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— Shane —
Shane. Ilya called me Shane.
My mind is suddenly flooded with a million thoughts— it's hard to keep up with them all. I'm still whirring from the high of our release.
Ilya asked me to stay the night.
Ilya made tuna melts.
Ilya gave me ginger ale.
We talked. Like, really talked.
But then he brought up "hot women" and then asked if I liked girls. He said his friend, Svetlana likes me. That's nice, I guess. And she knows a lot about hockey— that's really cool.
But what really gave me pause wasn't him saying they used to fuck, but him saying that now that he's not fucking her anymore, he'll find someone else. I mean, it shouldn't be difficult for him to find someone. Anyone in their right mind would want to fuck him.
Ilya says he likes girls, but he also likes me.
What does that make us? Does it make us anything?
I thought maybe we had… something… growing between us. But what if he does eventually find that someone else. What happens to us?
I'm brought from my thoughts when Ilya tries to kiss me again.
I really need to get out of here.
"I should…" I sit up, starting to remove myself from Ilya's lap. "I should, uh…" I grab the shirt closest to me, standing up, creating some space between us. "I should go. Um. Stay, I can't. Team meeting in the morning. I forgot. So…"
"OK. You forgot team meeting?" He clearly doesn't believe me, but I feel like I'm losing my fucking mind. I can barely look him in the eye. I really need to leave.
"Thank you for the tuna melt. Um… I'm sorry. This… I can't."
He holds a hand out toward me, but something in his eyes has already shifted. "Hollander."
"I just… I can't, uh… I can't do this."
Ilya shakes his head. "Hollander."
"I'm sorry." Without another look at Ilya, I make a quick exit.
Fuck.
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— Ilya —
Fuck.
I should've known I'd do something to ruin this. But what exactly did I do wrong? I had everything planned out perfectly.
Things were going just the way they were supposed to— until Hollander suddenly made up an excuse of team meeting.
I know he wanted to stay. I could feel it. So why couldn't I convince him to stay?
Why is what I do never enough?
I don't know how long I've been sitting here, but looking at my stomach, some time must have passed. Our release has started to crust on me.
It feels like the only tether I have left of him.
But he left.
With that thought, I reach for a napkin off the table, wiping away all traces of Shane Hollander.
As I make my way off the couch, something catches my eye.
When I pick it up, I realise it's Hollander's shirt. I bring it closer to my face, inhaling deeply.
Immediately, a swarm of emotions floods through me— desire, grief, fear, anger. I can't help thinking in this moment that maybe Alexei was right.
Maybe everyone would be better off without me.
No matter what I do, it never seems to be enough for anyone.
What good am I doing, really, for anyone?
It feels like I'm failing everything and everyone.
Papa.
Russia.
Shane.
Shane.
If only he'd given me a chance to explain. I just wanted to make him feel comfortable enough here first.
I wanted him to feel safe here.
I thought I did everything right, but I still managed to fuck it up.
I always manage to fuck everything up. Everyone complains and yet they still demand for more from me.
I can hear them in my head all the time:
"YA khochu bol'shego, Il'ya.
Bol'she, bol'she, bol'she, bol'she…"
What about what I want? Somehow, when it's my turn to ask for what I want, no one listens.
Why couldn't I convince him to stay?