by L. J. Hamlin
"Quite a while. She'd just qualified as a physical therapist when I went to see her. She was so different from all the doctors and medical people I'd seen before. I'm sure I don't have to tell you. She treats people like people, not like a walking disability." Cade sounds fond, and Arkady gets that. He feels like that about Prisha too, and Cade's right. So many medical professionals treat him like nothing more than his medical condition. He's a case to study to work on to most of them, but not Prisha. She treats him like a man, and that's all Arkady wants from her.
"I'm sorry if I seem awkward. I'm not an asshole, I swear. I'm just nervous, I guess," Arkady blurts out when he realizes he hasn't responded quickly enough, but Cade doesn't look pissed off.
"It's cool. You don't have to be nervous, though. I'm not an asshole, either, and I don't bite. Besides, Prisha would kick my ass if I was mean to you. She really likes you. She doesn't tell me any personal stuff, or medical, but she'll talk about how tough you are, and how you make her laugh, even though she knows you're in pain," Cade says as the waitress comes over with their drinks.
It gives Arkady a moment to think. He knows his grumpy sense of humor does make Prisha laugh, and when they talk about TV shows and books she's gotten him into now he has more free time, they end up laughing. Arkady hasn't laughed with anyone other than Prisha, not since he lost the ability to dance. His parents treat him like a very fragile glass that might break at any time, and his friends, well they've been coming around less and less.
"I figure sometimes, if I don't laugh, I'll cry, and I don't cry," Arkady says, adding sugar to his coffee. He mainly takes it black, but he's been taking the occasional sugar in it to give him more of an energy boost.
"You don't cry? Like never?" Cade asks with a slight frown.
"I'm Russian, and my father is old school Russian. He taught me men do not cry. I'm sure I've cried before, but I don't really remember it. If I did, it was as a child," Arkady admits.
"So, it's not like a macho thing. It's more a cultural thing?"
"Culture, and my family. I'm afraid I come from a long line of stuffy, emotionally repressed, intellectual types." Arkady had always been aware growing up that his family didn't show emotion the same way others did. They're not as free with their feelings. Arkady knows it's kind of a problem, but he's not sure what to do about it. He's been talking about it a little with his new therapist.
"Isn't dancing passionate, though? I'm sorry to bring up something that might hurt you, but I just don't buy you as being totally repressed. I think you must have a fire inside of you," Cade says, sipping his tea. His big brown eyes are very knowing.
"Fire? I don't feel like I have that right now. And it's okay. I'm getting better at hearing people mention dance. I know I need to get used to it. You can't hide from your past. I will always have memories and things reminding me of what I had. I need to thicken my skin," Arkady replies.
In the past, if he met a new hot guy, he'd show off, try to impress the guy with his muscles and his career, but he's not working now, and he thinks Cade is too wise to fall for charm and some nice abs. So he's decided no lies, no tricks. He's too tired to pretend to be anyone but himself.
"There is a sadness around you. I can see it in your eyes. But I don't think the fire is gone. You just need to find things to be passionate about again. And I know I'm saying 'just' like it's an easy thing to do, but I know it's not. I'm an artist, and I think I can tell a passionate person when I meet one, and I get that vibe from you," Cade says firmly.
"It's nice to hear someone say that; I haven't been hearing a lot of good things. Prisha tells me I'm strong, that I will live a good life. My friends seem to expect me to have given up on life. It's like they don't know how to treat me anymore. I just want to feel normal, you know? To do stuff like this, just go out and have coffee." Arkady doesn't add 'with a cute guy.'
Arkady does wonder if people will think it's weird for Cade to be with him. Cade doesn't look disabled, whereas Arkady's stick makes it clear that something is wrong. And Cade is hot. He could get any guy to have coffee with him.
"You frowned. Why?" Cade asks.
"It's stupid. I just had a thought about what people might think of me being here with you. I have a stick." Arkady loves and hates his stick: loves it because it's so much better than the crutches, less bulky, and it's a sign of how far he's come; but he hates what it represents, his new disability.
"Oh, sweetheart, never think like that. Never think like your stick makes you less of a person or less desirable. You're more than your disability. It's part of you. It'll affect the way you think and act, the things you can do, but it is just one part of the jigsaw puzzle the makes up you," Cade says with feeling.
"I guess I let dance define my life for so long, I'm used to one thing being everything. And I guess that's why I'm afraid to commit to anything new, scared to dream. I don't want to end up so wrapped up in one thing that if I lose it again, I lose everything," Arkady admits, and it feels good to let it out. It's not just that he misses dance, though he does, with every part of him. It's that he's terrified of something making him feel as low again as he did during that first month after he was hurt.
"It's complicated, isn't it? I'm no therapist, but I think it's good if you let yourself enjoy things. Family, friends, whatever work you want to do, the people around you. I've been different since I was a kid, and I got into art young. It made life easier for me because I had something to get lost in, but I also had other things. I know Prisha hoped I'd have some advice for you. I'm not sure I have much, other than don't let fear steal your happiness from you." Cade reaches out with his good left hand, taking one of Arkady's, and it doesn't feel like a come-on. It feels like simple comfort, offered from one man to another.
"I'm sorry I'm such a mess, but thank you for coming to have coffee with me. You didn't have to do this. I know Prisha probably nudged you into it, but she wouldn't force anyone to do anything, so thanks for taking time to try and help out a stranger." Arkady does appreciate it. He feels like Jason, Prisha, and his parents are the only people who have time for him, and no one wants to talk about the hard topics other than his therapist. It's nice just to chat with someone who's maybe gone through some of the same things.
"I needed to get out my studio. I've been working a lot, so when Prisha suggested this, I thought it'd be nice. You don't need to thank me for doing something I wanted to do. And I mean, really, it's no hardship to go for coffee with a cute guy." Cade winks, over the top and jokey, and it makes Arkady laugh. It sneaks out of him and warms his chest.
"You think I'm cute?" Arkady asks, and he's kind of fishing for compliments, but his ego could use a little stroking after all the negativity he's been around. He'd been a star for so long. That came with a lot of attention and praise. All he's been hearing lately is what he can't do, articles online about how he's finished.
"Cute may be an understatement. You're a beautiful man. You must know that," Cade says softly, and he rubs his thumb over the back of Arkady's hand. He has calluses, and the rough feel of them on his skin makes Arkady shiver a little.
"I have ugly scars." Arkady has to look at them every day. He moisturizes them at Prisha's recommendation, as she says it'll stop scar tissue building up under the skin. He hates looking at them, hates how they feel under his fingertips.
"Doesn't make you any less beautiful. I'm an artist. I can see the beauty in anything, even a scar. Because scars, even if they're ugly, mean you survived something. Life tried to screw you over and you fought back. And I think the contrast of something not so pretty, alongside something perfect, can be amazing." Cade smiles.
"I wish I had something stronger to drink than this coffee," Arkady complains. He uses his free hand to pick up the mug and sip his coffee because he doesn't want to let go of Cade's hand. He can't remember the last time he just held hands with a guy. He was probably a kid.
From the age of fifteen, when he lost his virginity, things have always moved quic
kly. If Arkady saw a man he wanted, he went after them with a single-minded focus, like a wolf on the hunt, and he always got his prey. He never felt nervous then; he does now.
"Prisha would kill me if I got you drunk. She was very firm: no trouble, just talking. She said you used to get in a lot of trouble?" Cade asks, a glint in his eyes.
"I guess she's right. I got in fights. I slept with the wrong people. But I never meant any harm. They called me the bad boy of ballet, but I'm not a bad person, just a little naughty." Arkady finds himself not wanting Cade to think negatively about him. He wants Cade to think he's a good man. He wants Cade to desire him.
"Fights? I've never been much of a fighter. I'm passionate. Most artists are, but it doesn't seem to come out that way," Cade explains.
"I don't get in fights all the time. It was usually with homophobic men, who think being gay and a dancer means I'm weak, so I stood up for myself. I've never been violent for no reason. I don't like hurting people, but I will if I have to." Arkady's hardly ever been the first to start a fight, but he's often been the one to finish them.
"I get standing up for yourself. I guess I just do it more with words. There are people I probably should have hit. Not that I'm saying violence is a good thing, but I'm not perfect, and I feel like some people deserve what they get. I'd rather they learn not to bully or do wrong, but sometimes they need something drastic to happen for them to change," Cade says thoughtfully.
"I feel much the same. I get no joy from violence, but there's a satisfaction in showing someone that gay people are not weak. We are men, and all different. I feel like I should also do it, you know, for those who can't? I'm physically strong, always have been. Better men might make better, bigger changes, but I can stop a handful of people, make them think twice about calling someone a fag and laying hands on them," Arkady says honestly. He hasn't really talked about this before. In the past, he wasn't much of a talker, but therapy has been teaching him it's okay to open up.
He was raised by two very closed off people. His parents weren't openly affectionate, not to him or each other, not really. His mother's been a little softer since his accident, and she always was the slightly more emotional one. But Arkady's parents are academics, with little time for emotions, let alone emotional outbursts.
"You look like you've kept in good shape. Not tempted to slack off at all, ever?" Cade asks.
"I let myself eat more of what I want now. I used to eat so healthy, but I still work out, mainly at home. I do physical therapy with Prisha twice a week. She lets me use the gym there because I don't want to go to my old gym," Arkady admits. His body is still strong, still muscular, apart from the weakness in his leg. He's also given up smoking most of the time, so that's improved his health a little. He hadn't though he'd smoked enough for it to really impact his wellbeing, but he's noticed he can work out a little harder than before.
"Why don't you go to your old gym?" Cade asks, but he looks like he suspects.
"Everyone at the gym is so healthy and perfect. I feel out of place," Arkady admits.
"I go to the gym, once a week at most, and I won't lie and say I haven't gotten looks when people notice my arm. Despite therapy, it's slightly thinner than the other, and like a dead weight. My parents were given the option to have it amputated when I was a baby, but they hoped I'd gain feeling, and they thought it would look better. Anyway, yes people do notice, but most don't make a big deal about it. Some ask nosey question, but most just want to work out," Cade says, and Arkady appreciates that Cade isn't sugar-coating his experience as a disabled man.
"How do you deal with the questions?" Arkady asks.
"From kids, they don't know better, so I answer and try to be kind. With adults, it depends how they ask, what they ask, my mood at the time, and if I like them." Cade laughs lightly.
"Some days I feel like I can deal with people more. Some days the stares get to me more than others. On the really bad days, I just hide in my apartment with Lou." Arkady sighs.
"Lou? Is that your roommate? Boyfriend?" Cade asks.
"Neither. I live alone, and I don't have a boyfriend. Lou is my dog. He's the sweetest, loves to cuddle on the couch. Prisha thinks I'll be able to take over walking him again soon. I have a service doing it at the moment. He's a big dog." Arkady tries not to let on how excited he is about being able to take Lou out. He knows it'll be different. He can't run and jump the way he did, but it feels like reclaiming a part of his life, something important to him.
"I love dogs. Maybe I could come with you on a walk sometime?" Cade suggests hesitantly, like he's not sure Arkady will say yes.
"I'd like that." Arkady smiles, and he's surprised to find himself blushing a little.
He hides behind taking a drink when his smile won't disappear. He has this weird warm feeling in his stomach and realizes he has a crush on Cade. And instead of freaking out about the new development, Arkady decides he'll just relax and see how it goes. He's started to realize he can't control a lot of things in his life, no matter how hard he tries. What will be, will be, as they say.
Chapter Six
He rubs his damp hair a little. It should be dry in time for his date, and oh how he could dance at those words if his knee would let him. After coffee and a week of texting, Cade asked him to come to dinner, for a real date.
Arkady's excited, which he can't remember feeling in a long time. He goes to his kitchen to get out a can of food, ready to feed Lou when he gets back from his walk. Arkady's opening a cupboard when he hears a noise behind him. He freezes because he should be alone. His parents have keys, but they're not due to visit. And the dog walker always knocks before he lets himself in.
Arkady goes to turn and feels something sudden and tight around his throat, pulling him close to the body behind him. His stick hits the floor with a clatter. He can feel a body that suggests male and strong and the rope around his throat. He can't breathe. He panics, trying to pull the rope loose, but strong hands keep it yanked back.
He starts to pass out, his struggles weakening, and that's when the person starts to pull him back, tugging his body. Arkady blinks, and he must have blacked out because he finds himself standing on a chair in his kitchen, rope around his throat holding him up, and a man with a scarf around his face. Arkady gets a flash of an image, something familiar, but his mind is clouded with panic, fear.
"We have unfinished business. You were supposed to die," a computer-like voice emits from a cell phone in the man's hand as he types. "You don't remember what happened, but I can't risk you remembering. No one will question your suicide. It's not like you have anything to live for," the voice reads out, and Arkady tries to focus. What doesn't he remember? Where has he seen that red scarf before? Why would someone want to kill him?
"Goodbye, Arkady." The man kicks the chair out from under Arkady's feet, and he's pulled downward suddenly, the rope tightening around his throat even more. The noose doesn't break his neck, or he'd die, but it does start to strangle him.
He's clawing at his neck, feeling himself growing weaker, when he hears a key in the lock of his door. He tries to stay conscious, to keep his eyes open, asking for help, but hardly any sound comes out.
He doesn't know how much time passes, but then suddenly he hears Cade's voice. "I met your dog walker coming up. He thought it'd be okay if he walked me up."
Then there's additional voices, yelling, someone grabbing his legs, holding him up. Finally the rope goes loose, and he collapses to the floor, and everything goes dark.
When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is his throat and neck are sore. Once again he's in a hospital room, and then he notices Cade in the room with him, and a police officer.
"He's awake. Can you get a doctor?" Cade asks the man in uniform, and he nods.
"What happened, Arkady? You didn't say you were feeling low, and you clawed at your neck trying to get the rope off. Did you change your mind?" Cade asks in a rush, coming close. He hesitates and then brushes Arkady's hair b
ack off his forehead.
"I didn't...I didn't do this," Arkady croaks. "Someone—"
"What? Are you saying someone did this to you? No one was in your apartment, just me and the walker, Jay." Cade frowns, but almost looks hopeful, and Arkady realizes what it looks like right now. It looks like he tried to kill himself, just like the man who'd strung him up had wanted.
The man, his height, his build, the red scarf—it's all familiar, but Arkady doesn't know why.
The police officer comes back in, but Cade doesn't back off. He stays close, pressing his good hand over Arkady's heart. The officer grabs a chair, and pulls it close to the bed. He looks vaguely bored as a doctor comes in and starts checking over Arkady.
"Hmm, two lines of bruising. That's unusual. How are you feeling?" the doctor asks.
"My throat hurts, and my neck feels stiff," Arkady says, rubbing his neck.
"I'll give you something to relax. How's your mood? We'll be sending in a therapist to evaluate you, but I can start you on meds if you tell me how you're feeling," the doctor says calmly.
"I'm not depressed. I did not try to kill myself. There was a man in my apartment. He strangled me, and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was hanging from my own ceiling. He said I was supposed to die, that I had nothing to live for. I don't understand," Arkady says, looking between the three men in the room. The police officer looks most skeptical.
"Please don't waste our time, Mr. Alkaev. We don't have time to be chasing ghosts because you don't want people to know you're suicidal," the officer says harshly.
"Hey, don't talk to him like that. If he says he didn't do this, he didn't," Cade barks back.
"I'm in therapy. You can talk to my therapist. I'm not suicidal. He would know. I'm not even on antidepressants. I've had some troubles recently, felt a little lost, but why would I plan to go on a date, and then try and hang myself ten minutes before?" Arkady asks.
"Cry for attention or help. If you knew people were coming, maybe you weren't serious. I don't know." The officer shrugs, clearly not taking Arkady at his word.
