29. Valerian
VALERIAN
Today marks six months since being back in Russia.
I walk down the street, birdsong filling the air as little sparrows land on green leaves, trying to stay balanced.
This town is so bipolar, the mood entirely dependent on the season. Summer here always brings out the best in people, minus the politicians, of course.
The town is still running on a corrupt government. I might not know any of these people, but I know their intentions.
Another murder investigation is currently underway, according to the newspaper that blew my way this morning on my jog.
Two men were tortured last month, thrown in a lake not far from here and left to die. They were found by a young fisherman, who is now the prime suspect, facing court charges.
Time has changed, but this town stays exactly the same.
I grab a coffee from my local coffee shop. Two women are working behind the counter, both of whom have asked me out on several occasions. I told them no.
“You have a special someone waiting for you at home?”
I did indeed, only she didn’t want anything to do with me.
I ignore their efforts to make conversation with me and go about my day, using Bratva money to fund my very monotonous lifestyle here.
I jog in the morning and sit in silence for long periods of time, getting lost in my own head, thinking about Joy and my father and all things in between while sipping scotch alone in my house.
I asked if Igor wanted to come back with me and see where he came from, but he’s content living in Malibu doing my job for me. He takes care of the finances and helps Niko kill people who need to die.
Some people in this world are still far better off dead.
Part of me is desperate to jump on the next flight back to Los Angeles and see Joy, make sure she’s okay. But doing that would give her more reason to stay away.
She gave birth to our child last month, which is why I’ve been consuming more scotch than usual.
Today marks ten months since she first walked out of my life for good. I still see her brunette curls lifting in the wind as she stepped through the revolving doors, a gust of wind blowing the ends into the air, just how they looked when she was on the rooftop.
Guilt cuts my chest in half. Struggling to walk much further, I neck the rest of my coffee and opt for something stronger, slipping into the bar for the strongest scotch they have.
I disappear into the outside area with it, perching on a wooden table that overlooks the mountains. My town is the biggest settlement in the Siberian Mountains. The summers make up for how rough the winters are.
I look out onto the lake where the two bodies were found.
The glistening blue water attracts all kinds of species, the most common, deer and elk.
I watch them graze around the banks, taking big sips of scotch.
The most beautiful things in life are deceiving.
You never know what’s under the water until you’re risking your life, finding out.
I sit back into the seat, the wood creaking. The scotch was supposed to be medicine to relieve the pain, but it’s only adding to it. My chest pulls tighter with each sip when I think about Joy with our child.
I’m missing the most important milestones.
But she doesn’t want me around for them, and I have to respect that.
Don’t I?
She should know I get my own way. I always win, whether I’m snapping someone’s neck or doing the best for my child.
She’s afraid, and you can’t live in fear when you’re raising a child. The fear rubs off on the infant, and before you know it, your kid is all grown up, sneaking behind your back, putting their own life at risk to make you pay for never being an active part in their life.
I down the rest of the scotch, staring at the bottom of the glass.
I’m fucking doing it again—avoiding.
I thought I was doing the right thing with Igor. My Bratva gave him an affluent upbringing. He could have anything he wanted, a nice apartment, all the money he desired. If he said the word, I was prepared to rub the genie and magic anything into existence for him.
There was one thing I couldn’t provide. And that one missing thing absent in his life caused him pain.
I was never present.
Just like I’m being now, existing halfway across the world, filling the gap in my heart with scotch instead of doing something proactive
Joy will shower our child with love, I have no concerns there.
But my kid is out there, and I want them to know I exist.
As long as my heart is still beating, second chances are still possible.
I exit the bar and pace back down the street, keeping to myself as usual.
I turn a corner, unlock the house I bought when I first landed here, and gather my belongings, preparing a bag.
I enter the lounge area, grabbing all essentials, ignoring the six glasses of scotch abandoned on the coffee table—all mine from last night to try and cure the insomnia.
I’m afraid Joy might be the only cure.
I slip my phone from my pocket and ring for a cab. Being slap bang in the middle of the mountains has its perks. Travelling hours to get to the nearest airport isn’t one of them.
I finish packing my clothes into a suitcase, and swing it over my shoulder, leaving the house unlocked when I walk away. Finder’s keepers. Someone needs this place a lot more than I do.
I cross the road, coming to a stop, approximately one hundred meters away from the bus stop—the exact stop I was standing at when Siguard sent my father away.
I stare into the road. A breeze blows through the street, slowing everything down.
The rustling sound of trees disappears, replaced by a cold, haunting breeze that slaps me across the face, ice-cold, like that frozen January afternoon when the winter crawled into the very membrane of my bones and stayed there. Forever.
Even now I feel the chill, the trees behind me not bursting with color, but bare, stripped of life.
I know what I need to do, and how I want to live the rest of my life.
I let the wind take the memory from me. I no longer need to keep holding onto it.
The cab rolls to a stop, picking me up, and I jump right in without looking back.