22. Kirill
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KIRILL
20 November 2014
Yarik,
I’m sorry that I’ve gone. I’m even sorrier that I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. I keep telling myself that it’s no different from when I got sent back to England without you. I didn’t say bye then, either, if you recall. I figured you knew that I didn’t have a choice. But my gut is telling me this time, I should have said something, regardless of whether or not I had a choice.
I didn’t.
And if you’re wondering why I’m writing you a letter, then I’m sure you can figure out the rest.
Kirill
30 November 2014
Yarik ,
Remember that time you got us shipped to an old Soviet prison and tried to make it sound like a five-star accommodation? Well, I’m here to say that things could have been worse. I would choose that moldy fucking room with you over this shit any day.
Kirill
17 December 2014
Yarik,
Got your message. Thing is, I know you don’t give a rat’s arse about Moscow, same way I know you’ve probably typed out a million more texts that you won’t ever send.
You can take some comfort in that, at least.
If I ever give you these letters, months will have passed, if not years. (I hope not years.) I can’t risk putting them in the post. Please understand.
Kirill
23 January 2015
Yarik,
Your father sent me to St. Petersburg.
He’s made the oligarchs nervous. They like him best when they think he exists to serve their every command, like a genie with a bottle—except your father is more likely to murder them in their sleep and then steal their three wishes for himself.
Anyway.
I’m not sure if they’re operating on shortsightedness, thinking they’ll be the one to tame the Great Petr Volkov (sarcasm), or if they’re just so delusional, they don’t even realize your father has their every move watched. It would be ironic, maybe, except that I’m the one tasked with doing the watching.
Kirill
4 March 2015
Yarik,
I won’t be putting a bullet in your brain. Thought we’d mutually agreed to avoid killing each other?
Kirill
P.S., you don’t need luck. You’re a pampered prince who can do whatever he wants, remember?
P.P.S., on the subject of you telling me to go fuck myself—good to know some things haven’t changed. You’re still a fucking brat .
18 March 2015
Yarik,
If I could choose anyone to watch your back while I can’t, it would be Daniel Beck. He’s reckless and hotheaded but stubbornly loyal. You deserve to have someone stand by your side that you can trust.
I’m sorrier than you’ll ever know that I broke that trust
I miss you
I hope you’re doing all right.
Kirill
3 April 2015
Yarik,
I’m back in Moscow.
Kirill
16 April 2015
Yarik,
Sometimes I wonder what might have come of my life if you hadn’t found me. Would I have survived? Or would I have only lived long enough just to end up dead on the street?
Would I have been as lonely without having known you as I am now, stuck halfway around the world with only these letters to keep me sane?
Kirill
7 May 2015
I’m sorry
sorry
yarik forgive me
12 May 2015
Dear Yaroslav,
I’ve been instructed to transcribe this letter to you on account of my patient, Kirill Volkov. He wishes to let you know that he is healing, but he won’t be able to write for a number of days as he isn’t sure where he’ll end up once leaving the hospital.
He doesn’t want you to worry. “Because you will,” he’s told me to write.
He wants you to know that everything is fine.
From,
Kirill
13 May 2015
Dear Yaroslav,
This is Dr. Kuznetsova. I debated whether I should write you this letter when I don’t have explicit permission from Mr. Volkov, but I wished to let you know that things are not good.
Your friend is a fighter.
He is . . . He is trying. I have never seen anyone try so hard as I have him. When he speaks, it is only your name. When he wakes, he searches the room as if seeking someone who is not there. I suspect he is looking for you.
I wish that I had a number for you or even an email. As I don’t, and I don’t know what will come of these letters or even Mr. Volkov, I felt it only right that you should know?—
He lives for you, Yaroslav.
I hope Death will not catch him.
Best,
Katerina Kuznetsova
20 May 2015
Yaroslav,
Death has not won.
Katerina
29 June 2015
Yarik,
Every time I put pen to paper, I ask myself whether these letters will ever find their way into your hands. I debate my own transparency. Do I treat them like a diary or like a door to my soul in which only you hold the key?
I don’t know.
Right now, I don’t know much of anything.
I know that I’m alive. I know that if I wasn’t, you’d probably never hear otherwise. The Bratva is a graveyard and we’ve all been marked for death. You more than most. I know you don’t see it, not when your father keeps you on such a tight leash, but these waters are filled with sharks and just the sight of you has them thirsty for blood.
Stay vigilante. Watch your back. I’m worried for you.
I hope to see you soon.
Kirill
15 July 2015
Yarik,
I realize that I didn’t ever write what happened to me.
I think I’ll save that story for when we’re together again. Not that you’ll know any differently. These pages bear the weight of my consciousness and not a single one has reached your doorstep. I still can’t risk putting them in the post to share them with you, but sometimes . . .
Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.
Kirill
21 August 2015
Yarik,
I almost phoned you today.
I want to.
I need to.
Because I knew this day was coming, no matter how often I hoped that it wouldn’t. If I reach out to you, he’ll know. That’ll be worse for you, in the end. Worse than what happened in your father’s study. Worse because I promised to stay away, and now he’s ordered me to
I can’t even finish that sentence.
I can’t.
Fuck. FUCK.
23 August 2015
Yarik,
Answer your bloody fucking phone.
24 August 201 5
How many times do I need to fucking ring you before you realize that it’s me ?
25 August 2015
Yarik. What have you done?
26 August 2015
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for watching.
I’m sorry that I have no other choice.
I’m just so fucking sorry
2 September 2015
Yarik,
I don’t know if I believe in any sort of afterlife. But if it exists, then surely I belong in Hell.
Kirill
10 September 2015
Yarik,
I’m coming home.