Closure, Once and for All
1/1
My life was like something you read about, living out of a suitcase full of dirty cloths and sleeping for barely a few hours every night. I lived out of a dirty van that smelled more like the dirty boys that so graciously shared it with me than I liked it to. But I could deal with it, because if felt like I had known them all forever.
I spent my days with my best friends at my side and a cigarette in my hand, my nights wasted at parties I didn’t even want to go to, drinking beer I never liked, watching my best friends walk up a different set of stairs every time with a different slutty girl I had never really gotten along with. But I’d just take another drag off my cigarette and shake my head, and let them do their thing, because they’re big boys and wouldn’t listen to me anyway.
I lived the life that most people only dream of, watching the stars pass on back porches of strangers homes; I watched cities change across state lines with my closest friends trailing right behind me. But even still, I carried sadness in my heart. I hid behind my ever-present sarcasm and cigarettes. They never knew I was sad and mad and pissed off at everyone and everything, because I never said anything to anyone.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing on tour; it definitely wasn’t something I’d normally sign myself up for. But the prospect of being stuck in Arizona for another day scared me, and when I got a phone call that, my closest friend’s band was in dire need of a merch girl, I packed my bags and caught the next flight into Boston. I was met with open, loving arms of the only boy I could bring myself to trust anymore.
I knew, at that point, they were starting to catch on, even if they weren’t really registering it yet. But I think there was one night when they finally figured out exactly everything I wasn’t telling them. We were in New York, and we were at another party. I stood outside on the balcony, a smoke in my left hand and a cup of cheap, nasty beer on the rail in front of me.
“There’s my little chain smoker.”
“Fuck yourself, Eric.”
“Feisty,” he growled in my ear, “I like.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not yet,” he sighed, “speaking of drunk, is that still your first cup?” he asked leaning back on his elbows, facing the sliding French doors. Inside, the party was continuing on without us. In there, it was a completely different world, out on that balcony was reality, somewhere I’d give anything to get away from for a few minutes.
“Why?”
“You know I don’t get drunk, Eric.” I didn’t look at him. Instead, I opted to watch the ever-changing skyline.
“What’s wrong, Valeska?
“Nothing,”
“I’ve known you since you were two, Leska, I know when you’re lying.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Eric. I’m just tired.” I told him shortly. I didn’t want to talk about it; I just wanted to sleep.
“You’re always tired lately. C’mon, Valeska, talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I think I’m getting sick again.” My voice was quiet. I knew he heard me though, because he was quiet, almost as if he were trying to find the words to say to me.
He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, “You do feel warm,” he said, “Do you want to leave?” he asked, “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“I’ll be fine. You go have fun, I’m gonna catch a cab.”
“You’re not going alone, Valeska.” He told me flatly. “It’s one in the morning, I’ll take you.”
“I’m fine on my own,” I argued. He gave me that look he always gives me when he claims I’m being “stupid.”
“Eric,”
“Valeska Zivanka Vyhor, you are not going alone.”
“Fine, I’ll stay until you guys are ready to go.” I sighed.
“Okay, babe,” he wrapped one of his arms around me, and pulled me to his chest, placing his other hand on the back of my head, allowing my forehead to fall onto the warm fabric of his flannel, like he always did when I was upset.
He pressed his lips to my hair and then laid his cheek on top of my head. I relaxed into his arms, allowing him to hug me like that for the first time in a long time.
I had known Eric for most of my life; the Halvorsen family lived in the house to the right of mine when I moved to Arizona from the Ukraine as a toddler. Even as kids, he acted more like my older brother than my friend, and neighbor. And it only got worse as we grew older.
“Find me if you want to leave earlier,” he told me, still hugging me. We stayed like that for a while, just hugging as we used to when I got upset over something.
“Okay,” I said, smiling slightly as we pulled apart.
We stared at each other for a long moment after our hug and before Eric returned inside to the party.
He watched me with concerned, wary eyes, as if he were trying to peel back the layers of defense that I was putting up, and getting to the core of my fears. “Leska,” he started, but cut himself off, rethinking whatever he was about to say. He shook his head, “are you sure you’re okay with staying?”
“Yes, Eric, I’m okay with it.”
He sighed again, defeated, but turned to open the door. I watched him intently, taking in the smudged fingerprints decorating the glass door he closed behind him, disappearing into crowded apartment, and the fog that covered the outside in a thin layer because of the contrasting temperatures of the outside world, and the warmth of the apartment. I watched the scantily clad girls run around, with cameras in hand, taking pictures with boys I come to know as family in the past weeks. I watched class-less sluts parade around without their shirts on, with so much confidence. I watched as every guy in the decent-sized apartment watch them.
I looked down at my own outfit of black faux-leather pants and the plain white t-shirt I had stolen from Eric, and cut the collar and sleeves off before he even noticed I had taken it, with the words Coco Chanel written across the chest in black sharpie. I noticed the scuffmarks on my black Doc Martens; the laces were beginning to fray from all the wear-and-tear. My worn-in, black leather jacket hung on my frame comfortably, keeping me warm in the December air.
My hair reached my ribcage, and hung in a dark brown mass of naturally loose curls; most of my forehead covered by bangs that I had cut in myself sometime three weeks ago when we were somewhere between Denver and Death Valley. I looked at my upside-down cross pendant that hung on a worn leather cord and the tacky, black plastic rose ring on my right hand and the simple silver band that was never seen missing from my left middle finger.
I subconsciously touched my face, recalling that I had only brushed on the smallest bit of powder onto my skin and light touches of peach blush to my cheekbones. I had only applied a thin line of eyeliner to each of my bottom eyelids, and the thick coats of dark brown mascara and layers of gray eye shadow.
I couldn’t compare to all the gorgeous, yet slutty, girls that bounced around in there, with their adorable, floral print sundresses and their gladiator sandals. Their cakey makeup and their tanned skin, with their perfect bikini bodies and thighs that didn’t touch; the perfect bottle-colored hair and perfect makeup, they were walking, talking Barbie dolls. Compared to them, I was nothing. I wore leather pants and Doc Martens, and ratty Chucks, and worn out Vans, and beat up Keds. I wore shirts I stole from my brothers, and Eric, and friends. My light-if any-makeup and I had naturally tanned skin that tanned to the point that I looked black, but I can thank my full Ukrainian heritage for that. I had always been thin, but my thighs touched, but it never bothered my much until I was stuck in a room full of those perfect glamazons. I never touched my hair, unless it was with a pair of scissors, a round brush, and blow dryer on my bangs, and the occasional flat iron. The only thing I had on them was the eyes; their crystal blues and the warm browns of their eyes were beautiful, yet mundane, while mine never stayed one color, changing from hazel, to ocean green, to light brown constantly.
I was absolutely, nothing like them.
I shook my head, and looked down at my cigarette. Lifting what was left of it to my chapped lips, I inhaled and watched the paper burn down to the filter. I took in another breath of air through my mouth, and felt the toxic smoke force itself deeper into my lungs. I reveled in the relaxation it brought, and returned to my post on the railing.
I flicked the burnt-out filter over the banister and closed my eyes, letting the cold air pull my thoughts away from where I was. It was soothing for the few minutes it lasted.
It was times like these that I wish I could live in forever, the times when I was alone, with no phone ringing, and no one to take care of, and no one else’s problems to fix; times when I was finally able to allow myself to feel.
“Valeska,”
I ignored his voice, one that didn’t belong to Eric, and lit another cigarette, making a mental note to force Eric to buy me another pack before we left New York in the morning. I watched the clouds move slowly across the midnight sky, taking long drags between memories of better thoughts and warmer air.
“Valeska, I know you can hear me,”
I inhaled more smoke, letting it slowly flow out of my nose. I flicked the ash, watching it fall the six stories to the oddly vacant sidewalk below me.
“Leska,” he said softly from somewhere behind me, closer than before. I went on pretending he wasn’t there, though. I kept my demeanor cool, and my body language calm, but my heart was pounding in my ears and my stomach was in my throat.
Eric said they wouldn’t be here tonight, because they had a show to play and a lot of press to do. He said that he would walk me back to the hotel if they did show up.
I heard him sigh, and then I felt a shift in the weight of the railing. I didn’t look over at him, but I could see his outline in my peripheral vision.
“You got a light?” he asked in the same soft voice. I didn’t say anything, but slid my lighter carefully over to him, making sure not to let it fall over the edge. “Thanks.” I heard the flick of the flame and then him exhale and a thin cloud of smoke floated in front of me, the pungent smell tickling my nostrils, mixing with my own smoke.
It was quiet after that, and I was thankful for silence between us because I was still trying to wrap my head around them being here, after so many months of not talking to them or him.
“Will you please talk to me?” He asked about five minutes later, stubbing out his smoke and tossing it.
I didn’t answer him directly, but I finally shifted my gaze from the stars to him. I smiled weakly, fiddling with the ring on my left hand. I tried to find the right words to say to him.
“It’s just me here,” he said, as if reading my mind, “Eric told me you didn’t feel well.”
I laughed, “Halvorsen never could keep his trap shut.” I remembered my high school career, and how if he found something big out, he told me, and every one of his best friends.
“He’s just worried about you Leska,” he smiled, “everyone is.”
“I don’t know anymore, Jared,” I admitted, “I think I’m thinking too much.”
“I think you’re right,” he agreed, “come on, you can bitch about tour life over an early breakfast, my treat.” He smiled.
______________________________________________________________________
Eric about had an aneurism when I walked back into the party with Jared at my side.
“We’re gonna go,” I told him, “I have my phone.”
I don’t know why I was so inclined to let Eric act like he was my father. I had a perfectly fine dad back in Arizona, one that I called everyday and sent post cards to from every new city and state. They both worried too much about me, Eric and my father did. Ever since my mother's passing, they both asked me if I was okay a lot. I always said I was fine, but that didn’t stop them for asking at every chance they got.
I was a lot quieter then I used to be, back then I talked a lot. Eric told me I just didn’t talk about my problems, and I had a lot on my mind, and a lot more that I didn’t say. He was right, we both knew that, but I still didn’t talk about it, because that’s just how I was.
“Call me as soon as you get back to the room,” he demanded. Eric had always been a pretty go-with-the-flow kind of guy, though I do have a little bit of a clue as to why he would act like this so suddenly, seeing as Jared could lead me right back to where he was trying to protect me from going to again. “And no detours,” he directed that one at Jared more, rather than me. I had a slight inclination to the meaning of Eric’s words, but I didn’t ponder them too long.
“We’re going to breakfast.” I said quietly.
“I’m not taking her to see him,” Jared spoke, “he doesn’t even know she’s in the city. We’re just going to breakfast, and then I’ll make sure she gets back to the room safe and sound.”
“Wait,” I placed my hand on Jared’s arm, “you’re staying in the same hotel as us?”
“Our rooms are on a completely different floor than yours.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“He thinks you’re at home in Arizona.”
I rolled my eyes; of course, they would tell him I was at home.
“No one ever tells me anything,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Are you ready?” I asked, turning to Jared, who laughed, and ruffled my hair.
“Whenever you are”
I hugged Eric tightly, promising to bring him my leftovers, and followed Jared to the door, where I hugged the other two boys I had arrived with goodbye.
By the time we made it out of the apartment building and found our way out into the cold air of New York City, it was nearing three in the morning. I was shocked as to where the hour-and-a-half had gone.
“So, where do you want to eat?” I asked, another cigarette already burning between my fingers.
“There’s this awesome little diner in the village, if you’re down for the walk.”
I squinted up at the sky, figuring the walk would only take about an hour. The night was nice, and catching up with an old friend seemed far more appealing than anything I could have been doing at the time.
“To the village we go, Mr. Monaco.”
I thought my night would play out just as I planned.
I would walk with Jared the length of the east side of the city, and we’d keep conversation light. We’d discuss Arizona, and everything that changed over the six months, four of which I spent with my aunt Svetlana in the Ukraine, since I’d seen him. As we neared the diner Jared had spoken so little of, we’d slip into heavier topics, like my mom and the relationship that had broken so fast. We’d discuss things I couldn’t talk to Eric about just yet, and as we were seated in a booth, furthest corner from the door, I would order pancakes that I wouldn’t actually eat and a cup of regular black coffee that I would add two half-and-half’s and one sugar to. I would nibble on the rye toast, dry, that Jared would order just for me, sliding the plate across the table.
I would watch as he carefully cut up his order of waffles, no whipped cream but strawberries on the side. I’d watch as he’d flawlessly pour the maple syrup, which the waitress had so graciously made, sure, was warmed the perfect temperature, on his perfectly cut-up waffle pieces.
It would be like I was in high school all over again.
He would ease into the topic of my mother’s death, asking me little questions about my dad, and my brothers, Luka and Zeljko. He’d ask how my sister, Svetlana, who was only three and named after my aunt, was doing, and how she was dealing with the whole situation. Then he’d ask about me, and my thoughts. He’d slowly move into the topic of my depression, testing boundaries we both knew he didn’t have.
I would sip my coffee, and he would chew his waffles, as we moved through the subject of my mother slowly, making sure to touch all the painful points of the matter. We’d eventually get to the funeral and all the sticky details the memory held.
As we glided through the end of that subject, we’d transition right to where I left on in Arizona.
We’d discuss Pat first, I’d ask how he’s doing, and then we’d laugh over the memories of when Eric fist starting bringing me around the guys.
Then we’d move on to Garrett, and I’d ask how he was, and what he’d been up to. Jared would tell me little things, but not much because most of the things Garrett Nicklesen had to say about me weren’t very nice anymore.
From Garrett, we’d then move to Kennedy and I’d learn about how worried he, and everyone else, truly was. I’d learn how Kennedy figured out what was going on before anyone else, and then told Eric, and that was all around the time my mother passed. Kennedy knew about that one even before I did.
I’d sip my coffee and watch the city over Jared’s shoulder for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts.
To discuss John, I’d have to relive the pain of losing my mom, and my boyfriend in the same month. I’d have to talk about Jordan, and that party in Scottsdale. I’d have to tell Jared every single, little detail. And I would.
“What do you want to know?” I’d ask, bringing my eyes away from the window, and back to his.
“After your mother,” he’d begin, talking around a mouthful of waffle, “begin with the funeral.”
And I’d tell him.
We’d spend two-and-a-half hours in the diner, talking of these problems, and Jared would get every last detail out of me.
I’d drink six cups of coffee, still manage to be tired, and never touch the pancakes. Jared would eat his plate of waffles, and sip occasionally from his cup of decaf, three creams, and four sugars. I would have my pancakes boxed and Jared would argue with me over who paid. He’d win, because his bankcard would make it to the table faster.
We’d then begin our journey back to the Upper East Side, and back to our hotel, where everyone would be congregating in his room. We would take the elevator to the eighth floor, and Jared would walk with me, down the hall to the fourteenth room, left side.
We’d hug, say our goodbye, and promise to call each other. But we wouldn’t keep those promises until I was in trouble again, and we would have to repeat this process. I would enter my room, and Jared would return to his. Eric would ask what we talked about, trying to get me to talk. And Jared would face the inquisition on where he had been for so long, and where I was. Those boys weren't stupid, they knew I was somewhere near them. Neither of would say anything though.
And for the most part, that’s exactly how the night went.
Right up until we were walking to the room, I was assigned to share with Eric for the night.
“Good night, Valeska.” Jared’s smile was soft, matching his words.
“Night, Jared.” I held my arms out for a hug, “will I see you tomorrow?” I asked after we separated, holding the box with both hands now.
“Maybe,” he mused, “I’ll see if I can elude the guys for a few hours.”
“Bring Pat with you.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He chuckled, as I slid the room’s card out of the pocket of my jacket. I didn’t open the door though, but instead turned back to Jared.
“You know, I’ve never been more sorry in my life than I was that day. But I can’t forgive Jordan, I’ve tried so many times, I can’t just look past what she did to me.”
“No one’s asking you to forgive her, Valeska. I know you can, in time perhaps, maybe you’ll be able to, but I don’t think that will be for a while.”
“Time heals all wounds, I suppose.”
I could hear the familiar, loud voices approaching us from around the corner just a few feet behind Jared’s head, but I made no moves to slide the plastic card into the scanner hastily so I could throw open the door and drag Jared inside with me until the coast was clear. I just stared Jared in the eye, and he stared back, silently questioning my motives.
“Running can’t save me anymore,” I spoke in a whisper, the voice and laughs were growing louder as they approached the corner. I figured I had, at least, four seconds to change my mind and attempt a poorly planned, and executed, get-away plan.
Before Jared could answer, the laughter rounded the corner, and I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth. I braced myself for what was about to happen.
“Jared,” It was Kennedy who had called for him, talking loudly with a bright, happy smile adorning his face. I gave a tight nod, signaling it was okay for Jared to turn around and greet his friend.
The hallway grew suddenly silent when Jared turned, and was no longer blocking me from view. My heart was pounding in my stomach, both of which were sitting somewhere close to my uterus I’m sure. All eyes strayed to me, all carrying various expressions ranging from shock, to disbelief, to scrutiny, to concern, and finally confusion.
“Valeska, are- are you wearing leather pants?”
I looked down at the shiny, smooth material on my legs, “looks that way.”
“Fucking really? Is this 1987, or something?” Garrett Nickelsen had always been one to speak with great eloquence and tact.
______________________________________________________________________
I could hear yelling coming from somewhere outside of the room. I didn’t move though. Because I was too comfortable to move.
I was still in my leather pants Garrett had found to be so completely ridiculous, and my boots. I hadn’t removed my jacket either, just walked into the room with the big bed and fell face-first straight into the pillows.
I managed to call Eric before I passed out, telling him that I was safely back in the room and that his pancakes had also made the safe trip with me.
I could distinguish one voice as Eric’s and the other as Kennedy’s, but I couldn’t make out the words. But they were bitching at each other, for a reason I didn’t care about for the moment.
I closed my eyes again, burying my face into the pillow, and allowed myself to slowly fall asleep again back to sleep until the sent Justin in to wake me up, because apparently I threw things at Nick, and Eric knew better, and Loren and I had never gotten along too well. Justin, though, I wasn't violent, or mean to. Because he went about waking me up nicely.
I heard the door open, but I knew it wasn’t Justin, because Justin always knocked first.
“You’re still wearing those pants? Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, Valeska?”
“What do you want, Garrett?” I asked loudly, so he could hear me through my pillows.
“No need to be a bitch, Vyhor.”
“I could say the same thing to you.” I grumbled, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “And I happen to like the pants, douche bag.”
I had a feeling Garrett wanted to have a talk with me about something, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep again. Not with him in the room.
“I’m just saying that you look ridiculous in them.” He rolled his eyes, “but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Shut up and I’ll tell you.”
“Stop being a dick, and maybe I will.”
“You know, for a minute there, I thought this would be worth my time. You haven’t changed at all, Valeska; you’re still the same scared little girl that can’t handle her problems,” Garrett spat. His eyes were cold and I wasn’t sure whether or not he hated me or was just upset.
“I was upset, Garrett. I wasn’t ready to try and deal with anything like that yet. My mother dies, and then, not even a week later, I find out that my boyfriend had been cheating on me for six months, with my best friend none-the-less, while his friend, who barely even knew me, was at the fucking hospital with me? I’m sorry, I had no idea I wasn’t allow to be mad,”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Look, I’m sorry about your mom, but running away doesn’t solve anything. You’re nineteen, not five.” his eyes burned with intensity. I felt small under his gaze; Garrett had always intimidated me. “We didn’t want to hurt you, Valeska. You don’t know how badly I wanted to tell you, but you were so happily ignorant.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there, dumbfounded.
After a minute-and-a-half of just sitting there, staring at him while he stared back, I finally thought of something that seemed kind of okay to ask, “are they-,” I took a deep breath before I could force the words out, “together?”
“They were for awhile,” Garrett answered honestly, “but after two months, and no word from you, Jordan felt so guilty. Said it was all her fault, and broke it off.”
“How’d he take it?” I asked softly, biting my lip.
“He wasn’t as upset as he was when you left.”
“Stop, Garrett.”
“Seriously, Valeska, that messed him up.”
“You have to understand, I couldn’t stay.”
“No, I understand,” Garrett nodded, “but did you really have to go to all the way to Russia?”
“The Ukraine, Garret, the Ukraine! I’m not Russian!” He had been calling me Russian since the day I met him.
He laughed, “Why does that offend you so much?”
“They’re two different countries!”
He shrugged, and I sighed aggressively, “You’re impossible.”
He just laughed again.
“That reminds me, I brought you something.” I stood up and walked over to my suitcase.
Kneeling beside it, I unzipped the top and haphazardly dug through my clothing and possessions, pushing three more pairs of leather pants out of the way before I found it.
Standing and walking over to him, I stuck my hand out to him, “here.” He took it from my outstretched hand, “Nochnoi dozor, and Dnevnoy dozor?” he botched the names completely, and I resisted the urge to correct him.
“Night Watch and Day Watch, they’re part of a trilogy, the third one is being filmed now or something,” I told him, “they’re in Russian, so I’d figured you’d love it.” He laughed, “they're horror films, Luka’s favorites, actually.”
“Zombies?”
“No, vampires, but they’re badass. I’ve seen them a few times, not too bad.”
“I trust Luka’s judgment.” Garret smiled standing up, “you know, I missed you, you foreign freak.”
“I missed you too, you American asshole.” I laughed, and we hugged.
Somewhere out in the main room, there was a loud crash, followed closely by a “bitch.”
I looked up at Garrett, “what are they doing?”
“Left 4 Dead,”
“Should’ve known.” I sighed, “Let’s go see what’s going on before someone ends up missing an eye.”
Garrett didn’t respond, only nodded, and followed me out of the bedroom to the living area.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. All eyes turned to me.
Kennedy had tackled Eric, and pinned him to the ground with one hand and the other poised to slap him.
“He cheated,” Kennedy, stated childishly.
“Eric, is this true? Did you cheat?”
“No!” He yelled defensively, glaring at me.
“I don’t believe you,” I shook my head, “continue,” I smiled at Kennedy, before I walked away into the small kitchen. I heard the resounding smack of Kennedy’s palm on Eric’s cheek, and everyone, sans Eric, laughing. I laughed along with them, pouring coffee from the pot still sitting on the hot plate, into the pristine, white coffee mug sitting on the counter.
“We’re not friends anymore,” Eric glared at me from the doorway of the kitchen.
“Good,” I smiled, pouring half-and-half into the brown liquid. “I like Kennedy better.”
“Bitch,”
“Oh, Halvo, don’t be bitter.” I scooped two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup, “I still love you.” I patted his arm as I walked past him, and continued on my journey back to the other room.
“So, are we friends again children?” Nick asked as I sat on the unoccupied chair next to the tan sectional, sitting Indian style with my mug resting on my right knee.
“I think so,” I told him, looking over a Garrett who was laughing at something one of the guys said.
I smiled. My life was okay for the moment, I had fixed my relationship with Garrett; it had been like I never even left with Kennedy and Pat. And Jared was still like my big brother.
Now, I only had John to work on.
“Leska,” Nick whispered, poking my knee a few minutes later.
“What?” I asked at a normal level.
“Shh!” he placed his finger to his lips and looked around before cupping his hands in front of his mouth, “he wants to talk to you.”
“What?”
“John,” he said, still whispering, “He wants to talk to you.” I just stared at him, “trust me, I know this stuff.” He brought his hands away from his mouth and his voice back to a normal level, rolling his eyes.
My skepticism must have shown on my face, because Nick chuckled, “I talked to him before.” I nodded, and then glanced around at the rest of the guys. “Don’t worry, I’ll distract them.” He promised.
“Okay, Nick.” I laughed, “Tell Eric I’ll be back later. You want this?” I held my coffee out to him.
“I will, and nah, I’m good.”
I rolled my eyes, and took another sip.
“Just take it with you. We all know you chain smoke and drink coffee like it’s water.”
He was right; it was common knowledge to anyone that knew me. “Fine, Santino.” I stood up and walked into the back, into my temporary bedroom.
“He needs you, Valeska.”
I turned to see Kennedy leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“How do you-,”
“Mother’s intuition,” he tapped his left temple.
“Oh, Kennedy, you always have known exactly what to say.” I laughed. He pushed himself into the proper standing position and walked to meet me in the middle of the room.
“It’s what I do,” he sighed and hugged me. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger!” he pushed me toward the door, and smacked my ass.
“Pushy,” I rolled my eyes.
I managed to make it out of the room unnoticed, in fact, I walked right past the group of boys in the living area, and called that I was going to play in the Holland tunnel. Not even a “be safe” called after me.
The elevator ride seemed to take forever, and I made sure I took my sweet time walking slowly toward the eight-forties hallway. I could barely breathe when I stood outside of 845, and I thought my stomach dropped when I knocked on the door.
My heart fell right on top of my stomach when I heard him call some form of an “I’m coming” through the door. And they both crashed right through my ovaries and uterus taking them both down on the way to the floor when he opened the door, shirtless and in only his jeans.
“Leska?” He looked disheveled, like I had just woke him up. I was suddenly very pissed off at myself that I didn’t have my cigarettes, my coffee, and at him for waking up.
“Nick said to come.”
He just nodded and moved aside, “Come in,” he offered a small smile, and I glided in, my movements fluid, almost as if I were floating, in Doc Martens. Tough feat, if you ask me.
“You can sit, if you want.” He said awkwardly, rubbing that back of his neck.
“Do you want anything…” he trailed off.
“No, I’m fine.”
I sat on the chair across from the white couch he had decided to seat himself on, my left elbow resting on the armrest, my hand covering my eyes, not sure of how to being our conversation
“Talk to me, Valeska.”
“There’s not much to talk about, John.” I moved my hand, sliding my fingers to my temple while my thumb slid to my cheek, pressing the hallow into my teeth. My voice was cracking and shaking; the thickness giving way to the tears, I could feel building in the corners of my eye. My chest was contracting uncomfortably, but I refused to cry. I couldn’t cry, I wouldn’t cry.
“Don’t cry,” his voice was soft, “please, Leska,” he was pleading with me now, unsure of how to go about helping me.
But in all honesty, I didn’t want his help. I wanted to run out of the hotel room we were confined to, and sprint back to Arizona, where I could hide until he found his way back home sometime in the next four months
“Come here,” he stood from his seat on the couch, stretching his long legs to his full height. He walked to me cautiously, as if I was a frightened animal, liable to run at any sign of danger.
He slowly approached me, kneeling inches from my nearly shaking frame, “don’t cry,” he said, placing his hands on my thighs, much like he used to do when we were still together, “you look too pretty to cry.” He squeezed my knee gently.
“It’s not fair,” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking as I spoke, playing nervously with the silver band on my finger. “Why did she have to die? What did she ever do? She was a good mommy, and a good wife, and daughter, and sister. Why, John? Why my mom?”
‘I know it’s not fair, Valeska,” he kept his tone soft and soothing, “but nothing’s fair. Bad things happen to good people, but they happen, it’s life.”
“John,” I asked after a moment, my voice cracking.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckled and brought his arms up, wrapping them around me, pulling me to him. “Don’t ever be sorry. You did nothing wrong, you were perfect, Valeska.”
I was hesitant, unsure of how to react, so I settled on bringing my hands to rest flat against his bare chest, lying my head on his shoulder. We were quiet for a long time, just him and me alone for the first time since I’d left. I kept my eyes closed and my mind focused on the rising and falling of his shoulder blades as he breathed and the rain pounding on the window outside the hotel room.
The sky had been dark all morning with heavy rain clouds, making it appear almost as if the night had never given way to the morning. I laughed at the irony in the situation.
We wouldn't be making our way into New Jersey today, on account of flood warnings to the entire state that canceled the show, postponing it until tomorrow.
“Why didn’t we work?” I whispered so softly, I barely knew I had said them out loud, and not just in my head.
“What?”
I motioned to the window, standing when he moved back, stretching to his full height.
I moved silently to the door, walking out onto the spacious balcony.
The rain came down in sheets. It was heavier than I had first anticipate, pelting us unrelentingly, sticking to my skin and making my white shirt, not only see through, but also cling to me and soak through to my white, lace bra that I had picked for the day. My legs and arms stuck uncomfortably to the leather of my pants and jacket. Though I was pretty happy, I’d worn my Docs.
John followed closely behind me the entire time, still not wearing a shirt. I could almost feel his body heat radiating, but I might have just been imaging that one.
I looked up at the sky, closing my eyes and allowing the rain to wash the makeup from my face, leaving near-black streaks of mascara and eyeliner running down my cheeks, dark droplets falling off my jaw line. I tried my hardest not to cry, knowing he would know the difference anyway. The feat proved hard and I felt sick to my stomach.
“I can’t compete with all your damn ideas about her,” my voice body shook almost as violently as my body did. The rain beating on my skin, matting my hair to my forehead, neck, and shoulders.
John opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up, “just listen, please.” Confusion shown on his face, as I rolled my eyes upward, and wiped under them, removing the blackened liquid that was beginning to sting. “This whole us talking this, it isn’t working out, for you or me. It’s making you feel guilty, and my heart breaks every damn time I even look at you.
“You love her John, you always have. It was foolish of me to even try and make you love me. Since the day I introduced you guys to her, I’ve known it was going to happen. She’s everything I’ll never be, John; I’m so sorry that we wasted so much time being miserable together, when you could have been so happy with her.” I laughed a little bit; looking down at the concrete, slick with rainwater, then back up at him, “I wasted so much of your time. You deserve to be happy, john, you’re a good guy.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you Valeska? That we were a waste of time?”
“It was right in front of our faces, in black and white. I just don’t know why I couldn’t admit it sooner. She always made you so much happier than I did.”
I had wanted so badly for him to love me, look at me the same way he looked at Jordan. To John, the sun rose and set on her, and it had been that way since I introduced them, thinking she would be perfect for Eric.
Jordan Tyler was sweet, and beyond gorgeous. Her bright smile was infectious, and he sea-foam-green eyes always shown with the kindest light. With her hair the lightest shade of brown and golden tan skin, it was no wonder John had fallen so in love with her so quickly. How could he not?
She was a genuine girl, with a heart bigger than the whole wide world and honest, good intentions.
She managed to look past my shy, hostile demeanor, and talked to me every day until she got me to open up.
We worked together at Whole Foods; our registers were next to each other. We son fell into a comfortable routine of me doing my homework and her telling me all about her day. Her voice was soothing, like ocean waves.
She would complain about professors, the woman that tried to use the same expired coupons every Wednesday. She’d tell me of all the boys that would “go absolutely crazy” over me at her dorm, and I’d remind her that I had a boyfriend.
I didn’t talk much about John at work, because most of the things I could tell Jordan weren’t that interesting. But when I did delve the slightest into our relationship, allow little stories to pass from my memory to her, she would sigh dreamily and tell me how lucky I was to have such a sweet boyfriend.
I’d laugh softly and tell him she’d find one too, one day. I just never thought it would be my boyfriend.
I didn’t hate Jordan for what happened; I hated her actions and sheer disregard of me, my feelings, and our friendship, but I didn't hate her. I could never hate her. The heart wants what the heart wants, and who was I to come in between them? Sure, I had been John’s girlfriend first, and of a year-and-a-half no less but I had a feeling what they had going on was real, more real than my entire relationship with John.
Of course, these realizations came months after all the dirty laundry was aired, and I was told everything I needed to know,
At first, I was mad, impossibly mad. I had considered her a friend, a very close friend. And him, he was the first boy I ever loved. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, how they could do something so unspeakable to me?
I had said things to both of them that I didn’t mean, resulting in Jordan crying and a fight between John and I.
“I can’t fuck believe this,” I spat, “I fucking trusted you, and this is what you fucking do?”
“Valeska, I’m sorry,”
“You’re sorry, you’re fucking sorry?” I cackled, “Don’t you think it’s a little fucking late to be sorry? I mean, my God Jordan, six months?”
“I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand-,”
“But it did, and you both let it happen.” I spat, crossing my arms over my chest, “fuck, I really can’t deal with this.” I rubbed my eyes, and looked at up the stars. “Tell Eric I went home.”
There was no one else outside to hear our one-sided argument and I was thankful for that. Though, I’m pretty sure everyone at the damn house knew what the fuck was going on.
We were at a party one of Kennedy’s friend’s was throwing. Her name was Jess, and I thought she was really nice. Though I’m sure, she made sure to lay it on a little thick, because she knew. At that point, though, she knew that I knew before anyone else. All of Kennedy’s friends knew, and everyone of them gave me the same look.
I turned away from her, and pulled up the hood of my heather gray hoodie, shoving my hands into my pockets. I could hear Jordan calling after me, her voice thick with tears. But I kept walking, straight off the property of the Bowen family’s home, unsure of where I was going. I had driven with Kennedy, and I was sure he was piss drunk somewhere along with the rest of them, so asking him was out of the question.
I wasn’t too keen on talking to any of them anyway, because they all knew. Every single fucking one of them knew. And all of them let me go on, living in ignorant bliss, while they watched on, knowing I was going to get my heart broken. And they said nothing.
I watched my white Keds as I walked, figuring that if I walked straight for the next three blocks, and then made a right, I wouldn’t be far from where Zeljko, the eldest of my two, older, twin brothers , worked, and he would drive me home to Tempe, no questions asked.
He didn’t ask questions, it was more Luka’s thing to bombard me with questions until I answered him, but Zeljko would worry. He always worried.
The vibration emanating from the back pocket of my jeans immediately made me curious. I hadn’t been walking for very long, but I was sure Jordan had pushed her way through the crowd surrounding the beer-pong table and managed to tell Eric that I was gone, and walking somewhere in the direction of home.
“Hello?” I asked lowly, pulling my sweatshirt tighter down my unoccupied arm.
“Leska, where the fuck are you? Why the fuck did you leave without telling someone?”
“The games are over, Eric. She told me everything.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m turning onto Granite Reef now. Zeljko is going to drive me home,”
“I’m gonna come get you, I don’t want you walking alone right now.”
“Eric, I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”
“It’s late, Valeska.”
“I’m almost there,” I told him, “will it make you feel better if I stay on the phone with you until I get there?”
“Sure,” he sighed, knowing that was the best he was going to get out of her. “So, I assume it was you that made Jordan cry?”
“Yep,” I showed no remorse for my actions.
Eric laughed, “John’s looking for you now.”
“What, is he going to yell at him for making his precious, little Jordan cry?” I asked sarcastically, not hearing the car pull up alongside me.
“No, he wants to make sure you don’t walk all the way home.” My head snapped in the direction of John’s car, glaring at him through the open window.
“I have to go, Eric. I’ll call you when I get home.” I hear him sigh again, but told me not to do anything too rash, and hung up. “What do you want, John?” I asked with a sharp edge to my voice.
“Get in the car, we have to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, asshole. You cheated on me, with my best fucking friend, for six months.”
“Just let me take you home, so I can explain.”
“No, I already called my brother,” lie. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”
"Valeska, stop being a stubborn bitch." I could tell he was getting angry.
"Oh, so now I'm a bitch?" I knew I was a bitch, but he didn't have to point it out.
"You're being one right now,"
I could see Zeljko’s car driving toward us, slowing until he came to a complete stop right in front of John’s car.
“I loved you, John, I really did,” I said, walking to the passenger side of ’03 civic, "but this, I can't forgive you for this. Goodnight, John." And with that being said, I pulled the door open.
“Meni duzhe shkoda, molodshiy̆ sestri,” Zeljko spoke in Ukrainian, “Vy zasluhovuyete krashchoho, nizh tsey̆.”
“YA ne znayu, velykyy̆ brat.” I sighed, “ya prosto ne znayu bilʹshe.”
We didn’t speak anymore; I just lowered myself into the car and shut the door.
Zeljko speed off, taking the 101 instead of Hayden, which would have cut our driving time by five minutes.
We listened to a CD that Zeljko always kept in his car on the way home, because it filled the silence and kept an easy air between us.
“You know,” Zeljko spoke with his heavy accent, “I can make it very hard for that boy to breath, if you want me to.”
He and Luka took family very seriously. In the Ukraine, family was the number one priority. I was a lot closer to my brothers and sister than most kids in America were.
“Don’t do that,” I said, “Are you, Luka, Papa, and Lana still going to visit Titka Svitlana?”
“Luka made sure papa bought you a ticket.”
I nodded, and the rest of the ride was silent.
True to my word, I called Eric when I arrived home.
“Zeljko picked you up?”
“Yeah,” I bit my lip, “Eric, I’m going home.” I closed my eyes and held my breath as I waited for his answer.
“But… you are home?”
“No, not this home. Home as in the old country.”
He was quiet for a long time.
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be over at seven.” He sighed, “I don’t think this is the way you should deal with this right now, Valeska.”
“This has nothing to do with John or Jordan,” I lied, “I need to be with my family right now.” I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “Just... don’t tell anyone, please.”
"I won't, but Kennedy said he's coming."
"Fine, but only Kennedy knows."
It wasn’t a total lie, John and Jordan’s escapades did have a lot of influence on my going back to the Ukraine, but I also needed to be with my family for a little while.
Eric did come over early the next morning, with Kennedy in tow. I told them both I loved them, hugged them both tightly and said my goodbyes.
“Call when you can, okay sweetheart?”
“I will, Eric.”
“And no boys.”
“You’re worse than them!” I yelled incredulously at Kennedy.
“He’s a smart boy, lyuba.” My father patted my head.
“I hate all of you,” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.
“No, you don’t.” Kennedy smiled.
“Whatever, I’ll be back in two weeks. I’ll call you when I get home.”
I didn’t come back for three months and two weeks after the original date I was supposed to be home. I thought Eric was going to have a heart attack.
He got over it though, and I promised I'd call him every day. And I did.
“It was always you, Valeska.” John said, snapping me out of my daze.
“What?”
“I thought I loved Jordan, I did love her. But I could never love you as much as I loved her.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to his still shirtless body in the pouring rain. He was going to get sick, and I was going to laugh at him.
“John,” I asked after a few minutes of us just standing there, in the pouring rain, just hugging.
“Yes?”
“You’re a bad liar.”
I spent my days with my best friends at my side and a cigarette in my hand, my nights wasted at parties I didn’t even want to go to, drinking beer I never liked, watching my best friends walk up a different set of stairs every time with a different slutty girl I had never really gotten along with. But I’d just take another drag off my cigarette and shake my head, and let them do their thing, because they’re big boys and wouldn’t listen to me anyway.
I lived the life that most people only dream of, watching the stars pass on back porches of strangers homes; I watched cities change across state lines with my closest friends trailing right behind me. But even still, I carried sadness in my heart. I hid behind my ever-present sarcasm and cigarettes. They never knew I was sad and mad and pissed off at everyone and everything, because I never said anything to anyone.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing on tour; it definitely wasn’t something I’d normally sign myself up for. But the prospect of being stuck in Arizona for another day scared me, and when I got a phone call that, my closest friend’s band was in dire need of a merch girl, I packed my bags and caught the next flight into Boston. I was met with open, loving arms of the only boy I could bring myself to trust anymore.
I knew, at that point, they were starting to catch on, even if they weren’t really registering it yet. But I think there was one night when they finally figured out exactly everything I wasn’t telling them. We were in New York, and we were at another party. I stood outside on the balcony, a smoke in my left hand and a cup of cheap, nasty beer on the rail in front of me.
“There’s my little chain smoker.”
“Fuck yourself, Eric.”
“Feisty,” he growled in my ear, “I like.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Not yet,” he sighed, “speaking of drunk, is that still your first cup?” he asked leaning back on his elbows, facing the sliding French doors. Inside, the party was continuing on without us. In there, it was a completely different world, out on that balcony was reality, somewhere I’d give anything to get away from for a few minutes.
“Why?”
“You know I don’t get drunk, Eric.” I didn’t look at him. Instead, I opted to watch the ever-changing skyline.
“What’s wrong, Valeska?
“Nothing,”
“I’ve known you since you were two, Leska, I know when you’re lying.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Eric. I’m just tired.” I told him shortly. I didn’t want to talk about it; I just wanted to sleep.
“You’re always tired lately. C’mon, Valeska, talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I think I’m getting sick again.” My voice was quiet. I knew he heard me though, because he was quiet, almost as if he were trying to find the words to say to me.
He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, “You do feel warm,” he said, “Do you want to leave?” he asked, “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“I’ll be fine. You go have fun, I’m gonna catch a cab.”
“You’re not going alone, Valeska.” He told me flatly. “It’s one in the morning, I’ll take you.”
“I’m fine on my own,” I argued. He gave me that look he always gives me when he claims I’m being “stupid.”
“Eric,”
“Valeska Zivanka Vyhor, you are not going alone.”
“Fine, I’ll stay until you guys are ready to go.” I sighed.
“Okay, babe,” he wrapped one of his arms around me, and pulled me to his chest, placing his other hand on the back of my head, allowing my forehead to fall onto the warm fabric of his flannel, like he always did when I was upset.
He pressed his lips to my hair and then laid his cheek on top of my head. I relaxed into his arms, allowing him to hug me like that for the first time in a long time.
I had known Eric for most of my life; the Halvorsen family lived in the house to the right of mine when I moved to Arizona from the Ukraine as a toddler. Even as kids, he acted more like my older brother than my friend, and neighbor. And it only got worse as we grew older.
“Find me if you want to leave earlier,” he told me, still hugging me. We stayed like that for a while, just hugging as we used to when I got upset over something.
“Okay,” I said, smiling slightly as we pulled apart.
We stared at each other for a long moment after our hug and before Eric returned inside to the party.
He watched me with concerned, wary eyes, as if he were trying to peel back the layers of defense that I was putting up, and getting to the core of my fears. “Leska,” he started, but cut himself off, rethinking whatever he was about to say. He shook his head, “are you sure you’re okay with staying?”
“Yes, Eric, I’m okay with it.”
He sighed again, defeated, but turned to open the door. I watched him intently, taking in the smudged fingerprints decorating the glass door he closed behind him, disappearing into crowded apartment, and the fog that covered the outside in a thin layer because of the contrasting temperatures of the outside world, and the warmth of the apartment. I watched the scantily clad girls run around, with cameras in hand, taking pictures with boys I come to know as family in the past weeks. I watched class-less sluts parade around without their shirts on, with so much confidence. I watched as every guy in the decent-sized apartment watch them.
I looked down at my own outfit of black faux-leather pants and the plain white t-shirt I had stolen from Eric, and cut the collar and sleeves off before he even noticed I had taken it, with the words Coco Chanel written across the chest in black sharpie. I noticed the scuffmarks on my black Doc Martens; the laces were beginning to fray from all the wear-and-tear. My worn-in, black leather jacket hung on my frame comfortably, keeping me warm in the December air.
My hair reached my ribcage, and hung in a dark brown mass of naturally loose curls; most of my forehead covered by bangs that I had cut in myself sometime three weeks ago when we were somewhere between Denver and Death Valley. I looked at my upside-down cross pendant that hung on a worn leather cord and the tacky, black plastic rose ring on my right hand and the simple silver band that was never seen missing from my left middle finger.
I subconsciously touched my face, recalling that I had only brushed on the smallest bit of powder onto my skin and light touches of peach blush to my cheekbones. I had only applied a thin line of eyeliner to each of my bottom eyelids, and the thick coats of dark brown mascara and layers of gray eye shadow.
I couldn’t compare to all the gorgeous, yet slutty, girls that bounced around in there, with their adorable, floral print sundresses and their gladiator sandals. Their cakey makeup and their tanned skin, with their perfect bikini bodies and thighs that didn’t touch; the perfect bottle-colored hair and perfect makeup, they were walking, talking Barbie dolls. Compared to them, I was nothing. I wore leather pants and Doc Martens, and ratty Chucks, and worn out Vans, and beat up Keds. I wore shirts I stole from my brothers, and Eric, and friends. My light-if any-makeup and I had naturally tanned skin that tanned to the point that I looked black, but I can thank my full Ukrainian heritage for that. I had always been thin, but my thighs touched, but it never bothered my much until I was stuck in a room full of those perfect glamazons. I never touched my hair, unless it was with a pair of scissors, a round brush, and blow dryer on my bangs, and the occasional flat iron. The only thing I had on them was the eyes; their crystal blues and the warm browns of their eyes were beautiful, yet mundane, while mine never stayed one color, changing from hazel, to ocean green, to light brown constantly.
I was absolutely, nothing like them.
I shook my head, and looked down at my cigarette. Lifting what was left of it to my chapped lips, I inhaled and watched the paper burn down to the filter. I took in another breath of air through my mouth, and felt the toxic smoke force itself deeper into my lungs. I reveled in the relaxation it brought, and returned to my post on the railing.
I flicked the burnt-out filter over the banister and closed my eyes, letting the cold air pull my thoughts away from where I was. It was soothing for the few minutes it lasted.
It was times like these that I wish I could live in forever, the times when I was alone, with no phone ringing, and no one to take care of, and no one else’s problems to fix; times when I was finally able to allow myself to feel.
“Valeska,”
I ignored his voice, one that didn’t belong to Eric, and lit another cigarette, making a mental note to force Eric to buy me another pack before we left New York in the morning. I watched the clouds move slowly across the midnight sky, taking long drags between memories of better thoughts and warmer air.
“Valeska, I know you can hear me,”
I inhaled more smoke, letting it slowly flow out of my nose. I flicked the ash, watching it fall the six stories to the oddly vacant sidewalk below me.
“Leska,” he said softly from somewhere behind me, closer than before. I went on pretending he wasn’t there, though. I kept my demeanor cool, and my body language calm, but my heart was pounding in my ears and my stomach was in my throat.
Eric said they wouldn’t be here tonight, because they had a show to play and a lot of press to do. He said that he would walk me back to the hotel if they did show up.
I heard him sigh, and then I felt a shift in the weight of the railing. I didn’t look over at him, but I could see his outline in my peripheral vision.
“You got a light?” he asked in the same soft voice. I didn’t say anything, but slid my lighter carefully over to him, making sure not to let it fall over the edge. “Thanks.” I heard the flick of the flame and then him exhale and a thin cloud of smoke floated in front of me, the pungent smell tickling my nostrils, mixing with my own smoke.
It was quiet after that, and I was thankful for silence between us because I was still trying to wrap my head around them being here, after so many months of not talking to them or him.
“Will you please talk to me?” He asked about five minutes later, stubbing out his smoke and tossing it.
I didn’t answer him directly, but I finally shifted my gaze from the stars to him. I smiled weakly, fiddling with the ring on my left hand. I tried to find the right words to say to him.
“It’s just me here,” he said, as if reading my mind, “Eric told me you didn’t feel well.”
I laughed, “Halvorsen never could keep his trap shut.” I remembered my high school career, and how if he found something big out, he told me, and every one of his best friends.
“He’s just worried about you Leska,” he smiled, “everyone is.”
“I don’t know anymore, Jared,” I admitted, “I think I’m thinking too much.”
“I think you’re right,” he agreed, “come on, you can bitch about tour life over an early breakfast, my treat.” He smiled.
______________________________________________________________________
Eric about had an aneurism when I walked back into the party with Jared at my side.
“We’re gonna go,” I told him, “I have my phone.”
I don’t know why I was so inclined to let Eric act like he was my father. I had a perfectly fine dad back in Arizona, one that I called everyday and sent post cards to from every new city and state. They both worried too much about me, Eric and my father did. Ever since my mother's passing, they both asked me if I was okay a lot. I always said I was fine, but that didn’t stop them for asking at every chance they got.
I was a lot quieter then I used to be, back then I talked a lot. Eric told me I just didn’t talk about my problems, and I had a lot on my mind, and a lot more that I didn’t say. He was right, we both knew that, but I still didn’t talk about it, because that’s just how I was.
“Call me as soon as you get back to the room,” he demanded. Eric had always been a pretty go-with-the-flow kind of guy, though I do have a little bit of a clue as to why he would act like this so suddenly, seeing as Jared could lead me right back to where he was trying to protect me from going to again. “And no detours,” he directed that one at Jared more, rather than me. I had a slight inclination to the meaning of Eric’s words, but I didn’t ponder them too long.
“We’re going to breakfast.” I said quietly.
“I’m not taking her to see him,” Jared spoke, “he doesn’t even know she’s in the city. We’re just going to breakfast, and then I’ll make sure she gets back to the room safe and sound.”
“Wait,” I placed my hand on Jared’s arm, “you’re staying in the same hotel as us?”
“Our rooms are on a completely different floor than yours.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“He thinks you’re at home in Arizona.”
I rolled my eyes; of course, they would tell him I was at home.
“No one ever tells me anything,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Are you ready?” I asked, turning to Jared, who laughed, and ruffled my hair.
“Whenever you are”
I hugged Eric tightly, promising to bring him my leftovers, and followed Jared to the door, where I hugged the other two boys I had arrived with goodbye.
By the time we made it out of the apartment building and found our way out into the cold air of New York City, it was nearing three in the morning. I was shocked as to where the hour-and-a-half had gone.
“So, where do you want to eat?” I asked, another cigarette already burning between my fingers.
“There’s this awesome little diner in the village, if you’re down for the walk.”
I squinted up at the sky, figuring the walk would only take about an hour. The night was nice, and catching up with an old friend seemed far more appealing than anything I could have been doing at the time.
“To the village we go, Mr. Monaco.”
I thought my night would play out just as I planned.
I would walk with Jared the length of the east side of the city, and we’d keep conversation light. We’d discuss Arizona, and everything that changed over the six months, four of which I spent with my aunt Svetlana in the Ukraine, since I’d seen him. As we neared the diner Jared had spoken so little of, we’d slip into heavier topics, like my mom and the relationship that had broken so fast. We’d discuss things I couldn’t talk to Eric about just yet, and as we were seated in a booth, furthest corner from the door, I would order pancakes that I wouldn’t actually eat and a cup of regular black coffee that I would add two half-and-half’s and one sugar to. I would nibble on the rye toast, dry, that Jared would order just for me, sliding the plate across the table.
I would watch as he carefully cut up his order of waffles, no whipped cream but strawberries on the side. I’d watch as he’d flawlessly pour the maple syrup, which the waitress had so graciously made, sure, was warmed the perfect temperature, on his perfectly cut-up waffle pieces.
It would be like I was in high school all over again.
He would ease into the topic of my mother’s death, asking me little questions about my dad, and my brothers, Luka and Zeljko. He’d ask how my sister, Svetlana, who was only three and named after my aunt, was doing, and how she was dealing with the whole situation. Then he’d ask about me, and my thoughts. He’d slowly move into the topic of my depression, testing boundaries we both knew he didn’t have.
I would sip my coffee, and he would chew his waffles, as we moved through the subject of my mother slowly, making sure to touch all the painful points of the matter. We’d eventually get to the funeral and all the sticky details the memory held.
As we glided through the end of that subject, we’d transition right to where I left on in Arizona.
We’d discuss Pat first, I’d ask how he’s doing, and then we’d laugh over the memories of when Eric fist starting bringing me around the guys.
Then we’d move on to Garrett, and I’d ask how he was, and what he’d been up to. Jared would tell me little things, but not much because most of the things Garrett Nicklesen had to say about me weren’t very nice anymore.
From Garrett, we’d then move to Kennedy and I’d learn about how worried he, and everyone else, truly was. I’d learn how Kennedy figured out what was going on before anyone else, and then told Eric, and that was all around the time my mother passed. Kennedy knew about that one even before I did.
I’d sip my coffee and watch the city over Jared’s shoulder for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts.
To discuss John, I’d have to relive the pain of losing my mom, and my boyfriend in the same month. I’d have to talk about Jordan, and that party in Scottsdale. I’d have to tell Jared every single, little detail. And I would.
“What do you want to know?” I’d ask, bringing my eyes away from the window, and back to his.
“After your mother,” he’d begin, talking around a mouthful of waffle, “begin with the funeral.”
And I’d tell him.
We’d spend two-and-a-half hours in the diner, talking of these problems, and Jared would get every last detail out of me.
I’d drink six cups of coffee, still manage to be tired, and never touch the pancakes. Jared would eat his plate of waffles, and sip occasionally from his cup of decaf, three creams, and four sugars. I would have my pancakes boxed and Jared would argue with me over who paid. He’d win, because his bankcard would make it to the table faster.
We’d then begin our journey back to the Upper East Side, and back to our hotel, where everyone would be congregating in his room. We would take the elevator to the eighth floor, and Jared would walk with me, down the hall to the fourteenth room, left side.
We’d hug, say our goodbye, and promise to call each other. But we wouldn’t keep those promises until I was in trouble again, and we would have to repeat this process. I would enter my room, and Jared would return to his. Eric would ask what we talked about, trying to get me to talk. And Jared would face the inquisition on where he had been for so long, and where I was. Those boys weren't stupid, they knew I was somewhere near them. Neither of would say anything though.
And for the most part, that’s exactly how the night went.
Right up until we were walking to the room, I was assigned to share with Eric for the night.
“Good night, Valeska.” Jared’s smile was soft, matching his words.
“Night, Jared.” I held my arms out for a hug, “will I see you tomorrow?” I asked after we separated, holding the box with both hands now.
“Maybe,” he mused, “I’ll see if I can elude the guys for a few hours.”
“Bring Pat with you.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He chuckled, as I slid the room’s card out of the pocket of my jacket. I didn’t open the door though, but instead turned back to Jared.
“You know, I’ve never been more sorry in my life than I was that day. But I can’t forgive Jordan, I’ve tried so many times, I can’t just look past what she did to me.”
“No one’s asking you to forgive her, Valeska. I know you can, in time perhaps, maybe you’ll be able to, but I don’t think that will be for a while.”
“Time heals all wounds, I suppose.”
I could hear the familiar, loud voices approaching us from around the corner just a few feet behind Jared’s head, but I made no moves to slide the plastic card into the scanner hastily so I could throw open the door and drag Jared inside with me until the coast was clear. I just stared Jared in the eye, and he stared back, silently questioning my motives.
“Running can’t save me anymore,” I spoke in a whisper, the voice and laughs were growing louder as they approached the corner. I figured I had, at least, four seconds to change my mind and attempt a poorly planned, and executed, get-away plan.
Before Jared could answer, the laughter rounded the corner, and I sucked in a deep breath through my teeth. I braced myself for what was about to happen.
“Jared,” It was Kennedy who had called for him, talking loudly with a bright, happy smile adorning his face. I gave a tight nod, signaling it was okay for Jared to turn around and greet his friend.
The hallway grew suddenly silent when Jared turned, and was no longer blocking me from view. My heart was pounding in my stomach, both of which were sitting somewhere close to my uterus I’m sure. All eyes strayed to me, all carrying various expressions ranging from shock, to disbelief, to scrutiny, to concern, and finally confusion.
“Valeska, are- are you wearing leather pants?”
I looked down at the shiny, smooth material on my legs, “looks that way.”
“Fucking really? Is this 1987, or something?” Garrett Nickelsen had always been one to speak with great eloquence and tact.
______________________________________________________________________
I could hear yelling coming from somewhere outside of the room. I didn’t move though. Because I was too comfortable to move.
I was still in my leather pants Garrett had found to be so completely ridiculous, and my boots. I hadn’t removed my jacket either, just walked into the room with the big bed and fell face-first straight into the pillows.
I managed to call Eric before I passed out, telling him that I was safely back in the room and that his pancakes had also made the safe trip with me.
I could distinguish one voice as Eric’s and the other as Kennedy’s, but I couldn’t make out the words. But they were bitching at each other, for a reason I didn’t care about for the moment.
I closed my eyes again, burying my face into the pillow, and allowed myself to slowly fall asleep again back to sleep until the sent Justin in to wake me up, because apparently I threw things at Nick, and Eric knew better, and Loren and I had never gotten along too well. Justin, though, I wasn't violent, or mean to. Because he went about waking me up nicely.
I heard the door open, but I knew it wasn’t Justin, because Justin always knocked first.
“You’re still wearing those pants? Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you, Valeska?”
“What do you want, Garrett?” I asked loudly, so he could hear me through my pillows.
“No need to be a bitch, Vyhor.”
“I could say the same thing to you.” I grumbled, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “And I happen to like the pants, douche bag.”
I had a feeling Garrett wanted to have a talk with me about something, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep again. Not with him in the room.
“I’m just saying that you look ridiculous in them.” He rolled his eyes, “but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Shut up and I’ll tell you.”
“Stop being a dick, and maybe I will.”
“You know, for a minute there, I thought this would be worth my time. You haven’t changed at all, Valeska; you’re still the same scared little girl that can’t handle her problems,” Garrett spat. His eyes were cold and I wasn’t sure whether or not he hated me or was just upset.
“I was upset, Garrett. I wasn’t ready to try and deal with anything like that yet. My mother dies, and then, not even a week later, I find out that my boyfriend had been cheating on me for six months, with my best friend none-the-less, while his friend, who barely even knew me, was at the fucking hospital with me? I’m sorry, I had no idea I wasn’t allow to be mad,”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Look, I’m sorry about your mom, but running away doesn’t solve anything. You’re nineteen, not five.” his eyes burned with intensity. I felt small under his gaze; Garrett had always intimidated me. “We didn’t want to hurt you, Valeska. You don’t know how badly I wanted to tell you, but you were so happily ignorant.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat there, dumbfounded.
After a minute-and-a-half of just sitting there, staring at him while he stared back, I finally thought of something that seemed kind of okay to ask, “are they-,” I took a deep breath before I could force the words out, “together?”
“They were for awhile,” Garrett answered honestly, “but after two months, and no word from you, Jordan felt so guilty. Said it was all her fault, and broke it off.”
“How’d he take it?” I asked softly, biting my lip.
“He wasn’t as upset as he was when you left.”
“Stop, Garrett.”
“Seriously, Valeska, that messed him up.”
“You have to understand, I couldn’t stay.”
“No, I understand,” Garrett nodded, “but did you really have to go to all the way to Russia?”
“The Ukraine, Garret, the Ukraine! I’m not Russian!” He had been calling me Russian since the day I met him.
He laughed, “Why does that offend you so much?”
“They’re two different countries!”
He shrugged, and I sighed aggressively, “You’re impossible.”
He just laughed again.
“That reminds me, I brought you something.” I stood up and walked over to my suitcase.
Kneeling beside it, I unzipped the top and haphazardly dug through my clothing and possessions, pushing three more pairs of leather pants out of the way before I found it.
Standing and walking over to him, I stuck my hand out to him, “here.” He took it from my outstretched hand, “Nochnoi dozor, and Dnevnoy dozor?” he botched the names completely, and I resisted the urge to correct him.
“Night Watch and Day Watch, they’re part of a trilogy, the third one is being filmed now or something,” I told him, “they’re in Russian, so I’d figured you’d love it.” He laughed, “they're horror films, Luka’s favorites, actually.”
“Zombies?”
“No, vampires, but they’re badass. I’ve seen them a few times, not too bad.”
“I trust Luka’s judgment.” Garret smiled standing up, “you know, I missed you, you foreign freak.”
“I missed you too, you American asshole.” I laughed, and we hugged.
Somewhere out in the main room, there was a loud crash, followed closely by a “bitch.”
I looked up at Garrett, “what are they doing?”
“Left 4 Dead,”
“Should’ve known.” I sighed, “Let’s go see what’s going on before someone ends up missing an eye.”
Garrett didn’t respond, only nodded, and followed me out of the bedroom to the living area.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips. All eyes turned to me.
Kennedy had tackled Eric, and pinned him to the ground with one hand and the other poised to slap him.
“He cheated,” Kennedy, stated childishly.
“Eric, is this true? Did you cheat?”
“No!” He yelled defensively, glaring at me.
“I don’t believe you,” I shook my head, “continue,” I smiled at Kennedy, before I walked away into the small kitchen. I heard the resounding smack of Kennedy’s palm on Eric’s cheek, and everyone, sans Eric, laughing. I laughed along with them, pouring coffee from the pot still sitting on the hot plate, into the pristine, white coffee mug sitting on the counter.
“We’re not friends anymore,” Eric glared at me from the doorway of the kitchen.
“Good,” I smiled, pouring half-and-half into the brown liquid. “I like Kennedy better.”
“Bitch,”
“Oh, Halvo, don’t be bitter.” I scooped two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup, “I still love you.” I patted his arm as I walked past him, and continued on my journey back to the other room.
“So, are we friends again children?” Nick asked as I sat on the unoccupied chair next to the tan sectional, sitting Indian style with my mug resting on my right knee.
“I think so,” I told him, looking over a Garrett who was laughing at something one of the guys said.
I smiled. My life was okay for the moment, I had fixed my relationship with Garrett; it had been like I never even left with Kennedy and Pat. And Jared was still like my big brother.
Now, I only had John to work on.
“Leska,” Nick whispered, poking my knee a few minutes later.
“What?” I asked at a normal level.
“Shh!” he placed his finger to his lips and looked around before cupping his hands in front of his mouth, “he wants to talk to you.”
“What?”
“John,” he said, still whispering, “He wants to talk to you.” I just stared at him, “trust me, I know this stuff.” He brought his hands away from his mouth and his voice back to a normal level, rolling his eyes.
My skepticism must have shown on my face, because Nick chuckled, “I talked to him before.” I nodded, and then glanced around at the rest of the guys. “Don’t worry, I’ll distract them.” He promised.
“Okay, Nick.” I laughed, “Tell Eric I’ll be back later. You want this?” I held my coffee out to him.
“I will, and nah, I’m good.”
I rolled my eyes, and took another sip.
“Just take it with you. We all know you chain smoke and drink coffee like it’s water.”
He was right; it was common knowledge to anyone that knew me. “Fine, Santino.” I stood up and walked into the back, into my temporary bedroom.
“He needs you, Valeska.”
I turned to see Kennedy leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“How do you-,”
“Mother’s intuition,” he tapped his left temple.
“Oh, Kennedy, you always have known exactly what to say.” I laughed. He pushed himself into the proper standing position and walked to meet me in the middle of the room.
“It’s what I do,” he sighed and hugged me. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger!” he pushed me toward the door, and smacked my ass.
“Pushy,” I rolled my eyes.
I managed to make it out of the room unnoticed, in fact, I walked right past the group of boys in the living area, and called that I was going to play in the Holland tunnel. Not even a “be safe” called after me.
The elevator ride seemed to take forever, and I made sure I took my sweet time walking slowly toward the eight-forties hallway. I could barely breathe when I stood outside of 845, and I thought my stomach dropped when I knocked on the door.
My heart fell right on top of my stomach when I heard him call some form of an “I’m coming” through the door. And they both crashed right through my ovaries and uterus taking them both down on the way to the floor when he opened the door, shirtless and in only his jeans.
“Leska?” He looked disheveled, like I had just woke him up. I was suddenly very pissed off at myself that I didn’t have my cigarettes, my coffee, and at him for waking up.
“Nick said to come.”
He just nodded and moved aside, “Come in,” he offered a small smile, and I glided in, my movements fluid, almost as if I were floating, in Doc Martens. Tough feat, if you ask me.
“You can sit, if you want.” He said awkwardly, rubbing that back of his neck.
“Do you want anything…” he trailed off.
“No, I’m fine.”
I sat on the chair across from the white couch he had decided to seat himself on, my left elbow resting on the armrest, my hand covering my eyes, not sure of how to being our conversation
“Talk to me, Valeska.”
“There’s not much to talk about, John.” I moved my hand, sliding my fingers to my temple while my thumb slid to my cheek, pressing the hallow into my teeth. My voice was cracking and shaking; the thickness giving way to the tears, I could feel building in the corners of my eye. My chest was contracting uncomfortably, but I refused to cry. I couldn’t cry, I wouldn’t cry.
“Don’t cry,” his voice was soft, “please, Leska,” he was pleading with me now, unsure of how to go about helping me.
But in all honesty, I didn’t want his help. I wanted to run out of the hotel room we were confined to, and sprint back to Arizona, where I could hide until he found his way back home sometime in the next four months
“Come here,” he stood from his seat on the couch, stretching his long legs to his full height. He walked to me cautiously, as if I was a frightened animal, liable to run at any sign of danger.
He slowly approached me, kneeling inches from my nearly shaking frame, “don’t cry,” he said, placing his hands on my thighs, much like he used to do when we were still together, “you look too pretty to cry.” He squeezed my knee gently.
“It’s not fair,” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking as I spoke, playing nervously with the silver band on my finger. “Why did she have to die? What did she ever do? She was a good mommy, and a good wife, and daughter, and sister. Why, John? Why my mom?”
‘I know it’s not fair, Valeska,” he kept his tone soft and soothing, “but nothing’s fair. Bad things happen to good people, but they happen, it’s life.”
“John,” I asked after a moment, my voice cracking.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
He chuckled and brought his arms up, wrapping them around me, pulling me to him. “Don’t ever be sorry. You did nothing wrong, you were perfect, Valeska.”
I was hesitant, unsure of how to react, so I settled on bringing my hands to rest flat against his bare chest, lying my head on his shoulder. We were quiet for a long time, just him and me alone for the first time since I’d left. I kept my eyes closed and my mind focused on the rising and falling of his shoulder blades as he breathed and the rain pounding on the window outside the hotel room.
The sky had been dark all morning with heavy rain clouds, making it appear almost as if the night had never given way to the morning. I laughed at the irony in the situation.
We wouldn't be making our way into New Jersey today, on account of flood warnings to the entire state that canceled the show, postponing it until tomorrow.
“Why didn’t we work?” I whispered so softly, I barely knew I had said them out loud, and not just in my head.
“What?”
I motioned to the window, standing when he moved back, stretching to his full height.
I moved silently to the door, walking out onto the spacious balcony.
The rain came down in sheets. It was heavier than I had first anticipate, pelting us unrelentingly, sticking to my skin and making my white shirt, not only see through, but also cling to me and soak through to my white, lace bra that I had picked for the day. My legs and arms stuck uncomfortably to the leather of my pants and jacket. Though I was pretty happy, I’d worn my Docs.
John followed closely behind me the entire time, still not wearing a shirt. I could almost feel his body heat radiating, but I might have just been imaging that one.
I looked up at the sky, closing my eyes and allowing the rain to wash the makeup from my face, leaving near-black streaks of mascara and eyeliner running down my cheeks, dark droplets falling off my jaw line. I tried my hardest not to cry, knowing he would know the difference anyway. The feat proved hard and I felt sick to my stomach.
“I can’t compete with all your damn ideas about her,” my voice body shook almost as violently as my body did. The rain beating on my skin, matting my hair to my forehead, neck, and shoulders.
John opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up, “just listen, please.” Confusion shown on his face, as I rolled my eyes upward, and wiped under them, removing the blackened liquid that was beginning to sting. “This whole us talking this, it isn’t working out, for you or me. It’s making you feel guilty, and my heart breaks every damn time I even look at you.
“You love her John, you always have. It was foolish of me to even try and make you love me. Since the day I introduced you guys to her, I’ve known it was going to happen. She’s everything I’ll never be, John; I’m so sorry that we wasted so much time being miserable together, when you could have been so happy with her.” I laughed a little bit; looking down at the concrete, slick with rainwater, then back up at him, “I wasted so much of your time. You deserve to be happy, john, you’re a good guy.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you Valeska? That we were a waste of time?”
“It was right in front of our faces, in black and white. I just don’t know why I couldn’t admit it sooner. She always made you so much happier than I did.”
I had wanted so badly for him to love me, look at me the same way he looked at Jordan. To John, the sun rose and set on her, and it had been that way since I introduced them, thinking she would be perfect for Eric.
Jordan Tyler was sweet, and beyond gorgeous. Her bright smile was infectious, and he sea-foam-green eyes always shown with the kindest light. With her hair the lightest shade of brown and golden tan skin, it was no wonder John had fallen so in love with her so quickly. How could he not?
She was a genuine girl, with a heart bigger than the whole wide world and honest, good intentions.
She managed to look past my shy, hostile demeanor, and talked to me every day until she got me to open up.
We worked together at Whole Foods; our registers were next to each other. We son fell into a comfortable routine of me doing my homework and her telling me all about her day. Her voice was soothing, like ocean waves.
She would complain about professors, the woman that tried to use the same expired coupons every Wednesday. She’d tell me of all the boys that would “go absolutely crazy” over me at her dorm, and I’d remind her that I had a boyfriend.
I didn’t talk much about John at work, because most of the things I could tell Jordan weren’t that interesting. But when I did delve the slightest into our relationship, allow little stories to pass from my memory to her, she would sigh dreamily and tell me how lucky I was to have such a sweet boyfriend.
I’d laugh softly and tell him she’d find one too, one day. I just never thought it would be my boyfriend.
I didn’t hate Jordan for what happened; I hated her actions and sheer disregard of me, my feelings, and our friendship, but I didn't hate her. I could never hate her. The heart wants what the heart wants, and who was I to come in between them? Sure, I had been John’s girlfriend first, and of a year-and-a-half no less but I had a feeling what they had going on was real, more real than my entire relationship with John.
Of course, these realizations came months after all the dirty laundry was aired, and I was told everything I needed to know,
At first, I was mad, impossibly mad. I had considered her a friend, a very close friend. And him, he was the first boy I ever loved. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, how they could do something so unspeakable to me?
I had said things to both of them that I didn’t mean, resulting in Jordan crying and a fight between John and I.
“I can’t fuck believe this,” I spat, “I fucking trusted you, and this is what you fucking do?”
“Valeska, I’m sorry,”
“You’re sorry, you’re fucking sorry?” I cackled, “Don’t you think it’s a little fucking late to be sorry? I mean, my God Jordan, six months?”
“I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand-,”
“But it did, and you both let it happen.” I spat, crossing my arms over my chest, “fuck, I really can’t deal with this.” I rubbed my eyes, and looked at up the stars. “Tell Eric I went home.”
There was no one else outside to hear our one-sided argument and I was thankful for that. Though, I’m pretty sure everyone at the damn house knew what the fuck was going on.
We were at a party one of Kennedy’s friend’s was throwing. Her name was Jess, and I thought she was really nice. Though I’m sure, she made sure to lay it on a little thick, because she knew. At that point, though, she knew that I knew before anyone else. All of Kennedy’s friends knew, and everyone of them gave me the same look.
I turned away from her, and pulled up the hood of my heather gray hoodie, shoving my hands into my pockets. I could hear Jordan calling after me, her voice thick with tears. But I kept walking, straight off the property of the Bowen family’s home, unsure of where I was going. I had driven with Kennedy, and I was sure he was piss drunk somewhere along with the rest of them, so asking him was out of the question.
I wasn’t too keen on talking to any of them anyway, because they all knew. Every single fucking one of them knew. And all of them let me go on, living in ignorant bliss, while they watched on, knowing I was going to get my heart broken. And they said nothing.
I watched my white Keds as I walked, figuring that if I walked straight for the next three blocks, and then made a right, I wouldn’t be far from where Zeljko, the eldest of my two, older, twin brothers , worked, and he would drive me home to Tempe, no questions asked.
He didn’t ask questions, it was more Luka’s thing to bombard me with questions until I answered him, but Zeljko would worry. He always worried.
The vibration emanating from the back pocket of my jeans immediately made me curious. I hadn’t been walking for very long, but I was sure Jordan had pushed her way through the crowd surrounding the beer-pong table and managed to tell Eric that I was gone, and walking somewhere in the direction of home.
“Hello?” I asked lowly, pulling my sweatshirt tighter down my unoccupied arm.
“Leska, where the fuck are you? Why the fuck did you leave without telling someone?”
“The games are over, Eric. She told me everything.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m turning onto Granite Reef now. Zeljko is going to drive me home,”
“I’m gonna come get you, I don’t want you walking alone right now.”
“Eric, I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”
“It’s late, Valeska.”
“I’m almost there,” I told him, “will it make you feel better if I stay on the phone with you until I get there?”
“Sure,” he sighed, knowing that was the best he was going to get out of her. “So, I assume it was you that made Jordan cry?”
“Yep,” I showed no remorse for my actions.
Eric laughed, “John’s looking for you now.”
“What, is he going to yell at him for making his precious, little Jordan cry?” I asked sarcastically, not hearing the car pull up alongside me.
“No, he wants to make sure you don’t walk all the way home.” My head snapped in the direction of John’s car, glaring at him through the open window.
“I have to go, Eric. I’ll call you when I get home.” I hear him sigh again, but told me not to do anything too rash, and hung up. “What do you want, John?” I asked with a sharp edge to my voice.
“Get in the car, we have to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, asshole. You cheated on me, with my best fucking friend, for six months.”
“Just let me take you home, so I can explain.”
“No, I already called my brother,” lie. “I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”
"Valeska, stop being a stubborn bitch." I could tell he was getting angry.
"Oh, so now I'm a bitch?" I knew I was a bitch, but he didn't have to point it out.
"You're being one right now,"
I could see Zeljko’s car driving toward us, slowing until he came to a complete stop right in front of John’s car.
“I loved you, John, I really did,” I said, walking to the passenger side of ’03 civic, "but this, I can't forgive you for this. Goodnight, John." And with that being said, I pulled the door open.
“Meni duzhe shkoda, molodshiy̆ sestri,” Zeljko spoke in Ukrainian, “Vy zasluhovuyete krashchoho, nizh tsey̆.”
“YA ne znayu, velykyy̆ brat.” I sighed, “ya prosto ne znayu bilʹshe.”
We didn’t speak anymore; I just lowered myself into the car and shut the door.
Zeljko speed off, taking the 101 instead of Hayden, which would have cut our driving time by five minutes.
We listened to a CD that Zeljko always kept in his car on the way home, because it filled the silence and kept an easy air between us.
“You know,” Zeljko spoke with his heavy accent, “I can make it very hard for that boy to breath, if you want me to.”
He and Luka took family very seriously. In the Ukraine, family was the number one priority. I was a lot closer to my brothers and sister than most kids in America were.
“Don’t do that,” I said, “Are you, Luka, Papa, and Lana still going to visit Titka Svitlana?”
“Luka made sure papa bought you a ticket.”
I nodded, and the rest of the ride was silent.
True to my word, I called Eric when I arrived home.
“Zeljko picked you up?”
“Yeah,” I bit my lip, “Eric, I’m going home.” I closed my eyes and held my breath as I waited for his answer.
“But… you are home?”
“No, not this home. Home as in the old country.”
He was quiet for a long time.
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be over at seven.” He sighed, “I don’t think this is the way you should deal with this right now, Valeska.”
“This has nothing to do with John or Jordan,” I lied, “I need to be with my family right now.” I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “Just... don’t tell anyone, please.”
"I won't, but Kennedy said he's coming."
"Fine, but only Kennedy knows."
It wasn’t a total lie, John and Jordan’s escapades did have a lot of influence on my going back to the Ukraine, but I also needed to be with my family for a little while.
Eric did come over early the next morning, with Kennedy in tow. I told them both I loved them, hugged them both tightly and said my goodbyes.
“Call when you can, okay sweetheart?”
“I will, Eric.”
“And no boys.”
“You’re worse than them!” I yelled incredulously at Kennedy.
“He’s a smart boy, lyuba.” My father patted my head.
“I hate all of you,” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.
“No, you don’t.” Kennedy smiled.
“Whatever, I’ll be back in two weeks. I’ll call you when I get home.”
I didn’t come back for three months and two weeks after the original date I was supposed to be home. I thought Eric was going to have a heart attack.
He got over it though, and I promised I'd call him every day. And I did.
“It was always you, Valeska.” John said, snapping me out of my daze.
“What?”
“I thought I loved Jordan, I did love her. But I could never love you as much as I loved her.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to his still shirtless body in the pouring rain. He was going to get sick, and I was going to laugh at him.
“John,” I asked after a few minutes of us just standing there, in the pouring rain, just hugging.
“Yes?”
“You’re a bad liar.”
♠ ♠ ♠
<3Translit (romanization):
"Meni duzhe shkoda, molodshiy̆ sestri": I am sorry younger sister
"y zasluhovuyete krashchoho, nizh tsey̆": You deserve better than this
"YA ne znayu, velykyy̆ brat": I do not know, big brother
"ya prosto ne znayu bilʹshe": I just do not know anymore
"lyuba": baby