Chapter Twenty - Baby, You're A Fighter
Busy with the flight back, and getting readjusted to the different hour, Ruslan hadn't had much time to think of all the troubles expecting him at home. Home. That was a strange word. Officially, he didn't have one anymore since he had given his house to Johnny, and he had no plans of getting back there.
The problem was that he couldn't keep himself from thinking about his former lover. Martin had promised him that they would talk about the circumstances of Douglas's death, but that had been the only conversation they had.
Now his head was full of questions, and the most nagging one wasn't related to his grandfather and what might have happened to him. Ruslan knew, deep down in his heart, that he could not go there, and nurture any foolish hope. At this point, it was all in his head, and he needed to keep himself distracted and not let that glimmer of hope get in the way.
That brought him to what felt like an equally pressing matter, which was Johnny fighting his life away. Ruslan knew he had no right to think of him at all, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling. By running away, Ruslan had thought he would accomplish that. What he felt was the total opposite.
The hotel room he had reserved over the phone before landing was as non-descriptive as any other accommodation of the kind. The lack of familiarity of the impersonal setting was getting to him in a way he could not completely understand.
As a teenager, while struggling to survive together with Yanis on the streets, he could not bring himself to think of such things. There was no point to miss a home when they hadn't had one.
Yet, now, Ruslan felt what most people must have experienced when in a strange place away from home. At first, he had just blamed it on missing his father's home in Russia already, but he knew that was a lie he was telling himself. Even if he did miss everyone back there, especially his dad and Sergei, the feeling he had when he thought of his new family was mellow and subdued.
Nothing like the red iron pressed raw against his heart. Ruslan knew well what that was all about, but from the moment he had finished that letter and given it to Yanis to forward it to the rightful recipient, he had told himself that that door was closed on both his feelings and his heart.
It was his mind, however, going places where it wasn't supposed to. He needed to keep his promise and stay away. Even if that meant ripping his heart in two, and let it bleed while thinking of Martin's words about how Johnny was killing himself in a ring, somewhere.
He tossed and turned, incapable of sleep. The room service food was probably worthy of the most pretentious palate, but it tasted like paper in his mouth. He tried the wine, but that tasted too sour, too.
Ruslan decided to get out of bed and stop fighting the jet lag. Maybe he could get out a little, walk the familiar streets for a while, and clear his head. There was time to call Martin tomorrow, and now he could use this time for himself.
Only for Johnny, there was no time. Where was he now? What was he doing? Had Martin exaggerated? It was hard to believe. Martin was the most objective man he had ever known; there was no possible way he wasn't telling the truth.
Ruslan took his coat and walked outside. Putting one hand in his pocket, he grabbed his phone and took it out. For a while, his fingers hovered over the screen. He knew the phone number by heart, but maybe there was no longer someone at the other end of the line. Maybe Johnny had changed his phone number, just like Ruslan had.
There was only one person who knew he was coming, and that was Martin. It had to remain that way, no matter what he thought or what he felt. He owed it to himself, but most of all, to Johnny. Without a doubt, his former lover didn't want to see him, after the last words they exchanged before being kidnapped and dragged to that awful place.
For a moment, back there, he had doubted Johnny. For that, he couldn't find forgiveness in his soul. But Johnny had been above the situation, knowing how to play Nigel, how to make him dance to his tune so he could find a way out. And for whom had that way out been? For him, Ruslan. Not one moment, Johnny had thought about his life, about himself, or even about his sick mother.
He had walked into that ring, knowing that he might not get out of there alive. Ruslan could still his heart throbbing painfully, only remembering that night. Johnny hadn't looked at him, not directly, his eyes just gliding over him. Despite all that, he had only thought of Ruslan and no one else.
Johnny had been magnificent that night, Ruslan thought. Every beat of his heart had gone to him, every moment Johnny had seemed down pure torture. And, in the end, he had made it and had Ruslan walk away, free. It didn't matter that the goon accompanying him had had other plans. It was only because of Johnny that he knew how to fend for himself.
He put the phone back into his pocket. If Johnny was fighting again, it was his choice and not Ruslan's place at all to intervene. He had given up on the right to have a say about what Johnny did or didn't, and he had done that because he had no right.
The fact that Johnny fought couldn't have anything to do with him. He had been a fighter all his life, Ruslan told himself. Of course, he had left him some money, so finances couldn't be an issue, but Johnny did what he knew and liked.
Again, there was no point to intervene.
But what if - Ruslan's brain began to wander - it was because of him that Johnny was on a self-destructive path? It was his duty to see him and tell him that he shouldn't do that.
Ruslan shook his head. What was he thinking? Johnny must have hated him for what he had done. If there had been any chance for any feelings to survive, they must have been destroyed when Ruslan had abandoned him.
So, it couldn't be anything else but wishful thinking and a terribly wrong sense of entitlement on his part to think that whatever Johnny was doing had anything to do with him whatsoever.
Still, did he really not care? He did, but what could he do? He took out his phone and this time dialed the well-known phone number. For a while, he waited while the ringtone played in the background, each repetition making him nervous. Maybe Johnny didn't care about answering private numbers.
The beep let him know he was sent to voicemail. He put back the phone into his coat. There was no place in Johnny's life for him now. Whatever choices Johnny made, they were his to make.
***
The city hadn't changed much, Ruslan thought, as he stepped in front of a store window. He didn't see what was in front of him, as his reflection, with shoulders slumped, and deep shadows on his face were what he was staring at.
In the end, he had settled for walking around the block, without going too far from his hotel. In a way, that felt as if he kept an invisible thread to everything that was supposed to pull him back from making other bad decisions.
Tomorrow, he would see Martin and ask him the questions he wanted to ask. And then, he would just hop on another plane and fly back to his family, the only one he had in the world right now.
With a deep sigh, he turned and walked directly into someone. "So sorry," he mumbled and tried to pass by the person he had unintentionally bumped into.
"No shit," the reply came.
Ruslan's eyes shot up. "Yanis," he said, feeling his breath catching in his throat. His best friend wasn't exactly someone he wanted to meet.
Yanis had been quite clear about what he thought about Ruslan moving to Russia and leaving Johnny behind. And him. They hadn't talked since then.
"Are you back? And what the hell, not one phone call? Don't tell me you don't know how to use a phone anymore? And what did you eat in Russia? You look like supermodels ready to faint on the catwalk."
Ruslan shook his head in mirth. Yanis had no idea how close he was in surmising that. "That's exactly what my sisters had in store for me."
"Your Russian sisters? So they decided to starve you to death so that they could make money off you?"
"Yanis, I swear, sometimes your mind is full of crap. They just thought I would make a great fashion model. And nobody starved me. Actually, they begged me to eat. And they had great food, in case you're thinking of other crap now."
Yanis caught him by the shoulders. "I missed you."
Ruslan looked into his friend's eyes. "I missed you, too."
"You're a fucking liar," Yanis replied, but there was no bite in his voice as he said that. "Russia is not on the moon. Or didn't your daddy let you make phone calls? Does he live in a dungeon or something?"
"No," Ruslan protested. "Seriously, Yanis. I didn't call because ..." He trailed off without offering an explanation. He didn't have one.
"Yeah, you're an ass. I thought so," Yanis concluded. "But now that you're here, let's hang out."
"I am still jet-lagged, and I don't think getting drunk is a good idea."
"Bullshit. You can drink anyone I know under the table. Plus, if we don't hang out now, when will we? I bet you already have the ticket back in your pocket. By the way, how come you're here?"
