I groaned inwardly. Of course, he'd be short with his words.
I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. Now send me my journals, Kova.
I looked forward to the package. I read the journals all the time.
The little dots didn’t appear. My chest ached when he didn’t respond. Suffocation clawed at my throat.
I need them. Please. Give them to me.
Still nothing. His lack of response was like a punch to the gut. How could he ignore me? My heart thumped erratically. I tried not to cry, but it was fruitless. My heart still ached for my other half.
They help me. Please.
Another week passed and no texts, or journals in the mail. I tried not to succumb to the darkness. I’d come too far to go backward now—surgery on my Achilles, dialysis a few times a week, balancing my diseases while killing it in the collegiate world of gymnastics and attending school. By all outward appearances I was at the top of my game, but appearances were deceiving. I was good at faking it too.
I was dying inside. I never stopped loving him, but I guess he stopped loving me. That was a hard pill to swallow. He said he would come, and I told myself that I would wait for him. Exhaling, I righted myself.
A couple of my teammates had talked me into attending a party with them tonight. It wasn't something I did normally. I was young, single, why the fuck not go out and act my age for once. I needed to stop dwelling on the package I hadn’t received and let go for once in my life.
After an hour or so, I found myself refilling shot after shot of vodka and fending off horny college guys. I had zero desire in interacting with any of them, even in my inebriated state. There was only one person who stirred my blood, and I was drinking his poison.
He said he’d come for me, but he never did. He lied.
My chest rose and fell rapidly. Tears were threatening to spill. I refused to cry and pulled my phone from my back pocket, squinting at the home screen. I pressed the wrong buttons a few times before I found the message icon. I was sure I’d regret this in the morning, but it wasn’t morning yet and the alcohol gave me the liquid courage to text him.
I went to a dumb drat part and I drunk and now I hate you. I seriously hate u.
Why did you have to make me fall in love with u.
Where are the jounrals?
Send me MY journals, Konstantinn. You know they are mine.
They were never yours to begin with.
I woke the next morning to banging in my head and a twisted stomach. Immediately I checked my phone, forcing back the bile rising in the back of my throat.
I waited all night for a text. He never responded. Taking my phone, I threw it across the room and let it hit the wall. I fought back the tears and clenched my shaking fingers into fists.
The hangover was a blessing in disguise. It allowed me to forget the aching in my heart. I knew better than to drink, especially on my medication. But I needed one night to cut loose and forget the pain of loving someone from afar.
The banging returned and I shook my head under my pillow. Big mistake. I groaned through the raging migraine I was dealing with, my stomach churning once again. I shot up and ran for the bathroom, making it to the toilet before I was vomiting clear liquid and the Taco Bell I’d consumed before passing out last night. I was never, ever drinking again. Or eating Taco Bell.
After I expelled every last drop I could in my body, I stood up and gargled with mouthwash, then rinsed my face before walking back to my room to crash. I halted in my steps when the pounding returned, and I realized it was coming from the door. My brows furrowed.
Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to answer it. The sooner I could make the noise stop, the faster I could climb back into bed and pass out. I wanted to go back to sleep and pray this was all a dream.
Reaching for the knob and bolt, I opened the door and sobered right up.
Heart instantly racing, my lips parted in absolute shock. I blinked rapidly.
After three years of no calls, no texts, nothing so much as a picture, just yearly journals filled with his thoughts and desires, except for this year, the stupid Russian who’d claimed my heart years ago stood in front of me.
My lips parted further. Tears immediately welled in my eyes.
“Allo, Malysh.”
Epilogue
Thirteen Years Later
Kova
"Come, Lili. Come to Daddy."
I stayed squatted as I waved my fingers, encouraging her to take a step.
Her chunky bowlegs were apprehensive as she attempted to walk to me for the first time. Drool fell from her toothless smile and plopped on the chalky floor next to her purple toenails. Mia, her older sister, had painted them for her when she was sleeping because she does not ever sit still any other time.
I had four daughters, all gorgeous, just like their mother. And all under the age of six.
I was fucked.
Double fucked.
I was cursed, certain I had pissed someone off in another life. I do not even joke anymore that God was testing me. I knew he was.
Lili picked up her stubby leg. Just like the time before, I held my breath and hoped this would be the first step she took. My knees were screaming in rebellion staying in this position so long, but I held still if that meant seeing her walk.
"Da, Da, Da," she babbled.
More slobber fell to the floor. Lili had a slight Russian accent, but my wife insisted it was just baby speak. I firmly believed she was wrong, and I told her that often. It made her heated and she would argue; she was even more beautiful when she was fired up.
Lili mumbled again, the enunciation in the back of her throat. Totally Russian there and not that American baby speak.
"Yes, Lili, Da, Da, Da," I said, heavy on the Russian enunciation.
Lili squealed. She lifted her knee and balanced on one leg, her toes curling into the floor for support. My brows rose and I encouraged her again to take another step, holding my breath. I wiggled my fingers and made a funny face trying to make her come to me. All my daughters have taken their first steps inside our gym. I was hoping Lili would too.
Her cherry chocolate hair was tied up in some messy thing I did for her. She tried to pull it out and whined because she could not accomplish it. I gave her a stern look and she dropped her arms with a pout. My wife had been trying to teach me how to do their hair since Mia was born.
No matter how much I tried, I still could not figure out how to do it without ripping hair out.
Looking at me with massive amber eyes, Lili began to lean too far to the side. I reached out quickly and caught her, making a big splash about it so she would try again. I planted a huge, loud kiss to her cheek. Her eyes twinkled and she giggled as I stood her up again. Lili was the first of our daughters to attempt to walk by eight months. Something told me we were in trouble with this one.
"Lili, come Lili. Come to Daddy, malyshka."
She shrieked excitedly then took a step. I held my breath as she placed one foot in front of the other and stayed upright. She hesitated, and I gave her a little push, telling her to keep trying. She did it again and I waved my fingers impatiently just as she took two steps and fell into my arms.