Vadim Alone Against The World
Six months later
I consider tearing up the letter. Turning it into confetti and tossing it into the air to celebrate my release.
That’s all these ink-covered pages deserve.
But Clémentine is still holding it out to me, her eyes misty, and I’m starting to get sick of girls looking at me with tears in their eyes. I take the envelope from her and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans.
Later… I’ll read it later.
Felix jumps on me for the thousandth time, rubbing his clenched fist against my skull until it hurts. He always used to do that when we were kids and he wanted to annoy me. This time, though, it’s because he can’t contain his joy. He wants to celebrate. And I let him do it without flinching.
I feel a little… numb.
“Man, you should have seen Keith’s face! He thought he was untouchable, but he’s just been brought down. He’s facing twenty years! Can you believe it?”
“No…”
Stunned. That’s it, I’m stunned.
“We nailed that bastard! La Mama’s reign is over! Adios! We’re free, and we’re going back to la casa!” he exclaims, speaking in Spanglish like he does every time he gets overexcited.
“Easy, Alonso, you’re wearing everyone out!” grumbles Clem, frowning. “Vadim, what are you going to do now?”
“No idea. Sleep for ten days straight. Take a thirty-minute shower. Eat something other than gross mashed potatoes and stale bread.”
“I’m taking you to Chick-fil-A, man! You too, D’Aragon, my treat!”
“Oh that sounds dreamy, Fe.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “But I’d better get going. I’ve got a flight to Paris tomorrow.”
Paris.
Alma…
I hadn’t thought about her for a whole minute.
“Vadim, please read her letter. It’s important to her.”
“Yeah, yeah. I will.”
Muttering an off-hand reply is my way of putting on armor so I don’t let anything show.
“Before I go, is there anything you want me to tell her?”
“Hmm…” I hesitate, my throat tight.
Thousands of things, actually.
Go to hell.
Come back.
Why?
Fuck, Alma…
“Not even a quick, scribbled message I can give her when I meet up with her?” Clémentine murmurs.
“I don’t think so. It’s better this way.”
My stomach twists, my chest aches, and there’s a burning sensation in my temples. It’s getting harder to hide how much I miss her.
“Okay, I understand. Bye then, you guys. I’m not going to hug you, but you know, the sentiment is there. Well, maybe not for you, Alonso!”
“Come on, get over here, Clemy. I know you’re dying to!”
Felix approaches her, arms wide open and the smile of a wannabe player on his lips. Grimacing, Clémentine dodges him at first. Then she lets him hug her, patting his back with her fingertips as they embrace.
What I wouldn’t give to have Alma in my arms…
“Bye, Clem. Take care of yourself,” I say, pushing the thought aside. “And thanks for coming.”
“No problem. You know she would have been here too, if she could have…”
Is Clémentine ever going to stop twisting the knife?
And defending Alma at every turn, after what she did to me?
“Right, shall we go, Fe?”
“Let’s go. No daddy’s girl, no problems, no lawyers! Just like before.”
He read my mind…
Except that, before, it was You + Me.
And fuck, did I love that…
***
In the car, on the way back, I stare out my window so Felix won’t see me falling apart.
I can’t breathe.
I miss her.
“Do you mind if I make a move on Cheyenne? She’s seriously hot!” my buddy blurts out, breaking the silence.
“Do what you want, Fe. As long as she’s okay with it.”
I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but if he wants to try…
“Can you drop me off at my place, man?”
“Are you kidding, Vadim? We’re going out to celebrate!”
“We will, but right now, I just want to be alone. Just to get my head straight, you know?”
“It’s because of the letter, huh? It’s burning a hole in your pocket?”
He peels out, hitting the gas the second the light turns green.
I don’t say a word.
“Listen, I don’t want you to spiral because of Lancaster. I know you loved her, but she clearly wasn’t worth it. You’re out. She bolted. End of story!”
If only it were that simple…
“Pull over here, and I’ll walk the rest of the way. Keep the pickup. We can meet up tonight. Sound good?”
He sighs, then gives in and pulls over.
I’m a churning mess inside. I need to get out of this car.
After walking for just ten minutes, the July heat is already starting to smother me.
With a thousand-pound weight on my shoulders, I slowly climb the stairs to my apartment.
I slide the key into the lock, expecting to find the place trashed, just like the last time I saw it: cupboard doors flung open and the contents of all my drawers overturned by the cops, clothes scattered everywhere after that last night with Alma.
The last one…
I’m about to explode. I let out a furious scream as I walk through the door, but it doesn’t make me feel better.
Groaning, I take in the sight of my perfectly tidy living room. Every piece of furniture is in its place, my clothes are perfectly folded, and my dishes have been washed and left in the drying rack for far too long. I grab a mug and let it fall onto the tile floor in the open kitchen.
I need to feel something explode.
Then, my arm sweeps across the counter, knocking off everything within reach. Plates, glasses, and silverware crash to the floor, creating a deafening racket. I still don’t feel any better, but I have nothing left to break.
I know she’s the one who did this.
Alma.
Putting my life back in order before she left. Erasing every reminder of the search, of my arrest. Probably to help me, to protect me. But she doesn’t know she also erased every trace of her presence and that, now, it’s as if she never existed.
Is that what you want, Lancaster?
I slump onto the couch, and the envelope in my back pocket rustles.
I take it out, smooth it flat with my hand, and place it on the coffee table in front of me.
I spend what must be a good ten minutes staring at it without moving.
If I read it, it will hurt even more afterward. If I don’t read it, I’ll never know.
But know what? That she loves me but not enough to stay?
That she loved me, but got tired of being torn between two worlds?
That the pressure from her family was too much?
That our differences were too big? That it was nice and all, but she has a father to satisfy, will have a suitable, respectable husband to marry one day, and other ambitions in life than being with a loser like me?
A vise squeezes my heart.
Filled with rage, I clench my fists. I am choked by pride, and torn apart by grief.
I grab the envelope, rip it open, and unfold the pages with trembling hands. My eyes rush over the words, chasing them, devouring them. As I read, Alma’s voice speaks to me. I hear her as if she were sitting right beside me
And that hurts even more.
Vadim,
I’m leaving.
I’m not leaving you—I’m being torn away from you.
You’ll sigh and tell me again that I’m letting it happen, that I had a choice, that I let others decide for me. Actually, no, you won’t tell me anything, since we won’t speak to each other again.
Here is what I chose: to come look at you one last time and say goodbye in silence. Because I know that if I hear your voice, if you say a single word—even just my name—I won’t have the strength to go anymore. I won’t be capable of leaving you there.
Tomorrow is your hearing, where everything will be decided. Guilty or not guilty. Convicted or acquitted. Locked up or set free. I’m already shaking at the thought of the unforgiving justice system that could save your life or take it away from you for so many years.
So, yes, I made a choice. One day, I’ll explain to you how and why. You only need to know one thing: between you and us, I chose you. And for once, I didn’t hesitate.
The last time we spoke, through that damned glass, you talked about this.
You, with your smirk and that disillusioned look in your eyes.
I remember it almost word for word: “Look at us. We spent months fighting together against everyone else for… You + Me. And now, we’re fighting each other.
But I won’t let you win, Alma Lancaster. ”
That was the last time you said my name.
My whole name. No one in the world could make it sound as beautiful as you do, with that deep, rich, teasing voice of yours.
I may never hear it again, but I promise you, it will keep echoing in my ears.
I told you that I had nothing to lose and that, if you didn’t want to fight anymore, I would fight for you.
I told you that I loved you and that nothing could stop me, not even you.
I meant it. I looked at you one more time, and I left. I think I already knew.
I’m leaving, but I’m not leaving you—though I don’t think I will ever have enough words to explain that to you.
I could write to you every day of every year, and you still wouldn’t accept it.
You’ll be determined never to understand it.
Never to forgive me. And that is what hurts me even more than the rest. That you could believe I have even one good reason for wanting to leave you.
Oh wait, I do have one: loving you.
Vadim, you’ve changed my life. Do you even know how much?
You gave me the strength I didn’t have. The courage I lacked to be myself.
To finally live. For all of that, I took my example from you.
I fed off everything: your gutsiness and your madness, but also your wounds.
And your scars, too. Everything you managed to overcome.
To transform. To make beautiful. You toughened me up, but you also made me softer.
You woke me up, shook me, turned my world upside down.
You made me see who I could be. You made me feel alive.