Unlikely Lives.

The icy wind wraps tightly around my body, gnawing at my open wound, crawling inwards inside me. I (try to) stagger discreetly from the hidden alleyway into the metropolitan of Moscow. Lucky that the people of Moscow take no notice of a severe-looking face.

5 minutes. I can last 5 more minutes.

But the pain is beginning to ebb me into a swallowing abyss. Slowly getting stronger and stronger. 

At last, the monochrome grey block of flats greets me. My certitude slightly stagnating at the ascending stairs. 

Red door. Red door. I can see the red door. Finally. Tension screaming through my body; I hope luck is on my side.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Unable to refrain from my desperation. I rush.

Please, please, please. 

The door opens.

And momentarily, I am left numb, stunned in utter relief, until my body crumples under the electrifying fission rampaging inside me. He scrambles to help me, arms wrapping around my waist where the blood has begun to bubble through to the surface. He walks or drags me along inside. And unable to hold off the flaming pain any longer, I let out a strangled, hungering noise as the darkness nibs at my vision. Feeling everything and nothing all at once. The blood trickling, cascading from my ear, and the blurry openness of his voice.  

***

Pain pulses me awake, but Alexei is here, jolting to consciousness at my refrained bawl, grabbing my hand and holding it tight.

"It's ok, you're alright, I've got you". 

He's here, still here and by my side. But the pain reminds me where I am, on enemy soil, and how vulnerable I am; I cannot forget myself. This is too dangerous. This has gone too far. I pull my hand away, forcing myself to sit up as the agony seizes my collapsing corpse, burning my veins in an electric-like torment. Alexei stops me, holding my shoulders, preventing me from falling.

"Catrin, stop." He knows. 

"I have to go." I have to stop to take a breath. "We both know the risk".

"And we accepted it"

"No, I forced it on you" I push against his arms, but his hugging hold softly tightens, and I'm too weak to break it. I don't want to.

"No, I could have left you or called the Highers-"

"You're too good for that. You never had a choice,"

Silence.

"Stay." He says. Asks.

I look at him.

"Rest." He pleads.

"Ok."

***

I’ve dreamt of this. This stillness. Alexei by my side. Being close enough to hear him breathe. The world like a hum behind us. I like looking at him and thinking this could us. All the time.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles. Soft and whole.

I smile and try to hide it. A little embarrassed at my unguarded emotion. Habit mostly.

“Maybe…Just a bit”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling. Soft and sanguine.

“I like it when you smile”

And I smile again, giddy. Only looking away to buffer the overwhelming butterflies.

“I like it too” I like this. I like us.

We’ve spent the last day just laying here. Holding each other. Alexei’s even sung to me, a desperate attempt to dim the pain. It didn’t work but I liked it. I liked him stroking my hair, holding my hand, laying in his arms. I wish we could stay like this. Boundless peace, the same in my dreams. I’m going to keep hold of this. Just for a few days.

***

Alexei’s helping me wash. I can hear the water bubbling in the bathroom, and I sink in shallow self-consciousness. Slightly afraid of the bruising openness but shamefully anticipatory too.

“Ready?” Alexei asks coming through the door.

I nod. And Alexei carefully lifts me up. Despite his gentleness the onslaught of movement makes me feel sick. Alexei sets me down on a chair and kneels in front of me, holding my shoulders. And my hands shakily find his.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” I lean my head on his, needing more stability and trying to breathe away the dizziness.

“I just need a moment” I say breathlessly, disliking the belittled ability.

And Alexei just waits. Moving his hands to rub little rings into my temple. I think he likes the excuse just to touch me. I like it too. It’s nice. Being this close, like it’ll never end.

“Ok, I’m ready” I say, everything seeming a bit more solid. 

Alexei begins to help me undress, too sore to do it myself. His hands pull my blood dyed shirt off me, and I’m thankful for the dressing Alexei must’ve done when I passed out. It’s not as intimidating. Tis but a scratch. I appease myself. Alexei then begins to slowly slide my trousers off, but their new-found tightness is too agonising.

“Cut them-Cut them off”, I manage.

And he pulls a knife from his pocket. Of course. And he cuts the material, ripping it like paper. The subsiding tightness, letting air move my lungs. And I look down. Alexei quiet and still. My body painted in a waterfall of bruises, my legs wooden in black and blue.

“It’s okay. It’s not as bad as it looks”, I squeeze his shoulders.

Alexei looks at me, his shape wallowed and sunken. He kisses me on the forehead. Nothing good to say.

***

The past few days have been dreamlike. Eating together. Talking together. Wearing his clothes. Lying in bed together. Like a couple. And it’s been nice, almost real. Almost possible. But Alexei’s comforting warmth is like cooling summer. It can’t last forever.

"Please, let me go", Tears stinging. 

He lets go, reluctantly, and leaves the room. I feel like I've lost something-

I get dressed after changing the dressing and looking at myself in the mirror. I need to look at the part. I'm lucky it's winter. I can hide my wound and myself under Alexei's winter coat, never mind the bruises that stain my neck and face, that are turning into some sort of seaweed green. This should have never had happened, but here I am, allowing myself to get too close and too vulnerable.

I leave the room, Alexei standing cold-faced by the door.

"The ticket is in the left pocket; the train station is a 10-minute walk from here. I will follow discretely. Just in case anyone is watching" To keep me safe. To say goodbye.

"You've already done enough" He's already incriminated himself so much.

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for me" That's true.

Without another word, I leave. Taking up a steady gate, as much as possible anyway, stiffly hobbling down the stairs, only reaching ground level when I hear the echoing of the door slamming-he's following.

I can feel his steady presence throughout the walk to the station. And when waiting for the train. A reassuring presence. But I only see him when the train rumbles away, watching as his silhouette diminishes from view. An old lady, noticing my stare and my bruises, gives me a sorry look and says,

"You've made the right decision". Although it feels so wrong.