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After the video leaked, everything went to shit. No one in the world could find a silver lining in that shit. Also, fuck Brad for posting the video. Shane’s world turned on its head, and he hadn’t had a moment to breathe, not yet. Before the leak, he had been treading water, sure, but his head was above water, and Ilya’s fingers brushed his as they paddled. Then Brad gripped Shane around the ankles and pulled him under.
The water was cold and heavy, but somehow they were still alive. He and Ilya were sitting with his parents, pretending that their lives weren’t over. Their careers were over, and Ilya was going to be deported back to Russia and put in a cell. Shane would never see him again. But, at least they were pretending that everything was okay. They were eating burgers and fries. Well, everyone except Shane was.
Shane was holding his steak knife loosely; it was precariously balanced between his fingers as he tapped the blade against the table. The beat was in tune with his shaking knees, and the rhythm in his head screeched in his ears.
His dad cleared his throat, pushing his plate away. Shane could hear it scrape across the table, but he couldn’t look up from the scratches that were appearing with every tap. “So, it’s safe to say, fuck Brad, right?”
Ilya laughed beside him, and usually that would make Shane smile, but he couldn’t find the humor in it. In all honesty, he didn’t blame Brad in the same way he didn’t blame Hayden. All eyes were on him, and he gave them something to look at. He gave them a reason to point and scream questions. He decided to love Ilya. He could have ended it at any time, but he was weak. He was addicted to the other man in a way he had never been able to explain to anyone else.
“He'd better hope we never come face to face. I tell you, I don’t know what I’ll do, but he will not enjoy it.” his mom said.
Shane could feel her eyes on him; they were burning his skin, but he couldn’t look her in the eyes. She would see him. She would see the way that his bones were burning to ash as he sat there at the table. He distantly wondered his he would burn away before he had to answer any questions, but he knew it was a pipe dream. The thought joined the static in his brain of swirling notifications that he had gotten that morning. There were thousands before he turned his phone off. Everyone had seen.
His mom gently grabbed his hand, pulling the knife from his weak grip. His fingers started tapping the worn surface. He needed to get the beat out of his head before he could think about the next steps. “Maybe you should start your antidepressants again, Shane.” His mom said it like it was a foregone conclusion, and it solved any fucking problem.
He was angry, so fucking angry, but at no one more than himself. But he was a bad person; he directed that anger at his mom without a second thought. “I’m not depressed.” He looked at her with dark eyes, cutting away the kindness she was affording him with a sharp tone.
She paused, looking at him as the anger melted away to shame. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. “Dr. Martin said that in times of high stress–” Shane didn’t let her finish.
He pushed to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor as he stepped away. “I’m not depressed, Mom.” His voice sounded broken and tired even to his own ears, but he had to get away from her.
He leaned against the counter in the kitchen. He closed his eyes, hanging his head between his shoulders as he rocked against the cool surface. He could hear Ilya follow him, like Shane knew he would, but he still just needed a fucking moment. He needed to breathe. He needed to break the surface of the water and get some oxygen to his lungs, but his legs weren't strong enough.
Shane pressed his head against the counter as he felt Ilya’s hand heavy on his neck. “No one is judging you,” Ilya said.
The thing was, he knew that. He knew his parents and Ilya weren’t judging him. His parents had helped when Ilya had bad days. Ilya, fuck, Ilya knew firsthand what depression could do to you, and that was why Shane was sure he wasn’t depressed. He tried not to flinch away, but Ilya felt the way his muscles trembled and pulled back.
The urge to slam his head down was strong, but Shane was stronger, if only by a little. He stood straight, rolling his shoulders as he prepared himself to turn and look at the love of his life.
Shane looked him in the eye, hating how sad he looked. “I’m not depressed,” it was a blanket statement, nothing but true.
Ilya stood back and crossed his arms over his chest. Shane didn’t know what he was feeling, and his brain was too mushy even to try to figure it out. They would have to use their words. “That doctor just didn’t understand anxiety and he wanted me to take some pills to fix something he thought he saw,” Shane continued, trying to explain.
“Shane,” Ilya said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to judge you.”
“No—I know that. I’m not depressed. I’m not trying to—I don’t know, hide it or something. I’m not ashamed and hiding. I’m just not depressed.” Shane said, raising his shoulders as he went on and on. He needed Ilya to know that he wasn’t lying.
“Моя любовь,” Ilya tried to—Shane didn’t know what he was trying to do, but the sad look on his face made Shane ache. -Moya lyubov'-My love-
“No, I’m not, Ilya.” The tears finally started to fall, his eyes betraying him. “I’m not depressed. I know, I know how you struggle and that you fight every day. I see it. I see you, and I know I am not—” The words died in his mouth.
Ilya was looking at him, his arms still crossed over his chest, but it didn’t look like he was going to stop Shane from rambling anytime soon, and Shane was on a roll. There was no stopping the boulder rolling down the hill until it crashed at the bottom.
Shane rubbed his hands down his thighs, trying to dry his clammy skin. “I see what it does to you, and that doesn’t happen to me. I don’t feel that. If anything, those drugs they put me on made me depressed.” Shane spat those words.
The drugs had nearly ruined his life. He couldn’t get out of bed to do the simplest things, and worse, he didn’t even realize it. They had put him in some kind of foggy fugue state that Shane could only guess that Ilya feels on his worst days. They had made him so sick, and he was still anxious.
“You know I am just anxious. You know that sometimes I spiral. It’s who I am, but I am not—” Shane chewed on his bottom lip. Ilya was waiting for him to finish, but he didn’t know where the end was.
“So, yeah,” Shane continued. “Sometimes I spiral more than others. Like, okay, so, I get drafted second instead of first. And like, it’s normal to be upset or whatever. I worked my entire life to be the best, and maybe my brain is a little broken because instead of being happy to be drafted, I am asking myself all these questions, like was it even worth it? Should I even be playing hockey? Am I actually good enough? Am I just a box that the team wanted to check off, and I am not actually as good as I think, and should just fade away before I embarrass myself any more? If I faded away would anyone notice?”
“Whoa, hey—” Ilya tried to cut in, trying to slow the spiral, but Shane was near the bottom. He was going to crash into the ground, and he would either shatter or be as strong as ever.
“But that is just a moment. One moment out of billions. It’s just a thought.” Shane pushed on, not really seeing Ilya anymore. “The world gets too bright and too loud, and I think about the shovels in the garage and how instead of dealing with the fluorescent lights that it could be easier to dig a hole and crawl into it and wait—” Shane licked his lips. “Wait until there is nothing left of me, but I can’t do that. It’s—no, the dirt and sweat would drive me fucking crazy.”
“Shane, sweetheart.” Ilya reached out to him, his hand settling on Shane’s shoulder, warm and heavy.
“And maybe,” Shane whispered. “Maybe, sometimes I think about what it would look like to swerve into oncoming traffic or off a cliff, but that is just because I am anxious when I drive. It’s anxiety.”
A choked sound pulled Shane’s attention. Ilya was crying, hot tears cutting down his face and tracing his lips. He looked beautiful. Maybe, just maybe, Shane thought he might be a little depressed because—
“And right now, today, I’m thinking that if I just disappeared, if I could melt away into nothing, that none of this would matter. I would be free of this, and no one would care.” Shane scrubbed at his face, brushing away his own tears. Ilya’s breath caught in his throat as he took in Shane’s words, his confession.
Ilya wrapped him in a hug, his hold squeezing the dark thoughts from his brain. “I would,” He whispered into Shane’s ear. “I would care if you disappeared.”