Ian's POV::
Just as Mickey walked away from me, while I lay on the ground, bleeding and crying, I couldn't help but still love the douche. Fighting. That's how we started. And I will be damned that's how we finished. But I couldn't get my self up to even walk home. The stun of the pain holding me down. The heartbreak. Not the boot to the face. After everything Mickey and I have been through, he literally just kicked me while I was down. And that hurts. He really doesn't love me. Or that's how it felt.
A while later, I found my self wondering down his street. I am not sure why. But I knew I couldn't go see him. Terry would be there with all of the luck im having lately. I come up to his house, and notice that his bedroom light was on. That meant he was home. Or someone was in his little shitty bathroom. Who knows. But I just kept walking. I just kept walking until I found my self at the little baseball field between our houses. I went and sat in the dugout for a while, hoping it would help me cope a little better. But all I could smell was cheap rum. Like he had been there. And it was becoming too much. I had to leave. The pain in my face was becoming unbearable.
I finally made it home, unnoticed. Grabbed some peas from the fridge, while everyone except Jimmy and Fiona, were in the living room talking about cheese and wine. I ran up stairs to my room and put the frozen bag on my face, where my eye was swelling up and laid down, and my mind went racing. Back to that frightful night. Where it all went down hill. When Terry walked in on me fucking his son. It was all a blur at the time, but now, it was so much clearer. I didn't want to think about it. I could still feel Terry's fist slam into my face. Over and over. I could still feel the blood drip down my face, to my chest. And I still remember Mickey jumping onto his back, begging for him to get off of me. He was trying to protect me. Terry threw him over to the other couch, beating him endlessly. I got up to get the crowbar next to the door, but Then, I had a gun pointed at me, and Terry threatening me with it. He told me to sit back down, so I did. What was I supposed to do? Next think I know, I hear the butt of the gun come into contact with Mickey's skull. My stomach sank. Terry stood up and took his phone out. "It's Terry. Send over the Russian". What felt like eternity went by. The pistol still waving in my face, Terry was yelling out homophobic words at both Mickey and I. When finally, there was a knock on the door. I was scared for my life.I was more scared for Mickey's life. I didn't want Mickey to die. Not my Mickey. But it was a woman. With untamed hair and awful make up. What did Terry need with her? Well, Apparently, She was there to "fuck the fag" out of Mickey. And I was forced to watch. Still, with that damn gun in my face. She took of her dress, and climbed on to Mickey, and she started fucking him. I could see the hurt in Mickey's eyes. The same hurt I saw in him just a few hours ago, when I begged him to admit that he loved me. I couldn't stand watching. He was mine, and Terry was having some whore rape him. I had to look away. Biting my fist, to keep from crying, I could see Mickey watching me from the edge of my view. But I couldn't look. It was too painful. As I thought about that night, I couldn't take it anymore. I laid there, crying. Wishing Mickey was in my arms.