by Lucia Franco
Does it bother me? Yes, it does. Immensely. I want to rectify it, but I know there is not a single thing in the world I can do or say to fix this. I am not looking for friendship or forgiveness. I am not sure what I want from him. He was a good friend, and I ruined the bond between us. That is not who I am. I let him down, another person who trusted me, and lost faith in me.
Was it worth it? Ten times over. I would do it again in a heartbeat for her without remorse. Only this time it would be ten times better. I would love her harder, prove to her she is my world and that we need each other. I would love her first.
Love, what a finicky thing it is. It made me do things I did not know I could to another person. So many regrets, so many highs. I hate myself.
I guess I want to apologize to Frank for hurting him, but I will never apologize for loving her. And if he asked me if I could go back and change history, I would tell him no.
I guess there would be no reason for Frank and I to talk in the end.
The divorce was finalized and I drank myself into a stupor for a solid week, just like the night I married her. I should have found relief I am no longer tied to Katja, but all I felt was loss. Loss over her, not Katja. I should have said no to Katja from the start, but there were too many forces working against us.
I ruined three lives, and I am still without her. I am no one without her. What is life without her?
Katja had a baby boy. I am glad that chapter of my life with her is closed for good.
There is a beast pounding against the walls of my chest desperate to break free. I hear his voice in my head, his negativity is eating away at me. My world is so dark and the vodka does not quell this hunger.
I wish I did not love her as much as I did. I wish I could turn off the feeling. World Cup used to be my safe haven, a place where I could release my stress in the dark and alone. I joined a gym, but a regular gym does nothing for me. Ethan said I should attempt CrossFit, but flipping over a tire does not motivate me. The one thing that has helped has been running as far and as fast as I can until my legs give out.
I am a hostage to my emotions. I fear one day I will not break free from them.
I shut the journal and held it close to my chest, sinking against my headboard of my bed. I closed my eyes and exhaled. There was too much sorrow in his words for my heart to handle another page. I wanted to call him and make sure he was okay, just hear his voice to know and then hang up. But I wouldn't.
The nights were the hardest for me. It was when my mind raced with thoughts and my heart beat a little faster. I wondered if I hurt us both for my decision to leave. I wondered if we could ever come back from this. Sometimes I wished I could fast forward the days and months just to see if it was all worth it in the end. I didn't have this feeling that something wasn't going to happen, I just didn't like the unknown.
Sixty
Two Years Later
It was a week into the New Year, and just like the year before, a padded envelope arrived. Only, this time it looked bigger. I rushed into my condo and ripped it open. He’d sent four journals this time.
My Dearest Malysh,
I am a man still in love with someone I have no right to love.
X
Kova
I was so engrossed in his writings that I hadn’t noticed two hours had passed. I needed to eat something and take my medication before I was due to meet my personal trainer. I'd started competing again months ago, but these days I didn't push myself in the gym like I used to. My body simply couldn’t handle it. Instead, I played it smart and when I felt worn out, I stopped and took a break. Thankfully my coaches were understanding and didn't ridicule me otherwise.
Before I left, I decided to read a few more entries. I couldn't not, knowing I had a long night ahead of me. Even though I'd been taking my training slower than I wanted to, it still wore me out. I knew once I got home I would crash and I wouldn't be reading anything else.
However, that all changed when I picked up the third journal. I canceled my training session, knowing I would be in no position to work out. I wasn't prepared for the way his entries switched from him writing about how he felt and his life, to writing directly to me.
I found myself in a sea of emotion and longing. My chest ached and tears gathered in my eyes as I continued reading his entries.
As you know, I sold World Cup. I cannot even walk inside the gym without thinking of you, despite Madeline and Danilo requesting for me to come back. I have not coached since you left. I cannot bring myself to. It reminds me too much of you. Of us. You are everywhere I look inside of that gym. The day you left you took every part of me with you. I am now an empty shell of a man and nothing more.
I rushed the divorce with Katja because I was afraid of losing you rather than leaving her on my own when I wanted to, before it all came to a head. I made rash decisions when it came to us being together, always assuming I was doing the right thing. I acted out of fear instead of consideration. I know now by doing that, I never truly saw you. It kills me that it has taken me this long to finally grasp what you meant when you wanted me to put us first. I thought I was. I only wish I had understood when you were still here with me.
I know now that I am not half the man I thought I was. You trusted me with your heart, your body, and your soul. You showed me unconditional love, and what did I give you? Nothing. I gave you nothing but painful memories and tears that soaked your pillowcase at night. You must know I have a plan to fix all of the damage I have caused you.
Every day I miss your touch. Every minute I miss hearing your voice. Every second I hold out hope for us.
One thing I refused to miss was your return to the sport that brought us together in the first place, so I came and watched you. I purposely hid from you, but I was there in the stands as you lit up the room with your passion for gymnastics. You only competed on bars and floor. O bozhe, what a sight that was to see you again. I watched you. I watched the people watch you with nothing but awe on their faces. I am so proud of the gymnast you have become. You left a mark on your teammates and the spectators that day, the same way you left your mark on me.
It was then that I realized I needed to fix me before I came for you. What I am saying is, I need to find me too in order to be enough for you. I must work on myself to be a better man. I wish I could have you by my side as I figure out who I am, to help me fight this battle raging inside of me to find the truth, but you have already done so much for me, and if you can do it on your own, then I can too. Do you remember when I told you that you inspire me? That has not changed. Your strength gives me strength. I admire the fuck out of you. I was a wreck when you left, but you leaving was the right decision, and the best thing you could have done, not just for yourself, but for me as well. I am glad you left even though every damn second without you makes for a very lonely, miserable world.
I will come for you, but only when I am the man you need, one you can be proud of. One that will never hesitate to put you or our love first. Until them, I will take the time I need to work on myself to be good enough for you, and then, only then, will I come for you. That is a promise I intend to keep. You were once a reflection of me for a short period of time, but now I want to be a reflection of you for the rest of my life. I will come for you, Malysh. And once I have you, I will never let go. I just pray you accept me and have not lost hope in us before then.
I am a man of many flaws and too many sins to atone for. The regret I live with on a daily basis eats away at me. I pray one day you have it in you to forgive me for how badly I have treated you. I will not make excuses for my behavior. I will own them and face them like a man. We had many odds working against us. I just hope I did not chase you away forever. Please, you must know, it was never my intention to cause you pain. I do not want to lose you. You are my other half, and well, I need you in order to be me. I am not whole without you.
You say I left an indentation on your heart. You have done the same with mine.
I see it every day when I
look in the mirror.
It is us against the world. I took you for granted, but I promise you I will never do that again. Please just give me a little more time. If you send me away when I come, then I will respect your wishes, but I pray that is not the case.
Until I see you again.
Ya lyublyu tebya vsegda I naveki.
I never contacted him after receiving the journals last year, and still I wouldn’t contact him after getting these. The ball was in his court. It was his move to make. He’d said he would come, so I would wait for the day he decided to show up.
I think back to his entry of how he felt the decisions he made in moments of fear were right at the time. His regret suffocated me. They were right for him, and maybe a little for me. He shouldn't have regret because I too had made decisions in the moment thinking they were right. It was a sweet-and-sour taste on my tongue. My decision to leave wasn't one made out of fear for him or us…I had done it for me. Okay, maybe a little for us. It was a moment of clarity I knew we both needed. If I had acted in fear, then I would not be in Oklahoma now.
He said he gave me nothing. But he was wrong. He helped give me my dream…and myself.
Sixty-One
Three Years Later
I stared up at the screen and awaited my score. My veins filled with electricity and my knees were shaking with adrenaline. My smile was plastered across my face. I'd been competing for two years now, but this was my first televised meet since the Olympics, and I was a ball of nerves. I wanted to prove I still had what it took to be on the team, but it was hard when I knew all eyes were on the girl battling kidney disease and lupus. The support this university, my teammates, and my incredible coaches showed me was invaluable. I competed my heart out. That was my gift to them for what they gave me.
Since officially returning to the sport, my worries were laid to rest once I had sat down with my coaches and we devised a safe plan for me to compete. Committing to Oklahoma was the best decision I ever made. I was iffy when it came to the bigger competitions because I was scared to fail and let my team down. They all reassured me that if they didn't believe in me they wouldn't let me risk it. He'd always told me I shined under pressure, but I didn't have him here with me and I wasn't sure I could pull it off again without his words of encouragement. My new coaches were stellar, I wouldn't complain, but they weren't him.
I glanced toward the crowd. I knew Dad and Sophia were somewhere in the stands. They’d refused to miss this day and booked their flights the moment I was given the schedule for the season. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he was in the audience too. My heart said he was here.
The crowd cheered, breaking my wayward thoughts. My teammates engulfed me in a hug and tears once again filled my eyes. I was my own worst critic and their support meant the world to me. These women were the best part about joining the gymnastics team.
I looked back up at the screen in disbelief. My vision blurred and my jaw trembled. I scored a nearly perfect score. I couldn't believe it. I wondered if I would ever stop getting emotional over gymnastics.
Shortly before I began training again, I started seeing a therapist once a week. I felt it was something I needed to do in order to stay healthy as a whole. I didn't want to kill myself for a medal, and it was so easy for me to. I was older now, still living with life-threatening illnesses. I wanted to prosper and fly, and I wanted to do that by accepting what I was physically capable of and being okay with it. Reaching out for help didn't mean I was weak like I had once thought. If anything, it made me stronger. My score told me I'd made the right choice.
My coaches high-fived me as I dropped down by my duffle bag to remove my grips. My smile faltered a little, my happiness dimming. I was over the moon with my score, but it just wasn’t the same without him here.
It was the ninth of January and I was on edge.
His package should have been here Saturday and it wasn't.
I waited in the lobby by the mailboxes, trying not to pounce on the mailman as he slowly stuffed the slots full. Finally, after an eternity, he closed the metal doors and locked up. And I was right there, opening my assigned box before he even walked away. I rifled through my mail where I stood.
No package.
My heart slipped.
My hope died a little.
Another day went by, and another, and another. The week came to an end and still nothing. I tried to go about my life, putting on a smile for everyone around me when I was crumbling inside. A second week had come and gone, and my misery was replaced with anger. On a whim I opened my messaging app and typed in his name.
I’m going to assume my journals were lost in the mail.
I waited for his response. After ten minutes, I texted again.
I know you read my message. It says read.
I sent him a screenshot and circled where it said “Read” beneath my message. Within seconds, the little dots appeared on the screen telling me he was typing. I held my breath, hoping he'd send a response the size of the Bible back.
Coach: I do not want to interfere with your life.
I groaned inwardly. Of course, he'd be short with his words.
I can make my own decisions, thank you very much. Now send me my journals, Kova.
I looked forward to the package. I read the journals all the time.
The little dots didn’t appear. My chest ached when he didn’t respond. Suffocation clawed at my throat.
I need them. Please. Give them to me.
Still nothing. His lack of response was like a punch to the gut. How could he ignore me? My heart thumped erratically. I tried not to cry, but it was fruitless. My heart still ached for my other half.
They help me. Please.
Another week passed and no texts, or journals in the mail. I tried not to succumb to the darkness. I’d come too far to go backward now—surgery on my Achilles, dialysis a few times a week, balancing my diseases while killing it in the collegiate world of gymnastics and attending school. By all outward appearances I was at the top of my game, but appearances were deceiving. I was good at faking it too.
I was dying inside. I never stopped loving him, but I guess he stopped loving me. That was a hard pill to swallow. He said he would come, and I told myself that I would wait for him. Exhaling, I righted myself.
A couple of my teammates had talked me into attending a party with them tonight. It wasn't something I did normally. I was young, single, why the fuck not go out and act my age for once. I needed to stop dwelling on the package I hadn’t received and let go for once in my life.
After an hour or so, I found myself refilling shot after shot of vodka and fending off horny college guys. I had zero desire in interacting with any of them, even in my inebriated state. There was only one person who stirred my blood, and I was drinking his poison.
He said he’d come for me, but he never did. He lied.
My chest rose and fell rapidly. Tears were threatening to spill. I refused to cry and pulled my phone from my back pocket, squinting at the home screen. I pressed the wrong buttons a few times before I found the message icon. I was sure I’d regret this in the morning, but it wasn’t morning yet and the alcohol gave me the liquid courage to text him.
I went to a dumb drat part and I drunk and now I hate you. I seriously hate u.
Why did you have to make me fall in love with u.
Where are the jounrals?
Send me MY journals, Konstantinn. You know they are mine.
They were never yours to begin with.
I woke the next morning to banging in my head and a twisted stomach. Immediately I checked my phone, forcing back the bile rising in the back of my throat.
I waited all night for a text. He never responded. Taking my phone, I threw it across the room and let it hit the wall. I fought back the tears and clenched my shaking fingers into fists.
The hangover was a blessing in disguise. It allowed me to forget the aching in my heart. I knew better than to drink, especially on
my medication. But I needed one night to cut loose and forget the pain of loving someone from afar.
The banging returned and I shook my head under my pillow. Big mistake. I groaned through the raging migraine I was dealing with, my stomach churning once again. I shot up and ran for the bathroom, making it to the toilet before I was vomiting clear liquid and the Taco Bell I’d consumed before passing out last night. I was never, ever drinking again. Or eating Taco Bell.
After I expelled every last drop I could in my body, I stood up and gargled with mouthwash, then rinsed my face before walking back to my room to crash. I halted in my steps when the pounding returned, and I realized it was coming from the door. My brows furrowed.
Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to answer it. The sooner I could make the noise stop, the faster I could climb back into bed and pass out. I wanted to go back to sleep and pray this was all a dream.
