From Yuri with love, Part VI
He was dimly aware of the things that were being done to him. Drowsily, fragmentarily, but, nevertheless, he felt it.
Strangely familiar warmth in the dark corridor, despair that sent sparks down his spine, and then black nothingness. Fleeting calmness. It did not last long, though. Strong, firm hands on his head, wet cloth on his body, on his face, the smell of anticeptic, it was what brought him back. He knew his eyes were open, he felt it, but somehow, he couldn’t see anything.
The overwhelming bright light scared him. The warmth was gone.
However, the panicky confusion soon drowned in the white-hot wave of pain that cursed through his head, and there was nothing but black, again.
Vasily Petrovyvh was truly, completely unconscious to the cruel world around him.
A few minutes before midnight everything suddenly came back, all at once, and he found himself desperately trying to draw a breath. His head hurt but, at the same time, he felt like half of his face was completely numb, non-existing; he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight that feeling, wanting to breathe, but he couldn’t.
His tongue felt too heavy, his mouth too dry.
His panicked mind brought him back to the psychiatric ward, he felt as if he was still cuffed to the wheelchair, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, there was something on his head, it’s too dark, God, he needed air. No, a voice screamed in his head, it’s impossible! His throat constricted, he can’t – he cant breathe—
- Vasya! Look at me. Damn it, look at me!
His eyes flew wide open to meet Yuri Ivanovich’s intense stare. He wheezed.
It cannot be real. It cannot—
He felt a grip on his arms, grounding him, Yuri Ivanovich’s face barely inches above his.
His warm breath on his mouth.
- Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly. You can do it.
Dark eyes that were piercing into him were full of something he couldn’t quite name.
He sucked in a shuddering gasp of air, closing his eyes. There was this quiet, reassuring voice again, making his head light and dizzy. Or was it the oxygen?
- That’s it. Yes, that’s it. Breathe, Vasya.
He felt a hand on his cheek, the touch gentle and hesitant. So light that he wasn’t sure he didn’t just imagine it. Swallowing with difficulty, he tried to still the nervous tremors that ran through his body. He opened his mouth, but all he managed was a hoarse whisper.
It hurt too much. His vision swam with tears. You’re not really here, are you, Yuri Ivanovich. Just a hallucination.
- Vasily Petrovich – the name was a whisper, right into his ear, soft and comforting. – Everything is going to be alright. Don’t die until the morning, I’m sure you can do it. We’ll talk tomorrow, kid.
The night mixed with dream and reality, and wave after wave of memory and nostalgia crashed upon him and his battered mind. He blinked tiredly, trying to focus on the face so close to his, but he was so tired. Too tired.
Vasily Petrovych fell into a deep, recovering slumber. It felt… safe.
