CHAPTER FOUR #2
“Grandpa,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I’m still fucked up. I’ll never be fixed. He stole my innocence. I’ll always be an imposter. A broken man pretending to be strong. And Natalia ... how can I be strong for her when I feel so weak?” I ask knowing this is a confession.
Fuck, why am I so broken?
Grandpa is going to think I’m pathetic. I’m not worthy of being the grandson of a Rope.
My grandpa closes his eyes, his jaw tight. “You’re strong, Dima. I used the only power I had to end his life and make sure you were safe. I failed you for far too many years, son.”
“No, Grandpa. I should’ve spoken out. I should’ve told you .... I should’ve told you everything.”
“You were a child, my boy. You were scared. If I’d have had my eyes open, I’d have realized, noticed a difference. I blame myself. I’m so sorry, son. I’ll carry the weight of guilt on my conscience forever.” Grandpa’s voice cracks and he bows his head.
“You stopped him from hurting me, from hurting her.”
“I didn’t protect you from Sylvia or Ruslan either. I failed you. I let you down. I’ll never forgive myself, Dima.”
I slam the book shut, dust flying up like ash. My hands are shaking, my pulse hammering so hard I feel like my eardrums will burst.
“What hurts more than mother ... Sylvia is you never told me what you did. You let me grow up thinking the monster still had his teeth. Do you know how many nights I spent obsessing over him, planning his death, every detail, every second of torture I’d force him to endure.
Grandpa ....” My voice breaks and I turn into a sobbing mess.
His gaze snaps to me, hard, unyielding. “You needed that anger, Dima. You needed the fire. Without it, you wouldn’t have survived. You needed to be fearless in the asylums. If I’d have told you the truth you’d have broken my boy. Your anger and hatred for him fueled your fire. You survived my boy.”
“I don’t even remember why ... why I spent so long in the asylums? I don’t remember what I did. What did I do Grandpa? Tell me.” I plead.
“The journal, Dima. It’s in the pages,” he replies with a nod and holds his palms out over the flames.
“Tell me!” I pace backward and explode, slamming my hand hard against the table.
“Everything you need to know is in the journal, Dima. You’ll see. I tried to save you, but they took you anyway. The judge knew I lied to save you. I’m so sorry, Dima. I hope once you know the truth you can forgive me.” Grandpa’s voice breaks.
I move back to stand beside grandpa again clutching hold of the old journal. ‘ROPED’ I read the cover again as if somehow, it’ll change the contents of the trauma I know is inside.
I should tear this book apart, throw it into the fire and watch the pages burn and curl into ash and inhale the black smoke allowing it to flood my lungs and choke me until I pass the fuck out.
Stupid fucking idea, Dima. It wouldn’t create enough smoke ... you’d have to bury your face into the fire.
It’s fucking tempting ... so fucking tempting ... my crazy wants to, my psycho craves it. Invites it, welcomes it, begs for it. Begs for rest.
Fuck. Stop this shit, Dima.
You can’t. I can’t. We can’t.
Because this isn’t just his story. It’s mine. Every page is another piece of the cage I was born into. A cage I can never escape. But maybe I can find the key within the pages, and perhaps eventually I’ll be set free
Please God let this fucking journal give me the answers I crave. Let it set me free.
I grip the book tight enough to crack its spine. My voice comes out raw, low, almost a growl. “I forgive you, Grandpa but this ...” I wave the book, “if this doesn’t save me. It’ll damn me.”
The fire crackles in the silence that follows. My grandpa looks at me like he knows I’m right but won’t ever admit it.
I tuck the book under my arm and turn to leave. His voice stops me as I walk through the doorway into the cold hallway.
“You’re not the demon, Dima. You’re the one carrying them. That’s your curse. I’m sorry I couldn’t guide you better. I’m sorry I couldn’t cure you.”
I don’t answer. I turn around and walk back into the room toward him.
The weight of the book digging into my ribs like a blade, every secret inside it, is another nail in the coffin of who I could’ve been if I’d been born clean.
The death and acknowledgement that I can’t turn back the clock.
That there’s no second chance to change the past.
I inhale deeply. I don’t want to be angry with grandpa. He’s the only one who ever loved me. Who ever cared for me. Grandpa is my entire world beside Natalia.
I walk back into the dining room and sit on the chair Sylvia had taken her final breath in.
“I want to visit Anna. I want to see where my mother’s final resting place is,” I say to Grandpa.
“It’s a place I haven’t visited for a long time. It’s difficult for me, Dima,” he replies with a sadness in his voice, his shoulders slump forward.
“Please Grandpa. I need to ... I want to.”
“I’ll take you. Let’s wait until this winter storm calms a little.” He clears his throat. “But for now read the journal. There’s a section about ... your conception. Your birth. Your real father.”
The idea makes me nauseous, so I change the subject.
“Did Pawel return?” I ask.
I wonder about my brother even though I’m still pissed at him for blaming me for Sylvia’s death.
Bitch brought it on herself.
“I was going to ask you if you’d heard from him.”
“No, I haven’t heard a thing since this morning.” I shake my head.
“He’s switched his phone off. I’m worried. He never does this.” A vein pops from his head, and I know he’s feeling stressed.
It’s my fucking fault. I never want to make my grandpa feel anxious. Never want to hurt him or disappoint him. I love the old man.
“I’ll drive down to the lake house, maybe he’s there.” I offer to go, not wanting my grandpa to go out in this biting cold weather.
“Are you sure you want to do that? I can go.”
“Why do you say that? He hates me, doesn’t he? He’ll never forgive me.” I stand and walk toward the hallway and grab my jacket from the hook and slam the door on my way out to my car.
I climb into my car and start the engine.
You’re a fuck up. You’re weak. It’s all your fault.
She’d be better off without you. You promised her breakfast.
What the fuck are you doing? You’re abandoning her ... again.
The voice in my head won’t shut the fuck up.
Fuck you, Dima.
A knock on the passenger side window startles me. Natalia stands there like an angel among the snow. Her presence alone pulls me out of my own head.
Look at you, my beautiful girl. You always save me, Sparrow.
I gesture for her to open the door and she does.
“Your hair, it’s dark again,” I say with a smile and reach out and twirl her dark locks around my fingers.
“I dyed it back to my natural color. I know you prefer it this way,” she replies with a huge smile on her face.
“You’re beautiful with any hair color but when you’re natural you blow me away, Sparrow.” I release her locks and they bounce beautifully.
“Where are you going, Dima?” She asks as she climbs into the passenger seat and closes herself inside the car.
“My grandpa is worried about Pawel. I’m going to see if I can find him,” I reply, still mesmerized by my girl.
“I hope he’s okay. I know he’s sad, about losing his mother.”
“No one has heard from him since he stormed off after burying Sylvia. His phone’s not on. He may be at the lake house, so I figured I’d check it out. You can come with me if you want to?”
“Yes. Of course. I hope he’s okay. You never told me what happened between you both.”
“He blames me,” I reply.
“Dima, it wasn’t your fault.” She places her hand on my knee.
Oh, but it fucking was, Sparrow. It fucking was. I killed the bitch.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and disturbs me. I’d ignore it but the buzzing doesn’t stop. It’s text messages—it’s Pawel.
Pawel: Head to the barn. I need your help with the animals.
Pawel: Dmitry, hurry the fuck up.
Pawel: We need to talk.
Pawel: I need your help, bro.
The messages seem erratic. He’s still pissed at me.
“Pawel needs my help,” I tell Natalia.
I drive the car down the snow-covered path that forms a road to the barn, and as I round the corner the sight of an unfamiliar Range Rover arouses my suspicion.
Who the fuck would visit grandpa in a snowstorm?
I park my car around the side of the barn and quietly walk back around to the front. I don’t see anyone inside the Range Rover through the windshield and with the blacked-out side windows I can’t see inside at all.
I pull open the barn doors, and I’m met by the sight of a six-foot tall man wearing a black beanie hat. His blue-eyes wide, he’s clearly working for the bratva. His stance unstable as he holds a blade to my brother’s throat while bear hugging him from behind.
“What the fuck!” I shout in disbelief. A muscle thrums hard across my jaw.
No one threatens my brother’s life.
“Where’s the girl?” He asks and pulls Pawel closer to his chest.
“What girl?”
“You look like a smart man. Don’t fuck with me, boy,” he replies.
“Man, or boy? You seem confused,” I laugh.
Pawel’s eyes widen in fear as he knows I don’t take kindly to people fucking with me.
“Dima, please, answer him,” Pawel begs.
“Listen to your brother, little Dima.” The man taunts, his feet twisting against Pawel’s as he maneuvers my brother forcing him to shuffle forward in front of him while still hugging him tightly.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand an answer.
“I’m the man sent to collect what belongs to us, and you have her,” he replies and presses the knife harder against Pawel’s throat.
“Dima, man. He knows Natalia is here.” Pawel gulps.
“So fucking what. No one will be touching my girl,” I say and take a step toward them both.
“Your girl?” The man laughs. “She belongs to Nikolai.”