Chapter Text
Sometimes, when Shane thought about it, it hurt more than anything. Because he didn’t have a reason. An excuse. Nothing to explain why he did this, nothing to fall back on if people asked ‘why?’.
Ilya was the one who had every right to do this.
His life had been perfectly lined up to end up exactly where Shane was. He had inherited depression from his mother. He had suicidal tendencies and thoughts occasionally. Shane had none of that. No good reason for why he did this to himself. It stung. When he fell back into his old habits nowadays, all he could think about was Ilya.
Ilya didn’t do this. Ilya was stronger than you. You’re trying to just one up his trauma. You’re trying to show yourself you can be worse than your boyfriend.
The thoughts hurt. More than the razor blade ever did.
But what hurt so much more was hiding it. It was so, so hard. When Ilya was so open, so vulnerable with him. Ilya told Shane everything nowadays. And yet, Shane, despite god damn everything, couldn’t manage to tell Ilya his biggest, darkest secret.
Technically, his two darkest secrets. He’d never meant to keep his diagnosis a secret. Shane knew it was, objectively, important to tell Ilya. After all, dealing with a non-medicated bipolar person wasn’t very easy. But Shane considered himself relatively easy to deal with.
His doctor agreed he didn’t need to go on meds. Yes, the last checkup had been years ago but it wasn’t like he’d get that much worse so quick.
But when he looked at himself in the mirror, he knew. He saw the growing eyebags. He saw the horrible marks getting more and more frequent along his arms. He didn’t see Shane Hollander anymore.
He saw a disappointment.
It was stupid to be like this. He didn’t have any reasons to be sad. Life was going so fucking well, wasn’t it?
Ilya and him were out. They were happy. They spent days relaxing and enjoying themselves. They didn’t have to hide, they didn’t have so much stress pushing onto them.
And yet Shane still felt it.
Those fucking episodes. They weren’t meant to be such a big part of him. The doctors had made it clear, it was a mood disorder. That meant that Shane should be able to control it. Moods were controllable when you had nothing to be upset over.
He wasn’t actually sure which episodes were harder to hide from Ilya. His mania episodes usually didn’t last long but it made Shane so incredibly different.
He knew sometimes Ilya got suspicious. When Shane was all pent up and full of energy and wanting Ilya to fuck him all day. Usually Shane wanted breaks to relax, eat, do normal couple stuff.
Ilya pretended that it was boring but he loved acting like a stupid domestic couple. So when Shane was in a mania, not wanting to take a break, Ilya got confused. He told Shane to slow down. Shane knew his main theory was Shane getting like that when he was drunk.
He knew because Ilya made him drink absurd amounts of water.
Shane knew his manic episodes hurt Ilya more. His depression was one thing, he hurt himself a lot more than he ever did Ilya. He knew that if Ilya knew about them, it would hurt him. Which is exactly why he’d never tell Ilya.
It's why he started wearing an absurd amount of bracelets. It’s why he now kept very high quality sweat proof foundation on hand when he thought Ilya would want to, well, do stuff that involved being naked. It’s why he chose very specific bracelets that were hard to take off, so he had excuses to keep them on during sex.
But his mania… It caused a lot more pain to Ilya.
He knew how he got, all pent up with sexual energy and being absurdly forward about it to Ilya. Then Ilya got worried and made up excuses for why they shouldn’t have sex.
One time, Shane had been deep in his mania when Ilya had refused him. He hadn’t been able to take it, threatening to go off and find other people if Ilya wouldn’t ‘be a man and take me yourself’. He’d seen Ilya’s expression when he said that. He’d seen the pure panic, the worry.
Yet he hadn’t gotten angry. He’d breathed out a sigh and relented to Shane’s threats. Shane had gotten what he wanted, but in the end, that entire evening had been ruined.
Ilya had been quiet, giving Shane what he wanted. Not wanting Shane to snap again. Not wanting Shane to leave him. They’d never talked about it and Shane had never apologized. Apologising meant having to acknowledge the behaviour. And if he acknowledged it… he’d need to explain it.
And he had absolutely no desire to explain to Ilya he’d been hiding a mental illness in years of relationship.
He’d had plans to tell Ilya. He did!
But then, he learned Ilya’s mom’s had committed suicide and those plans went out the window. Ilya needed support. He didn’t need to find out his boyfriend was fucked in the head, especially that it didn’t even come from anything concrete. In a way, wasn’t he proving everyone that he wasn’t fucked in the head?
After all, his control was good nowadays! To some extent. If you didn’t count the whole, cutting yourself thing. But plenty of people cut themselves without being bipolar. It was probably unrelated. Nobody could logically prove it was related.
He’d keep hiding it. Keep burying it.
Ilya didn’t deserve anything more than perfection, and bipolar disorder? That wasn’t perfect.
…
Ilya woke up late at night to very odd sounds. He turned, expecting to face Shane and question him about it. What he found instead? An empty spot, cold and abandoned yet still obviously ruffled. He blinked slowly.
What the fuck was Shane doing up so late?
And why did it involve making such a huge ruckus?
Ilya shook himself awake, standing up and taking his time to stretch. He wasn’t really that concerned. Shane was probably just overthinking and doing something he could’ve waited until morning to do. All Ilya needed to do was find him, then gently coax him back into bed. Not that he necessarily minded Shane’s weird habits, but he did mind when Shane woke up tired and miserable because of it.
He sighed, getting up. Shane didn’t usually take much effort to coax. He was pretty willing to do whatever Ilya asked. It was how they worked. If it truly mattered to Shane, Ilya would be able to tell and leave him alone.
9 times out of 10, it was not a matter of importance. Likely, Shane decided the cabinets needed a 1 am dusting along with cleaning out his bookshelves. That’s why Ilya had taken his time. Because it hadn’t been supposed to be big. To be anything bad. Just some of Shane’s weird nightly activities that Ilya loved about him.
Then, he walked into the living room and everything changed.
Shane stood by the counter. An open drawer. The fucking knife drawer. The amount of blood that was around Shane was enough to make Ilya throw up. He bended down by the trash can, unable to keep in his dinner. It spilled in the small trash can, but Ilya didn’t let himself recover.
Because Shane was cutting his wrists open.
He held a massive knife in his left hand, stabbing brutally at his right arm. The force he was hitting made his flesh like butter. Every time Shane brought the knife down, blood splurted out of the other cuts. He stood in a growing puddle of his own blood. Yet he wasn’t looking down at all. Shane was only staring down at his arm.
With nothing but fear.
“Shane!” Ilya gasped out, trying his best not to throw up as he lunged for the knife, managing to get a strong grip on it to stop the next stab. Shane flinched brutally, eyes flickering up in pure terror. Then, Ilya saw the one look he’d never wanted to see on Shane’s face.
Shane stared at him as if Ilya was a stranger.
As if Ilya was going to hurt him.
He’d never felt worse. Shane was bleeding everywhere and it wasn’t stopping, he had a fucking bloody knife, he’d done this to himself and Shane didn’t even recognize him? This was a nightmare. It had to be.
Ilya begged whoever was above, whoever was listening, to let him wake up. To just wake up and be cuddled up with Shane in bed. To wrap his arms tighter and breathe him in.
But, the seconds ticked by and Ilya had to face reality. This wasn’t a nightmare. He was really in the kitchen of their house at 1 AM, holding Shane’s arm as Shane tried to fight, tried to push down and keep hurting himself, keep getting closer to his god damn death.
“Shane, what’s wrong with you?” Ilya screamed out. He didn’t want to seem angry, but he was fucking panicking and he needed answers.
“Get away from me!” Shane hissed, his expression turning to pure fear. He desperately fought against Ilya’s grip, but Ilya wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t let go. If he let go, who knew what Shane would try? He didn’t want to hurt Shane, but he had to get him to drop the knife. He shoved his thumb into Shane’s wrist, putting as much pressure as he could.
He was so relieved when he heard the clank of the knife.
“Shane, we need to go.” Ilya said firmly, trying to hold his panic as much as he could. “Please, Shane, you need help, someone needs to fix your arm-”
“No!” Shane screamed out, trying once again to desperately pull his arm away. “If they stop the bleeding, they’ll go back in! They’ll just go back in and- and in- and they won’t stop! They need to be out! Let me keep going! I need them to get out-”
“Who?” Ilya said, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. “Who needs to get out?”
“Them!” Shane yelled, scratching at Ilya’s arm with his bloody hand. Ilya wasn’t remotely concerned about the sting of that, but the fact that Shane was probably hurting himself more with the movements.
He closed his eyes tightly. He needed to do this or Shane would die.
Ilya grabbed Shane tightly, pulling him up to carry him. Shane panicked even more and Ilya felt him struggling, kicking and punching at Ilya. Ilya stayed strong. He didn’t let the sting of the hits make his hold falter. Shane needed help right now and Ilya would get him that help. He’d much rather Shane hate him forever then for Shane to die.
He attempted his very best to ignore the screams and yells, feeling tears welling up in his eyes again. What the fuck was going on with his boyfriend? If Shane died today…
No.
No.
He could not think that.
Ilya had a goal right now and he needed to reach it. He made his way to their bedroom and pinned Shane to the bed, not letting the other move more than a few millimeters. If he escaped, he’d hurt himself again. He grabbed at the bedside drawer, reaching for the object he knew was there.
A pair of handcuffs.
Shane had gotten them for their anniversary a year ago. It had been half a joke, half a ‘I trust you to try this with me’. Usually, he’d see it and laugh. Now, as he stared at the stupid pink fluff, he only saw something that would stop Shane from hurting himself. He wouldn’t be able to move his arms and the furry edges made it so he wouldn’t get hurt from struggling against them.
Fuck, what was he doing? He stared at Shane, squirming and fighting in pure panic, and his heat fucking broke all over again. The fancy sheets were getting flooded with blood, Ilya himself was covered in blood, but none of that mattered.
Those were all possessions. Possessions could be bought and replaced. Shane… Shane could not be replaced in any capacity. So as much as it hurt him to force Shane into anything, he pinned Shane’s arms and clicked the handcuffs on, some tears dripping down his cheeks as he did that. He watched Shane struggle for a few seconds.
When he was sure he wouldn’t hurt himself, Ilya finally allowed himself to look away, though he still sat firmly on Shane’s legs to make sure he could not move.
He spotted his phone, grabbing it quickly and dialing a number he’d never wanted to dial. He brought the phone up to his ear, only realising now how heavily he was breathing. He needed to calm down. He needed to be able to explain what was going on.
“911, What’s your emergency and address?" The operator’s voice filled his ear, bringing him a bit back down to earth. It was calm.
“My- My boyfriend. I don’t know what’s going on, but he stabbed himself. He kept talking about them being ‘in him’ and how they needed to get out and he kept trying to hurt himself so I had to- I had to- 112 Elmwood Avenue- come. Please.”
So much for being calm.
“I am sending an ambulance over to your location right now.” She said, sounding firm and convinced, even with Ilya’s inability to communicate the emergency. “You said your boyfriend stabbed himself?”
…
The ambulance had taken 10 minutes to arrive.
It had seemed to take forever yet it had all passed in one horrible, bloody blur. The operator had to direct him into applying pressure, resulting in some of Shane’s fancy white towels getting completely wrecked. He’d childishly hoped that it would make Shane come back to himself, to yell at Ilya for using the ‘good towels’.
That didn’t happen.
When the paramedics had arrived, they’d gently pulled Ilya off, asking for the keys to the handcuffs. He’d obeyed robotically. He’d explained that Shane wasn’t in a right state of mind, that he was trying to hurt himself and maybe he’d hurt others.
They’d taken one look at the bleeding arm and the way Shane had been fighting. After that, they were convinced. It was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that this was some type of psychosis.
As Ilya sat in the waiting room, leg shaking up and down, he thought back to his mom. He remembered vividly one night. So similar to this one. He’d found his mother pacing, mumbling something about demons. Ilya had tried to talk to her and calm her down but she hadn’t recognized him. She had screamed, yelling at him to get back.
He didn’t remember much after that. His dad had come out, told Ilya to go back to bed. After that, his mom had been gone for a few days. ‘To get better’, his dad had said. Had she been bleeding too? Had Ilya just not seen it?
It had been the longest hour of his life, waiting for news from the staff. This didn’t pass in any type of blur. Every second felt like agony. The clock on the white sterile wall didn’t help.
Every second that ticked by, his heart sank a bit more. What if he’d called too late? What if Shane had lost just too much blood to save? He tried to calm himself. Stressing himself out, worrying over these things? It wouldn’t help. Nothing would help, so he could at least try not to dig himself into a deeper hole.
He didn’t know a whole lot about psychosis.
Russia wasn’t strong about mental health. Depression? Suck it up and smile. Autism? If you could manage to survive by yourself, you were fine. That was the culture.
But because of what his mom went through, because of what he himself went through, he’d learned what he could. He had never bothered to read up much on psychosis because to him, it wasn’t relevant to what he was going through. But as he remembered Shane’s behaviour tonight, he tried to think of the few things he’d read about it.
Delusions and hallucinations. Shane had been yelling about things under his skin, things escaping it.
Disorganized thoughts and behaviour. Shane hadn’t been able to process what was going on. He didn’t recognize Ilya. He hadn’t made any sense when talking, as if stuck in his own world.
Ilya felt a slow tear drip down his face. Fuck.
He looked up as a nurse was making her way to him. He wanted to be relieved, but it was hard to be anything else then completely fucked. Ilya felt the nurse’s concern, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the news she was delivering or because of how bad Ilya looked.
“You can come with me, Mr Rosanov.” She spoke, voice careful but gentle. Ilya didn’t know if he was thankful or irritated with that. “He’s under anesthesia right now. We discovered some things while trying to clear his arms for the stitches. We are severely concerned. We do need to ask, we’re you aware that Mr Hollander was cutting himself?”
Ilya blinked, confused.
“I was the one to call the paramedics for him stabbing himself.” Ilya said slowly, wondering why the nurse didn’t know this. Maybe they just didn’t think it mattered? The nurse’s expression faltered a bit, as she looke away a bit before taking a deep breath.
“I think you misunderstood me.” She said, voice getting worryfully careful. “I am not talking about what he did to himself tonight. We have reasons to believe Mr Hollander has been cutting himself for months and probably years.”
Ilya felt his heart stop completely.
“What.” His voice came out deep, rough. This couldn’t be true. Maybe they had seen some things and gotten confused. Got it wrong. He’d have noticed if Shane had scars. If Shane had cuts.
“Maybe you should see.” She said “But… I have to warn you. It’s gruesome. In all my years, it’s not often we see such extreme cases. He seemed to be doing quite an effort to hide it. There was some type of… fake skin on his arms. It was very high quality.”
Ilya didn’t say anything else. He got up. He silently followed the nurse who walked firmly but not rushing. She stopped in front of the curtains, lifting her arm.
She clearly hesitated for a second, before opening the curtains just enough to let Ilya come in. The angel wasn’t good enough to see Shane yet, so he stepped in and turned to the middle of the room. The intense nausea he experienced as his eyes finally landed on Shane was almost worse than earlier.
Fuck.
Shane’s arms looked like they’d been through fucking meat grinders. Cuts and cuts piled on top of scars that Ilya had never seen. Some cuts were clearly recent, red and barely scabbed. Quite a bit were pink, in the process of healing. Underneath those, there were layers of old scars.
How much effort had Shane put into hiding this?
Ilya thought of the products he occasionally found laying around the bathroom. Containers of extremely expensive body foundation. He remembered some labels, with a few words along the lines of ‘makes scars even, makes them disappear’.
If Ilya had known the scars that Shane was covering was this…
Shane’s right forearm was covered in bandages. His head was tiled back, his eyes closed, finally looking peaceful. But that peace was a lie. Ilya knew that now.
“We’re very concerned, Mr Rosanov, and not only because of the cuts.” A voice suddenly spoke, making Ilya whip around to spot a woman dressed in a white lab coat and scrubs. She must have been the doctor. “We were looking through Mr Hollander’s files for information about potential past mental issues. We ended up finding very buried records. As it turns out, Shane is diagnosed with type 1 bipolar, and he hasn’t been on meds for over 10 years.”