she replied with ease, getting to your feet. "Oh, and an Allie Torrance called earlier..."

"She's my boss," I replied.

"Well, she heard about you being admitted, and sprung a private room for you," she replied with a smile. "We don't usually give them out to just anyone, but we feel it is appropriate, considering your pregnancy."

I nodded, getting to my feet. "Thank you, Dr. Greene," I replied.

Dr. Greene nodded. "You're welcome, Murphy. I'll give you a quick tour of our facility, and then you can rest before dinner. Is that all right?"

I nodded again, knowing that I had to agree to everything. "Yes," I replied. "That sounds fine, thank you, doctor."

"Very good," she said, picking up my clipboard and walking to her office door, which she opened and stepped into the hallway. "Let's go, then."

. . .

I was responding well to the treatment, and, in the days that followed, both Ian and Fiona came to see me in the hospital. I stipulated that I would only be released to either of their custodies, as I was living with Ian, and the hospital seemed to understand. Even though the zombie state of mind didn't leave me entirely, the doctors proclaimed that I was progressing in the treatment phase of things and that I was due to be released on time.

On my seventh day in the hospital, I was on my way to breakfast as per usual when Dr. Greene found me in the hallway. "Good morning, Dr. Greene," I said.

"No breakfast this morning, Murphy."

I blinked, wondering what was going on. "Oh. Okay. Do I have to have a blood test or something?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. Ian is here to get you."

"Ian?" I asked, and my voice rose to a higher octave when I thought of him. "What do you mean he's here to get me?"

"You're going home today, Murphy. You've responded excellently to the treatment, and you're taking your medication on time. You can go home."

I smiled. "Thank you," I replied. I was given permission to return to my room, where I gathered up my things in the bag I'd hastily brought, and found that the clothes I'd come in had been laundered and placed into the locker-like wardrobe. I changed into them and out of the jumpsuit and found that they were just a bit tighter on me, as I'd been instructed to gain a little weight for the pregnancy.

I stepped out of my room, holding my bag, and went to the visiting area, where I saw Ian through the door. I pushed it open, and Ian immediately got to his feet. I felt the smile forming on my face then as I dropped my bag, rushing towards him and welcoming the hug. I ignored the slight look of apprehension in his eyes at this display of affection, and was pleased when he hugged me back. We walked back towards the door, where he picked up my bag and walked towards the main entrance with me, where we both signed the log, saying that I was leaving for good and Ian had just been a visitor.

"What was it like in there?" Ian asked as we stepped outside, the cool, late November air filling my lungs as we drifted through the parking lot. He fished my car keys out of his pocket, popping the trunk as we neared the car, and placed my duffel into it before slamming it shut. "Of course, if you don't want to talk about it..."

I shook my head, cutting him off as he unlocked the car, and I climbed inside. It was all a bit cumbersome, as, in the autumn season stretched on, so had my stomach. I was officially showing in my pregnancy now, and the small bump was perfectly rounded and enjoyed settling in the direct center of my stomach. "Dr. Greene says that it's good to discuss it," I said quietly as Ian climbed into my car, and into the driver's seat. I reached down and held my stomach in a brief yet caring manner then, finding comfort in the child that had been my salvation on the inside. "I mean, I can actually talk again..."

"When you couldn't before?" Ian asked, adjusting the mirrors before sticking the key into the ignition and pulling out of the parking space.

I nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of hard to explain," I said quietly as we drove through and ultimately out of the parking lot. "It's not that I didn't want to talk to you, Ian. I always want to talk to you, and I always should talk to you, I know that. I guess my brain just wanted to switch off the direct command system, you know?"

Ian nodded. "I know."

I sighed, lowering my eyes to my stomach again, forcing myself not to cry at the notion that our relationship could potentially be changed forever. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

I sighed again. "I heard you and Fiona talking before you sent me there," I said quietly as we reached the opposite side of downtown, and went through it towards home. "I know the fact that I decided to keep the baby hurts you."

Ian shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Murphy."

I raised my eyes to his profile then, and I saw him attempting to keep it together. "You know, this would go a whole lot easier if we promised not to lie to each other."

Ian tightened his grip upon my steering wheel. "You're right."

"I know my reckless decision-making is unacceptable, and I need to work on my impulse control a whole hell of a lot," I said, my voice low. "The fact that I would just allow myself to run away and go off the rails like that was just awful, and I'm sorry. Although you guys didn't know for sure if I was one of you yet, you all suspected something was at work here. I should've just come to you and said something, and just ripped the band-aid off. Then none of us would be in this mess," I said quietly.

Ian sighed. "I'm not going to lie when I say it's not going to be difficult," he said quietly, and I felt the pain fighting to make it through to his words. "I mean, I'm going to be looking at a child who is equal parts people I love—half you, half my ex-boyfriend. With you, Murphy, the love was just automatic, but it grew so much in so short a time that I can't remember lots of instances before you entered my life. And with Mickey..."

"It's complicated?" I guess.

He nodded. "Yeah. Like I told him the last time I saw him, and like I told you when you wanted to give me his message that first time, I have a fucking boyfriend. Trevor's great—it's not complicated with him in that he's a law-abiding citizen. But with Mickey..."

"It's hard, because he just couldn't escape his roots," I said quietly.

"Yeah. And I guess we never forget our first loves..."

I nodded. "Yeah. At least we can bond over the fact that both our first loves were fostered within the conflicts of our lives, and it was an us versus them situation..."

"Lip?" Ian asked.

I shook my head. "No. No, I did a lot of talking in therapy when I was in there... They convinced me that I really did love Jessica. I don't know if this makes me bi-sexual or anything like that, I don't know... But I do know that I loved her, and that's a little piece of me that I'm going to hold onto forever. And it's a good thing, to gain a deeper understanding of oneself," I said quietly as we drove through the streets closer to home.

"They can make you understand things on a deeper level, for sure."

"I can't lose my family again..." I whispered.

"Murph?" Ian asked.

I turned to look at Ian then, and forced myself to keep the emotions in check, even though tears were fighting to escape my eyes. "I'm serious, Ian."

"What are you serious about?"

I lowered my eyes then, not knowing how else to say it, but knowing that if I didn't say it now, the moment would be gone, and I knew I had to consider everyone at play here. It wasn't just me anymore, and although I'd relied on myself for so long, I couldn't do that, not anymore. "If you want me to give the baby up for adoption," I said, catching Ian's shocked expression at my unexpected words, "then I will."