I turn the lights off because the lights are distracting, and I sit in the dark just trying to stop the wires from shifting at the back of my brain. I know she feels it too and it’s probably very frustrating for her. I don’t care, she isn’t my problem, but I have to figure it out on my end or I’ll go insane.
Sergei gets me an apartment because his guys think I’m weird, and he doesn’t like the way I watch them. I know what he’s thinking, but he can’t kill me unless the big guys in Moscow give him the go-ahead, and I’m still on trial. I know if I wasn’t carrying, his men would try to beat the shit out of me, and my fractured ribs haven’t even healed yet. Even if he beats the shit out of me but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. That is why Vera matters.
Isolating me feels like a punishment, until it occurs to me that I can bring her there without them listening in because I don’t need those problems.
I can’t stop thinking about her and she thinks about me too. I don’t know if this is love—but I hope not. There are many types of love and some of them hurt so I’d rather not mess withthat. All I know is she has to be around, but I don’t have to love her. Like a coworker you’re assigned to be around all the time.
Talking to her becomes my goal.
It’s harder than I thought. After five meetings at Insight, she stops coming. I think it’s because she noticed I get there early so I can be in one of the front rows.
The ticking is driving me nuts, it’s like a countdown until we can be together, whatever that involves. I don’t want her to touch me, and I don’t want to touch her, but this may be a problem because I don’t know how to tell her that.
I see her after work and invite her over. She doesn’t remember me from the alley, but still doesn’t want to go with me, so I have to convince her. She screams that she doesn’t know me, and she runs, and I don’t get to her in time.
The next day, I can’t risk that happening, so I bring a gag. It’s winter, and at that hour it’s still dark outside. She doesn’t scream this time, and I’m bigger, so she can’t run. I want to talk about this and figure out what to do so we don’t have to feel like this, but she isn’t cooperating. She needs time to calm down, so I take her to my place.
She’s crying and begging, and I’m getting mad because I’m trying to have a conversation, and she won’t stop blubbering. I block the door, but she runs and locks herself in the bathroom. I don’t care, I’m going to bed, she’ll be more agreeable in the morning.
It’s the middle of the night when she tries to leave again, and this time I get really mad because I made up the couch for her and she isn’t listening. I tell her if she doesn’t stop screaming, I’ll gag her again. I can’t go to work like that because the door opens from the inside. If I let her leave, she’ll never come back, and I need answers. We need a plan.
Just talk to me, Vera—fuck. Stop screaming. Tell me what you fucking want with me!
I don’t know what happens, but I fade in and out, and then I’m not where I was. Now I’m shouting her name, and she’s on the other side of the bathroom door. I’m already kicking it, and it cracks. It flies off a hinge and hangs by the other. She’s scrunched up underneath the sink, and she isn’t crying anymore, just sitting there, and I don’t think I can get her to talk.
I call Sergei. I’m not going to explain the situation because I can’t risk him letting her go home, but I tell him I’m not coming in. My day is spent looking for hardware while she’s trapped in the bedroom because I need to install an outside lock so I can leave the apartment without her getting out.
She starts begging me to let her go and I tell her I’m doing my best to deal with our situation because we’re going to be together and have to figure out what that means with her job and if I have to meet her family or not.
Another flash, and the front door slams behind me—I’m flying past the stair landing, panicking, because she made it out and she’s in her underwear halfway down the first flight of stairs.
I’m faster, and I bar her across the waist, dragging her back. Now I really can’t let her out, and I worry because the neighbors might call the police—and Sergei won’t like that. I can’t have Sergei find out about Vera. When she calms down we’ll have to look for a new apartment together because I don’t want the neighbors to see me asthatguy.
The underwear is not my fault, I never touched her. I have to pray she doesn’t touch me because I’ve had some trouble and it’s even hard to shake hands. I don’t want to touch her, so we will just have to learn to live like that.
I learn she tried to use her jeans to climb out the window and onto a neighboring balcony, but wasn’t strong enough.
I’m tired, I don’t sleep, and I’m trying to keep my life together. I’ve barely had time to breathe since I got back and nothing is going the way I need. I didn’t want to be in a relationship—what kind of life is this? I don’t even have a kettle. I’d like to make her tea, make her feel better. More at home. But then I think about it and maybe it’s best I don’t because she might throw it in my face and that’s about the last part of me that doesn’t have any scars. I can’t hide my face in public like I can with the other ones.
I don’t have time to get her household stuff because Sergei shows up at my door, and he’s got guys with him. I attempt to explain, but things are crashing in the bedroom because she hears people, and she’s trying to get their attention. I just want to talk to her, and I don’t know what to do because Sergei is shouting, and they’re going to break down the door.
Another flash.
There’s no more Vera, just a concrete floor. I’m on my knees, and I can feel the cold mouth of the barrel against the back of my head. I don’t look up because I know what’s happening, and those are Sergei’s shoes pacing back and forth.
“You motherfucker,” he’s muttering. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I don’t try to explain because I think I’m in a nightmare. They took her somewhere, and I probably can’t find her. This is the end.
“You crazy piece of shit,” a voice at my back says. I know it’s Denis, and he’s holding the gun. I decide then that I will kill him. I’m not crazy. I don’t like him saying that.
Sergei crouches beside me and slaps me hard across the cheek. “You know how many people were out looking for her? Do you? Her whole fucking family! I don’t fucking need these problems! Hear me? I don’t fucking need you.”
If he doesn’t shoot me, I have to get my act together.
He’s right—he doesn’t need me.
So I have to become someone he needs.
