THE SOLDIER

“You did. I mean, I’m sure there are many things I don’t understand about your relationship, but I do know the guy was ready to move out there to be with you. I mean, he was head over heels in love, Kayla. I don’t see why you’d throw that away so easily.”

My knees go weak, and I drop onto a park bench. “He was ready to move out here?”

“Yes! We were going to finance his real estate venture out there. He was working on a plan.”

Hope skids across my chest and then flares to life like a match strike. All the desperation that’s crowded in this week starts to lift.

He was going to move here. He wanted to be with me full time.

And I ended things. Oh God, I made such a terrible mistake. The totality of it comes crashing down on me from every side.

“I gotta go, Sasha.” I rise to my feet, a surge of adrenaline suddenly running through me. “Thanks for calling.” I hang up before she can answer and dial Pavel as I walk swiftly toward my apartment.

He doesn’t answer.

Dammit.

I end the call, then change my mind and call back to leave a message.

“Pavel?” I croak into the phone. I’ve reached the front of my apartment building, and I stand in front of the planter I’d never noticed until he made me look for beautiful things.

That’s the thing with relationships, too. Just like life. Whatever you look for, is what you see. When you look for beauty, you find it. When you look for problems, you can discover those, too. What Pavel and I had was something unusual. Special.

I finger one of the leaves now. “I’m sorry. I, um, I probably overreacted about the part. Can we talk?” I hang up, my heart pounding.

I go up to my apartment, which I thankfully have to myself for once. I pace around the living room for the next hour, but he doesn’t return my call.

Gah.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

What do I do now? I send the same message as a text.

Still no reply.

I wait another hour and try to call again, knowing I’m acting desperate and not caring. Hell, I am desperate.

I threw away my relationship with Pavel because it wasn’t normal. It didn’t fit in a pretty box that could be tied up with a bow. It wasn’t a romance novel relationship. My friends didn’t understand it. It challenged my moral compass.

None of that has changed. I don’t know how to fix all those things. But what I do know is that I want it back. I want Pavel in my life. I want to soften his edges and draw strength from his hardness. I want him in my corner, backing me up, protecting me, making me swoon with his soft, dommy commands.

Pavel doesn’t answer, so I try leaving another message. “Pavel?” I can’t stop the tears, and I don’t try. “I’m sorry I ended things. Please, can we talk? I was so muddled; I had sub-drop that day, so my emotions were out of whack, and Sheri had made me promise that morning not to let the relationship interfere with my career, so I guess when it did, I just overreacted. Can you call me back, please?”

He still doesn’t return my call.

I try seven more times, and finally, at midnight Chicago time, I text Sasha to ask if Pavel’s around.

Her reply shreds me: He’s gone. He went to Russia.

I sink to the floor and sob.

I lost him.

I had him-he was going to move here to be with me-and I ruined it. He was so sure he was bad for me that the moment I agreed, he backed off. He backed off so far, he left the country.

I drop my forehead to my knees and cry for the man who holds my heart. The man I love.

The man I lost.

Pavel

When I arrive back in the States with my mother, I see all the messages from Kayla, but I don’t listen to them. I can’t bear to.

I knew her well enough to suspect she’d be back in touch once the anger wore off. A pleaser like her doesn’t like discord. Ending things the way we did wouldn’t sit right with her. She would reach back out for closure.

And my plan is to give her exactly what she needs. To set her free emotionally. To tell her I care about her. Wish her well. Pledge my protection and assistance if she ever needs it in the future.

But I’m putting off that conversation because the burn of losing her is like an acid eating me from the inside out. I can’t stop obsessing over her. Remembering every single moment we spent together. Seeing all the places I could have treated her better. Shared more. Let her in.

She wanted to come to Chicago. I should have invited her. She wanted to know me better; she was jealous of Sasha’s proximity. I should have made sure she never felt jealous again. That she held all my most sacred secrets.

Most of all, I regret not telling her what she meant to me. That I wanted to keep her-permanently. I keep wondering if it would have made a difference. Probably not, but I’m second guessing.

I get my mom settled in a one-bedroom in the Kremlin and introduce her to Svetlana, the midwife and her daughter, Natasha, the massage therapist. Svetlana is well-respected in the building and promised to introduce my mother to everyone and make sure she settles in. Surprisingly, this is the happiest I’ve seen my mother. Ever. I think she really bought into the new start thing once we packed up her shit and left her place. She’s seemed hopeful ever since.