Ian stops then. His chest begins to heave and tears start to stream unabated down his cheeks.
"He was there the whole time. Her son. There, watching me rape his mother, with his father's body just feet away."
A cry escapes me, ripped from my throat. My eyes are wide and my own cheeks quickly become coated with tears. He raped a woman? In front of her child? Over the body of her dead husband?
As in his story, I feel numb and cease to experience the room around me. He raped a woman. He killed her husband and traumatized her child. How can this be? This man with the most gorgeous green eyes who prepares meals for the homeless each night. This man whose twist of a lip into a grin makes me feel more alive than I ever dreamed possible. Ian. My Ian. A rapist and a murderer.
I have no idea how much time has passed but when I finally come back to the room, I look up and see both Ian and Dr. Wyatt looking at me. Expectantly.
What the fuck do they expect? How am I supposed to react to this information?
A wave of nausea passes over me; what happened to the boy? Staring back at them, feeling hollow, I manage to ask, "What happened next? What happened to her son?"
Ian shakes his head. "I don't know; I don't remember. The next thing I knew I was back in my bunk. Everyone was normal, no one acted weird. I have no idea if anyone saw me or not. I … I … so I just went on. Went to mess, played some cards, went to bed. I just..."
Ian pauses here and looks at me. His tears are gone and his eyes are flat. "I went back the next day, to see … There was nothing there. No people. No furniture. Nothing. The only thing left was a blood stain from where I shot the man.
That … This is why … I died that day, Kelli. I lost my soul. I am not a man anymore, not really. I'm a shell. I'm too broken for love, Kelli," Ian concluded, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees and contemplating the floor.
Tears continue to roll down my face, but my breath finally quiets. I have no idea what to think, or feel, or do. Fuck. Just fuck.
I take a deep breath, swipe at my cheeks, wiping my hands down my jeans and stand. Without a word, I grab my purse and walk out of the office, closing the door quietly behind me.
Chapter 7: Man or Monster?
I walk numbly down the hall and back to the elevator. I half expect Ian to come running after me, but no, he doesn't. This isn't some romcom where the girl gets upset and the man pursues her to make things right. Ian killed a man in his own home. Ian raped a woman. How can that be put right?
I exit the building and walk in the direction of Wilshire until I reach a bus stop. I get on the first bus that comes along, unaware of where I'm going, and sit in the last open window seat, staring out.
Blocks rush by but I don't see anything. A hand gently touches my shoulder and I look up surprised. The woman sitting beside me offers me a Kleenex and a kind smile. I hadn't even realized I was crying.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks.
I give her a watery smile in return and shake my head; I don't trust my voice. She nods and puts her hand again on my shoulder, this time more firmly. It is a motherly gesture and I appreciate it even though it does nothing to sooth me.
I look back out the window and realize that I need to get home. I'm going to lose it, really lose it, and soon. I'd much rather do that in the privacy of my own home.
I jump off at the next stop and call for a cab. I always take Uber, but right now I'd rather swallow razor blades than make small talk and some of those drivers are so damn friendly.
Walking into my place twenty minutes later, I stop right inside the door. I manage to close it behind me but I cannot advance any further into the room; I've hit a wall. I start to shake uncontrollably. The tears come again, and the sobs. Soon I'm bawling and sinking to my knees.
My head is such a mess I'm not even sure what I'm crying about. I'm crying for the little boy who watched his mother being raped. I'm crying for the woman who watched her husband be shot. I'm crying for the complete and utter decimation of my hopes that Ian and I could one day be together. For hopes I didn't even realize I harbored: of us raising Shea and Jake together, along with our German Shepherd named Max.
And a part of me, a small part of me, cries for Ian.
*******
It is around noon when I wake up on the floor. I'm cold and stiff, and I move to my bed, my head pounding all the while. I know I should get up and shower, I know I should eat something or call someone, but I can't do it. It takes all my willpower to move to the bed and collapse again.
Once there the tears begin to flow and my brain whirls out of control.
See, I never truly knew Ian. I could always tell that he was holding back on me. But I could never have imagined it was this. How can he be so warm and caring on one hand, and a cold blooded murderer on the other? How can the man who gives poor wayward women jobs be the same man to force himself upon a woman in a violent, soulless act of destruction?
I can't do this right now. I can't think about this. I stumble to my bathroom and open my medicine cabinet. I pull out my prescription of Xanax - the one my doctor prescribed to me when I told her I was moving across the country in what was clearly a midlife crisis. I take two and pop them into my mouth. Then I go into the kitchen and grab an open bottle of wine. Chugging directly from the bottle, I get a few good gulps in before I have to stop for fear of retching.
I put the bottle away and return to my bed and wait. I don't have to wait long...
I open my eyes and it is 6:23. In the morning. I have to pee, so I force myself up. I still feel incredibly drugged and completely drained. In the bathroom, I decide a shower is necessary and I get undressed. Slowly. Painfully. Every part of my being hurts. Why there is actual physical pain, I'm not sure, but it is there. It is real.
After my shower I don underwear, yoga pants, and a sports tank top and sit on my couch. I have to pull myself together.
I throw on a hoodie and my Uggs and head for the Coffee Bean. Caffeine won't cure my ills, but hopefully it'll help me think a little straighter. Walking down Cloverfield Boulevard I notice everyone has American flags stuck in their lawns. It hits me then - today is Veterans Day. A dry, humorless laugh escapes me. Fuck. Today's Veterans Day. Today's the day we are supposed to celebrate the bravery of the men and women who served in our armed forces. Today's the day we are supposed to celebrate Ian. Ian, who raped and killed in the name of the United States of America.
I can't help but wonder why Ian joined the military. Was he hoping to make the world a better place? Did he think he'd fight for those who could not fight? Did we have that goal in common?
Another ironic laugh. If that was his motivation, he was an epic fucking failure. Instead of righting the wronged, for one family and their loved ones, he became the embodiment of evil. Not the local dictator, the depressor of human rights. No, Ian McGregor, U.S. soldier and future love of my life.
It hits me then; I do love Ian. I love him with a passion I cannot comprehend. This realization is followed immediately by the memory of his actions and I bend over, as if struck by a 2x4 in the gut, retching on the sidewalk. Luckily, I have nothing in my stomach, nothing to throw up.
The nausea passes and I continue to get my coffee. I return home and sit on my couch. I turn on West Wing and stare at the TV. I'm not hearing any of the dialogue, I'm simply watching the actors move about the screen.
An hour later there is a knock on my door and I'm suddenly filled with panic. What if it's Ian? What do I say? Don't be silly! Of course it isn't Ian. Why would he be here? He has to know that I despise him now. Right? I despise him … right?
The knocking sounds again, drawing my focus. I still don't move and consider what I should do next.
"Kelli lass, open up." It's Pappy. Pappy's here. Pappy, Ian's father. Does he know what Ian's done? Can he still love Ian knowing what he's done? Suddenly I have to know.
I stand and pull open the door. Looking small and sad, Pappy doesn't move to come inside, he just looks at me with wise eyes. Yes, Pappy knows what Ian's done.
I start to cry again. Here's another person to cry for - for Pappy. His son went off to war and came home a villain.
"Oh darlin'," Pappy says, stepping forward and placing his hand on my arm. The contact does me in and I fall into him, crying into his shoulder. "There, there. ‘Twill be alright."