Chapter Text
The air was cold. Not like the freeze your ass off cold, but the shiver when the wind hits kind of cold. It was November and the air was already demanding layers were worn.
15 year old Ian Gallagher was on his way to the Kash and Grab like he was most nights after school. He and Lip walked, Lip usually stole something and Ian pretended not to notice, then he went on his merry way to smoke pot or hook up with some random girl.
Going to work was exciting for Ian. Of course it was. On nights like tonight Ian would work his shift until around 9pm. At that time Kash Karib, the owner of the small convenience store would come in and ‘help him lock up’.
It was like clockwork. Every night-time shift Ian had, Kash would arrive at exactly nine (presumably coming down from upstairs where he lived) and greet the red haired boy with a smile that made his heart flutter and his stomach do flips. Ian would come out from behind the counter, lock the door and follow Kash to the fridge in the back, or sometimes just the back of the store that couldn't be seen from the window.
It wasn’t wrong, Ian had assured himself. Because Ian wanted it. He liked the attention and the gifts and the sex. If anything he was taking advantage of the older man. He usually tried to save up and get Kash gifts to make up for all he bought him, but Ian still felt guilty.
It was one of those nights. Ian was perched on his stool behind the counter staring at the small cheap looking analogue clock that was hung on the wall. He was becoming more and more impatient. The second it hit nine the door opened, making that little jingle sound. Kash smiled at Ian who beamed back. He did as he was expected and locked the door, and followed the older man to the backroom.
Ian kissed him and pushed him against the wall, already reaching down to unbuckle his pants.
“Mm Ian,” Kash mumbled, “we gotta make this quick Lindas waiting for me.”
Right. Linda.
That was the problem. One of them at least. Because Ian had plans, plans to have his fairytale ending with Kash, and Linda was fucking them right up.
Of course the man he loved. Loved? Maybe not loved but liked, a lot. Was married, with kids, with a fucking family,
The thing is Ian had never felt like he was anything. He was never the centre of attention (for good reasons that is). He wasn’t smart like Lip, beautiful like Fiona, he wasn't anything. He had nothing special about him.
Ian was Wednesday. He wasn't the start of the week where you were hopeful for the days ahead, that was Lip and Fiona, they kept things running, the family in order. That was their purpose. And he certainly wasn’t the end of the week where you were carefree and having fun. That was Debbie, Carl and Liam. He was Wednesday. The day no one liked, no one particularly cared about. Middle of the week. Dead average. That was Ian. At least what he thought anyway.
And maybe Kash made him feel special. Granted it was temporary, because everytime they finished Kash had to go back upstairs to his fucking family. It wasn’t fair. He knew his plans to escape this town with Kash were never going to happen, but Ian lived in his fantasy world. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if he admitted the truth.
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Ian walked home, the long way. He did whenever he had the energy. Most days he was so exhausted he could barely stand upright. But he still did, still kept going no matter how shit he felt.
It was around 10 when he arrived home. Tired, hungry, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and cry himself to sleep. He was feeling extra emotional, Kash reminding him he had to get back to Linda was like a slap in the face. It fucking hurt.
Fiona was sitting at the kitchen table when he arrived home. He didn’t see her but he saw the light on. He figured he might as well say hi.
She sat at the kitchen table counting what was presumably the money saved for the winter. She had worked at some cafe that night and was probably adding the cash from that.
“Hey Fi,” Ian dropped his bag at the edge of the stairs and went and sat on the chair next to her, “how much we got?”
“Enough,” she smiled, “you have dinner?”
Ah yes, the age old question, “yes mum,” he lied.
“You look tired sweetface, go get some sleep,” Fiona put her hand over his on the table for a brief moment before standing up herself.
“You going to bed?” he asked.
“Yeah, I am, see you in the morning,” she kissed the top of his head, “love you.”
Fiona disappeared up the stairs. Ian waited until he heard her flush the toilet before following her up. Ian went into the bathroom and locked the door. By locked it meant he tied a hair tie round the knob so no one could barge in. It was a trick he learned from one of his friends in primary school who apparently had started watching porn from the ripe age of 6.
The plan to simply brush his teeth fell apart rather quickly. It's not that he didn’t know it would, obviously it would, hence the lock, it's more how quickly he sprung into ‘action’. He yanked the small blade out of his pocket, which had been snapped off one of the box cutters that was in the store and rolled up his sleeve.
He went just under his elbow. The first one was small, he went over it a few times before the pain became too much. He repeated 4 more times. Ian smiled at the 5 open wounds on his arm. He hated how it made him happy, looking at the scars he made, feeling proud when he went deeper.
The thing was, everyone had their vices. Lip smoked cigarettes until his lungs ached, Fiona worked herself until exhaustion and Frank drank until he passed out. Cutting was no worse than any of those, Ian thought, the only issue people had was that they could see it. Made them uncomfortable. Fuck them anyways, no one got to see Ian’s arms.
Ian wiped off the blade and bandaged up his arm. He had long switched from using a tissue and tape as he once had. He had his one bandage, which again, was stolen from work, that he washed in the sink and reused.
He took 7 of the laxatives from the bottle he had hidden in the light fixture, because despite having barely eaten, Ian felt bloated and wanted whatever food that was in him out by morning. Purging was too loud.
Hopping into bed Ian curled up and shoved his face into his pillow crying. Life was so fucking tiring.
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Ian woke up with a massive cramp, it hurt like hell. Fiona was banging on the door yelling, “7:15!”
He groaned and ran to the toilet quickly before Lip could wake up and take his comically long shower, acting like they could afford it. He heard a knocking and a muffled, “fuck you,” from the door he had locked in his usual fashion.
Ian was already brainstorming ideas on how to skip breakfast; not feeling well, we only have shit food, I’ll grab something at school. Most mornings he fought with someone about it, it was tiring.
He got dressed and walked down the stairs. Everyone was already at the table eating either toast, cereal or day old donuts Lip had stolen. Like every morning, all eyes were on him as he stumbled down the stairs, holding onto the wall.
He grabbed a mug and poured coffee, not leaving the kitchen. He leaned on the counter and drank slowly. Black coffee was horrible but he drank it anyway.
“Ian,” Fiona said in a tone that was a mix between worry and anger. He didn’t respond. Just kept his eyes away from the ones watching him.
Apparently Fiona gave up, not in the mood to argue this morning. Ian was grateful. Soon the awkward silence was interrupted by Debbie reminding them of the time and everyone grabbing their lunches and heading off. Despite knowing he wouldn’t eat it Fiona packed Ian lunch everyday, just in case.