biological 》ian gallagher

twenty-two

Rosie wasn't sure where Ian had went; she just knew he was gone. Everyone was, except for Sammi, who Mickey, reluctantly, let her watch Rosie. Fiona, and all of the other Gallaghers knew that Rosie would not want to see Ian be taken back into a mental institution, even if she was still young.

Upon arriving, Mickey already knew that he probably shouldn't have came. The air was thin, there, and just being in the institution's hallways made him queezy. His bones rattled like a cage, when he saw Ian, looking tired, defeated, and hurt.

Rosie, mindessly, dragged her crayon across the paper. To anyone else, it would look like a disastrous scene of an explosion of colors. But, to her, she was drawing everything she ever knew. Her tiny mind had long forgotten and forgave Ian's manic episode. After Ian had given her a long, squeeze of a hug goodbye, she expected him to be back soon. Nothing was ever permanent for her, it was all just temporary.

She used the color red to label herself and Ian. The color black to symbolize the love she could see between Ian and Mickey. A pale blue for her mother, Hayden. Four stick figures that Sammi could barely make out, was her family. Rosie held hands with Hayden and Ian, as Mickey stood by Ian's side, with a thin red line of a smile on their faces.

A small heart above all of them, as she thought of who else to add.

Mickey approached closer to the front porch of the Gallagher home. His hands were almost frozen from the bitter cold. He first noticed the light in the living room turned on, showing off that everyone was home. The only difference from usual? It was quiet. It seemed as dead as the look in Ian's, once bright, green eyes, which Mickey couldn't seem to forget.

Rosie smiled, a wide smile, when she saw Mickey coming into the kitchen, after looking up from her drawing. Mickey had grinned back, kneeling down to let the running girl hug him.

"Where's daddy, Mickey?" She asked, without pulling away from the embrace. Mickey had glanced up towards Lip, who had a beer in his hand, staring back down in defeat at her question. Mickey looked away from him before answering.

"He's okay. He'll be back, soon." Mickey had pulled away, still holding Rosie in place as he looked at her. "Ready to go?" He asked her, making her nod, quickly, with a matching grin.

"I need to get my other clothes." She said, before racing off towards the stairs, too excited to stay another night at Mickey's house.

Lip slowly began to tidy up the crayons Rosie and Liam, before he fell asleep, used to color. Mickey waited in silence, knowing there wasn't anything to be said. He wondered what Lip was thinking about.

"She goes to sleep by ten - thirty." Lip said, out of the blue; anything to stray away from the obvious thoughts they both had. Mickey looked at him, as he nodded, slightly. "With Fiona gone, I'm pretty much playin' dad around here." Lip said, with a small scoff of a laugh, as the thoughts of what he was missing in college came upon him.

"I can have Rosie stay at my place until Ian gets out," Mickey said, softly, as he heard the urgent footsteps of Rosie from the stairs.

"Bye, uncle Lip!" Rosie rushed to say her farewells, as she hugged him, quickly.

"Bye," Lip said, quietly, as he watched Rosie quickly lead the way towards the front door, carrying the pink outfit Ian had purchased. Lip prepared to put an end to the day after they left.

Ian paced, back and forth, from corner to corner of the small, gray room. His hand and shoulder slid against the concrete wall, making a slight noise, which was annoying enough to keep the others he shared a room with at bay, as their eyes followed each move he made.

He kept pacing, as if Rosie was just on the other side of that wall. He could feel her presence through the heavy blocks. He debated on scratching and punching and pushing at the wall - anything to get through it. But, his sedation made him too unenthusiastic to do any of the sort.

The eyes of his roommates followed him as he went towards the window; barred and locked. It looked more like a prison to him.

He rested his forehead against one of the bars, looking down at the small yard before the road. The glass was too thick to break.