chapter 32
Iselyn
“Is everything really fine?” Mom asks me again.
I nod. Both Mom and Dad were happy when I told them I was going to visit, but after arriving, when they saw my face and asked how long I had planned to stay, and I had no answer, they assumed the obvious: their married daughter had come home because something wasn’t right.
“You’re not looking fine, sweetie,” she says, frowning.
I force a smile and inject some energy into my voice. “I’m just tired from such a long journey. I’ll look perfectly fine by tomorrow morning.”
She nods, but the worry on her face doesn’t lessen.
“I’ll sleep now. Good night.”
She gets up from my bed and kisses my forehead. “Good night.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her. I stare at the wall clock. It’s past 9:20 p.m. here, which means it’s around 3 a.m. in San Diego. He must be sleeping at this hour.
My room door opens again, and Papa enters. He comes toward me, sits calmly on the bed, and lifts his hand to caress my head.
“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”
I shake my head.
“Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head again.
“But then why are you looking like that… that time?”
He doesn’t need to clarify which time he means. There was only one moment in my life when I was in such a state. Back then, it was because something happened that I didn’t want to happen. This time, it’s because something happened that I wanted to happen.
“I don’t know, Papa.” My eyes sting, I close them. “I don’t know why it hurts when it was what I wanted.”
He wipes the tear from the corner of my eyes. “Maybe what you wanted was not this.” I open my eyes and look at him.
“I hated love, Kroshka. My mother loved my father, and I only saw her crying because of that. When your mother came into my life, I didn’t accept that what I felt for her was love.
I was very troubled by my feelings. It was so tiring to push away something so strong, and then one day, I accepted it.
I got free from the war inside me. It’s very difficult to believe in love when you’ve been burned by it.
It’s very difficult to tell yourself that you could love with a broken heart. ”
He places his warm palm on my cheek. “Don’t fight with yourself, little one. Give yourself another chance. And when you start believing that you could love again, ask yourself if it’s the same man you want to love again.”
I nod and chuckle. “How do you make everything sound so easy?”
He laughs. “Because I’m very smart, Kroshka.”
I laugh. “Shouldn’t you say because ‘I’ve seen the world more than you,’ like people of your age?”
“What age? Age is just a number. I’m still a charming young man. You must be talking about people like your Uncle Ruslan.”
I laugh harder. “Uncle Ruslan is younger than you.”
He scoffs. “He was born old. Do you think the way he talks now is because of his age? No, he always talked like that.”
He kisses my head. “Now stay happy like this. If you think forgiving Matleon easily will be unfair to you, then we can tie him to your treehouse tree and beat him black and blue.”
I giggle and nod.
“Good night.”
“Good night, Kroshka.”
After he leaves, I start thinking. There’s so much mess in my head. If possible, I’d like to step outside so I could sort it all out.
My phone rings on the side table. I pick it up and see Matleon’s name on the screen. I answer.
A tired voice comes from the other end.
“Angel.”
And in that single word, I feel I already know the answers to all my questions.
“Were you sleeping?” he asks.
“No.”
“Am I allowed to call you?”
“I think so,” I say after a pause. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
He chuckles. “I have no one to hold.”
My pulse picks up. “How were you sleeping a month ago?”
“You can’t ask a heroin addict how he was living before he started taking it three weeks ago.”
I turn onto my side, put the phone on speaker, and place it on the pillow beside my cheek. “But you’re not a heroin addict.”
“I’m worse than that,” he mutters in a low, deep voice.
“The thing I’m addicted to is only one in the entire universe.
I can’t replace it with another like a heroin addict.
And the withdrawal symptoms are far worse—no sleep, no peace, a constant ache in the chest, food loses its taste, the sun loses its warmth.
And unlike heroin addiction, they don’t start fading after a few days. You know why, Angel?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Because the drug takes a part of the addict. You took everything from me,” he murmurs, his thick baritone raw, vibrating through the phone.
“Will you hate me if I decide to never come back to you?”
A long silence falls.
“No… but I don’t know how I’ll live.” His voice comes in a tired whisper.
My heart aches—for him, for myself, for us.
“Why don’t you try to sleep now?” I speak in a low, calm voice.
“Hmm.” That’s all he says before going silent. I close my eyes as well.