Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
IGOR
PRESENT DAY
The room I rented at the airport conference centre faces the tarmac. Planes arrive and depart in the background under sheets of rain as I try to make sense of my feelings and how to express them. Unending grey skies welcome them until they’re only dots, before they disappear completely from view.
It’s soothing to me to watch them come and go. The constant whoosh of the airplanes motors drowns my overactive mind and assaulting negative thoughts.
Gisele Harolds, my therapist, doesn’t press me for answers.
The elegant woman in her forties mostly works with incarcerated men and women with mafia affiliations.
In some cases, she travels around Europe to support and help men like me.
Men who have been abused and forced to hurt others.
One of Lana’s allies recommended her. With a short bob of grey hair and half-moon glasses hanging dangerously low on her button nose, she reminds me of Mammona.
I imagine the old woman would have looked similarly in her youth.
Compassionate without being commiserating and kind without tolerating circumvented answers from me.
Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to talk to her. I may spend half our sessions in silence, but the words I do speak make me feel like this isn’t all for nothing.
I spent the first three months with her just trying to get the words out.
What it was like to live at Misha’s compounds.
The horrors I’ve witnessed. The powerlessness.
The despair. I didn’t think saying the words would actually be so cathartic.
I was always afraid if I repeated everything that happened to me and others it would be like reliving it all over again.
I did, in a way, but, for once, I was the observer rather than the victim.
It helped me put a distance between what happened and who I am now. It made the shame that always accompanies me, from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep, quiet. Like in the face of words, it saw it had nothing to hang onto.
Gisele said that was the first step of healing.
Shame is taught, she said, while guilt is intrinsic.
We’re working first on untangling one from the other before we can move on on me making amends.
She says it’s unnecessary but if it is part of what I believe I need to do, it’s another step in the right direction.
I need to do it because it will give me peace, not because I’m trying to right all the wrongs Misha did.
Forgiving him is another step, but I’m not there yet.
I don’t think I ever will be. At least, it seems very far out.
“I’m crawling out of my skin,” I finally tell her after minutes of stewing through how to express the sensations that I need to move, do something with my hands and my body, otherwise I’m bound to go towards self-harm again.
“Go on.”
“I have no purpose. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all you’re doing for me—”
“Igor, let me stop you for a moment. You don’t owe me gratitude. I’m not doing anything for you. I’m doing my job, and you’re doing all the work for yourself.”
“Right.”
That’s another hard pill to swallow. Gisele helps me rebuild a confidence I don’t think I even ever had to begin with. My existence not serving others is such a strange thing to grasp.
“I’m doing all this for myself, first. And for Julian. And my friends and family.”
“Good. Continue.”
“Some days, I wake up and I just want to die, not because of the shame anymore but because I’m aimless.
I don’t do anything that matters. Taking care of my mental health is important, but I need something to do so that my mind is not all I think about and care about all day, every day. It’s exhausting.”
She hums and threads her fingers above her stomach, regarding me above the rim of her glasses. “Is that because you want something to take your mind off yourself, or is it a true lack of meaning in your life?”
“The second,” I answer without hesitation.
I may struggle with self-love and self-worth, but in the past three months, I’ve come a long way.
Working on myself, sifting through my mental health struggles with the help of a qualified doctor, spending time simply walking the beach with Julian—we’re still sleeping in separate beds and he’s still set on being my friend before being my husband—it’s all helped me realise how fucked my entire life has been.
I was basically sold to pay a debt. My father was an horrible man.
My brother became a sex slaver, a pedophile and one of the worst monsters mankind has ever produced.
And I was forced to be an accessory to the worst of crimes.
I’m not a bad person, but I was made to do bad things, all because my love for my adopted family and the people I called friends was so strong I didn’t see any other way. Rewriting my story is a long process.
“I just need to be of service, to society, to my friends. And for myself,” I tell my therapist.
“Do you think a hobby would help?”
“I think a job would be better. I… I don’t feel comfortable being a kept man.”
“Have you talked to your husband about going back to work? You were Miss Moretti’s bodyguard for years. Is that a route you’d like to consider?”
Talking about my relationship to Julian is one of the things that makes me most happy. That came as a surprise. Gisele and I realised that whenever I talked about Julian, my body would settle, my voice would become more even and warmth would spread through me.
I now recognise the bodily sensations and can give them name. In his case, love is too small. Adoration fits better. Even if I’m having a hard time applying it in real life. We haven’t touched for months, except holding hands a few times. The contact never ceases to electrify me from head to toe.
“I love Lana, but I prefer if she remains a sister rather than a job.”Gisele smirks. “You wanted me to come to this conclusion on my own, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She winks. “Go a little deeper and expand on that, would you? In a perfect world, what are your relationships like, and what do you do during the day when you’re not spending time with the people you love and who love you back?”
“I want to do something that helps.”
“Helps who?”
I fidget with the skin on the side of my thumb nail. “Victims.”
“Go on.”
“Lana has opened another centre to help people she keeps rescuing from all over Europe. But they just never stop coming in. The influx of people who needs a medical team to care for them, a place to land a new identity or job, or sometimes just safety, never stops.” My fingers tremble and I clench my fists before spreading my fingers again.
I inhale, searching for the words. “It needs to stop. These people need to be stopped.”
“As your therapist, Igor, I have to tell you that murder and revenge, in my experience, has never worked as catharsis.”
“But?”
Her icy blue eyes sharpen on me before her lips pucker, as though she’s pondering between her profession and something deeper.
“However…” She pulls out a card from her bag, resting carelessly at her feet, and hands it to me. “If it’s part of your journey, I know of someone who might be able to guide you.”
The card is a thick white paper. The ink on it displays a phone number. No name. No country code. Before I can ask anything, Gisele switches topics and asks me to explore more of my feelings for Julian and my issues with intimacy.
For years, sex was pain. Maybe not for me, but I witnessed it all the same.
I don’t know anymore how I could enjoy my husband’s touch or touching him without being reminded of everything I and countless others went through.
One of Gisele’s program includes intimacy for men victims of rape and sexual abuse.
The first step is to make one small decision, in safe environment, with a person we feel safe with.
When I get home later that evening, Julian stands at the stove of his flat. The space smells of aromatic herbs and rich tomato sauce.
“Oh hey, Igor. I’m making fish soup, it should be ready in ten minutes.”
I’ve spent the whole way back thinking about my first little intimacy step.
Nerves almost shake my body, but I refuse to back down now.
It’s not like I want to get it over with, more like the excitement and anxious energy all mix into one potent cocktail that could have me catatonic in minutes.
It happened before. I know my triggers and I refuse to have Julian pick me off the floor yet again because I had a panic attack so strong I couldn’t stand on my own two feet.
I’m tired of feeling like a failure of a husband.
All Julian wants is for us to be happy. I can get behind that. Happiness may be a long way from where I am now, but it’s visible from where I stand mentally, which is more than I can say from a few weeks ago.
My husband turns to me and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks. I get the urge to glide my fingers on them. The baby blue of his irises dances with joy. Just from seeing me.
Determined, I discard my jacket carelessly on the back of a chair and make my way to him until only a few inches separate us.
“There’s something I want to try,” I tell him.
“Anything for you, baby.”
“Don’t move.”
He nods. His eagerness to please me is a shot of adrenaline straight into my veins. Some things haven’t changed, despite the years and the pain between us. My good little pup is ready to obey any command I give. The heady power goes up to my head, making it swim pleasantly.
I swallow and take in the tense, almost expectant, set of Julian’s shoulders.
His collarbone peeks from under the collar of his aquamarine shirt.
The colour suits him so well, complimenting his baby blue eyes and the blond waves I’m obsessed with.
I’m looking at him as though it’s the first time, reading his face.
He’s so open and vulnerable it could bring me to my knees.
It does, in a way. I yield to the hope brimming in his eyes, and swallow his shallow breaths as they come out of him.
My hands lift to caress his cheeks. They’re rough under the pad of my fingers.
He didn’t shave for a day or two. Julian closes his eyes and leans into my touch as I rediscover the man who gave me everything.
I let my right hand descend towards his throat and gently caress the sensitive skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder while the other threads through his hair.
Everything around us vanishes until only the two of us remain.
I frame his face once more and close my eyes, dropping my forehead to his. He trembles underneath my touch and a mix between a whine and a sob breaks free from his full lips.
“I know, pup.”
“I love you so much, baby.”
“I love you, too.”
The organ in my ribcage tries to escape as I drop my lips to his in a featherlight kiss.
The little noise he makes breaks me into tiny pieces and forges me anew.
I keep it slow, savouring his taste, the softness of his lips and the restraint he’s showing me.
I know he wants to touch me, but holds himself back.
I love the power I hold in that simple kiss.
Julian’s tongue tentatively brushes against my lips, seeking entry. I allow it, opening for him and gliding against him. It’s soft and sensual, nothing like all the rushed kiss we’ve exchanged in the past, nothing like the kisses we exchanged as teenagers first discovering each other.
This isn’t lust, though I’m getting harder the closer we get, each movements bringing us closer together. This is a declaration more powerful than words. It’s a worship I want to feel worthy of, because I don’t think I can live without it anymore.
When we come up for air, Julian’s pupils have expanded, his eyes growing darker. His cock is thick against my thigh but we ignore it. He grins like a fool, a little love-drunk and a puppy-like excitement spreading in the blush of his cheeks. He’s magnificent.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” He asks.
“For loving me. For giving me a choice and letting me be the lead of how we take things.”
“Baby, I’ve loved you for fifteen years. I’m not ever going to stop. Whatever our lives look like in the future, I’ll be there. Even if it means we’re platonic lovers. Even if it means I never get to touch you. You’re alive. I love you. It’s all that matters.”
“When did you get so selfless?”
He punches my bicep. “You’re not the only one in therapy, you know.”
With a chuckle and shake of his head, he goes back to the stove, and places the food into bowls, and for the first time in many months, I look at him with the eyes of a lover once more, excited to take my next intimacy step with him. I’ll be ready soon, my bones scream for him too much to ignore.