A MUSHY MESS
Again, I'm picking things up where I left off.
What you need to know if you just want to read this chapter: Pre heist territroy, bar setting -> Volya's face got hurt in a boxing match. Jackie should have been there but was held up by the NCPD. Volya and Jackie are in a small crisis, possibly caused by Volya behaving a bit strange. Vik picks them up to fix them and I used the first part of their car ride for a dynamic exploration between those two. Summary for this chapter: I delve further into the dynamic between Viktor and Volya. I devoted the first part to V's spiraling brain on narcotics with a whiff of puppy-play curiosity and yearning (I know, it's a lot) and the second part to both of them jumping from friendly/flirty-mocking each other to walking through heavy emotions. It's dialogue-heavy. I followed no plan with this, to be honest. My approach is very intuitive, still finding my voice and letting Volya find theirs. Also honoring Vik as much as I can, because I love this man to pieces. Hope reading this brings joy! Another small disclaimer: Volya comes from a family of addicts and this legacy follows them like a shadow. I write about it in a dramedy tone, because that's how Volya experiences it. ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The narcotics began to work.
With a deep breath, my head and shoulders said their goodbyes to their companions: pain and shame. I imagined the weight of my existence dissolving and floating through space like a billion sparkling dust particles.
A cozy, flickering fireplace spread its warmth in my chest and began to numb my body, inch by inch, from the inside out. A final chilling sensation rolled over my skin, and as the spent air left my lungs, I sank deeper into the passenger seat, becoming one with the fabric that smelled like Viktor’s leather jacket and last year's sunshine.
The hand of my driver, healer, friend, and lover – at least in my dreams – touching mine brought me back to earth. His fingers took the inhaler out of my grasp.
For a millisecond, I held onto it.
"Feelin' alright?" Viktor asked, checking casually.
"Mhm," I sighed in confirmation.
The inhaler landed on the tray of the center console, back where it came from. My hand missed its weight. And his touch. Something about this didn't feel right.
From the depths of anxious echoes, a question emerged and requested an audience: Why did he take it away?
Viktor knew that I liked it a bit too much, the sweet state of weightlessness. But I wouldn’t have taken another dose. The rules were clear. And I would never disrespect a treat.
Unfortunately, the dose was too small to coax the never-stopping printing press of my overthinking brain into taking a break. Thoughts were still racing, headlines got printed, only anxiety had left the room for a short vacation.
"Better than nothing," I thought.
Opening my eyes, I caught Viktor's hand shifting his truck into the next gear. My gaze followed the play of light and shadow on his arm. Muscles moving like an oiled machine, held together by inked and scarred skin. Slowly, I let my eyes wander up to the shadow behind his tinted glasses.
Craving answers, I tried to sneak into his head. I knew I shouldn't. This behavior was usually the beginning of a mess.
More uninhibited than usual, I did it anyway, already knowing the reason was utterly ridiculous. At least that's what they say – as if I wouldn't have a reality of my own that weighed things differently.
Viktor. What did he think? Of me?
-
"I wouldn't have, y'know?" I heard myself confronting him with a half-baked sentence.
My mouth was under the control of a foreign department. The result: a loose tongue, fewer filters, blank emotions.
"You wouldn't have?" He repeated my words, but I had already moved on, way further.
"You don't trust me."
I watched the casual nature of the moment flee through the gap of the driver's window, replaced by the echo of my sudden accusation.
Viktor hit the gas to pass a traffic light before it could turn red. The machine roared. He stayed, untouched like a rock in his solid self. I, however, still trying to read his mind, felt him adapting to whatever had been thrown at his head.
"I don't?" He sounded surprised.
A counterquestion. Not even. How unsatisfying.
With all the time in the world, he guided the truck into the turning lane to enter our neighborhood.
"The inhaler." I gave him another crumb. "I wouldn't have."
"Ah," he finally solved the riddle. "Yeah, no. You can stop right there."
"I mean it."
He sighed. "So do I."
"Not a part of you feared I'd take another drag?"
"Not one part."
"I don't believe you."
"Sounds like something we should fix."
"The details, Vik. The devil is always in the details. You took it out of my hands, off of my shoulders, like I couldn't handle the temptation."
My tone sounded like I knew things he did not, like I knew him better than he knew himself. The audacity of a doubting smartass, built to read between the lines. A gift from the past, now nothing more than an annoying addiction. There was always some truth to it, though, even if it got bent and stretched out of proportion.
"The devil's in your head," he interrupted my inner monologue, handing the inhaler back to me.
I couldn't really argue with that. Stunned, I looked down at my hand and twined my fingers around the object of desire.
That was it. I felt whole again. The printing press stopped printing. Without saying another word, I sank back into the seat and held close what I had been entrusted with.
﹌﹌﹌﹌A moment passed. ﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Wanna share what’s going on between you and Jackie?" Viktor asked.
"Hm?"
"Was quite the tension back there."
"Hm."
I looked out the window, watching the streets grow more and more familiar, trying to fish for the right words in the mushy mess between my ears.
"We built that dream."
"About hittin‘ the Major Leagues?" A friendly, mocking tone sneaked in.
"Mhm. Somewhere on the road, I lost my footing and became part of the interior."
"Meaning?"
"We built it together, but he is the dreamer. I thought it was my dream, too, but I feel so guilty, Vik. I fear I’ve weaved myself into the fabric. And today it got a tear."
I listened to the silence while we both wrapped our thoughts around the cryptic truth my mouth had formed. I was coherent enough to feel relieved that I didn‘t care as much under the influence of the narcotics. All I felt was confusion, a pinch of nihilistic irony, and the hope of not remembering a single moment of it later.
The Thorton groaned to a halt as we arrived at the entry of Viktor’s garage. He reached for his keys to open the gate, took off his tinted glasses, and looked at me.
"As far as I know, Jack was kicking himself for being held off by the badges. Sure you wanna make it all about you? Doesn‘t seem accurate." His blue eyes held my gaze. There was no judgment in his voice.
"Maybe he is kicking himself," I mumbled, the words rolling over my tongue in a haste. "But he didn‘t have a choice. Higher power or whatever. I did! I chose to fight alone for the money, and for the most selfish reason. Got myself hurt. Got my fuckin’ face broken. Wouldn’t have happened with him at my side. Fixer’s gonna call us any minute now and I’m a walking mess. He needs this, Vik. He needs this." I felt my heart racing.
Viktor massaged his brow, processing what I had laid bare. "And you being a selfish mess can‘t be part of whatever you think you need to be? For him, of all people? We‘re talking 'bout Jackie here. He knows you."
"He knows me," I whispered, but the words made no sense. Of course he knew me. But also: no one did, including myself.
"And, just to throw your Ripper's perspective into the ring," he turned around to drive the car into the open garage, "you are a walking mess half of the time."
I shot him a questioning glare. He shrugged.
"Take a look at my chair, it has an imprint of your ass cheeks," he chuckled as Dorothy rolled her last few feet before he put her to rest. "Wouldn’t even say it’s unusual for the life you currently live. Honestly, V, how is today any different?"
He took a breath. I chewed on my lip, not knowing how to answer.
"C‘mon," he said after a moment. "Let me patch you up so you two can talk it out."
I nodded, relieved that he just let the whole thing pass.
Jumping out of the car reminded me of my condition, and I was instantly punished with a stomach-twisting dizziness. Somehow, I felt more capable than I actually was. An unusual state. The opposite of what I knew, but similarly uncomfortable. My head, heavy, numb, and woozy, failed to build a connection to the rest of my body.
Behind me, I heard Viktor slamming the driver‘s door shut. His steps followed me as I made my way to the forever-temporary, ugly, transparent plastic curtain that separated the garage from his clinic. I hated that thing. It gave me the creeps.
Viktor pushed one section to the side, creating an opening.
"After you," he invited me into his realm.
"This curtain still gives me serial killer vibes," I said, accepting his invitation.
"See, the more you say that, the more I like the idea." A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he moved over to the wall to flip the lights on.
"And it provides such a calming atmosphere for your patients," my sarcastic self retorted as I lurched toward the medical chair, trying to push the bright surgical lights out of my face. Not succeeding, I decided to wait on one of his stools until he was ready.
"I trust that my presence and reputation will balance that out," he argued, his head deep in a big plastic container under his table. When he found what he was searching for, he joined me at the heart of his clinic and set his surgical equipment on a cart. "Need something to scare away unwelcome guests, y‘know?" He looked like a gonk excited for Halloween. It was a humorous facade. We all knew what unwelcome guests awaited if they decided to show up at his precious bunker.
"Are those unwelcome fuckers a problem you need help with?"
He waved me off. "Nah. You have enough on your plate."
"I can always make room for you, Vik. I will, actually. Take it as a promise. You know why?" I rolled over to his medical chair and leaned against its armrest to get control over the dizziness that washed over me in waves. "Because a plate has no lid."
"So you can just push things over the edge?" He drew up a syringe and looked at me, past the needle. "Tosh, you’re pale as a ghost. Put your ass in that chair and lay down, will ya?"
"Can’t. Your surgical lights have the power of a deadly laser." I pointed up. "And I thought of piling things up to make room for you, but I think I like your idea better."
Viktor put the syringe in a medical tray and came over to me. "I moved the light control to the floor to keep my hands free during surgeries." With a firm grip around my shoulders, he rolled me to the side and hit a switch with his foot. The light dimmed to a cozy glimmer. "Now, that’s better, isn’t it?" He helped me up and transferred my body to the chair. "Something else you need? A blanket, maybe?"
A savoring smirk played around the corner of my lip as I accepted his mockery. "You have blankets? May I remind you of my ass-imprint – which makes me a preem example of a regular customer – and of the fact that I have never been offered a blanket before? I am shocked, Doctor."
Viktor shoved the stool under his butt and let out a grunt. "Blankets are an exclusive part of the platinum package at Vektor-MED. Regular parasites like you only get my free time, skill, and unsolicited advice." I could sense the affection behind the dryness of his tone and answered with a chortle. As playful as this little chat was, him calling me a parasite reverberated in my head and reminded me of the promise I had given myself.
"Vik," I started. He tapped on the terminal port, inviting me to jack in my personal link. I followed his request and rested my arm on the support. "I need to confess something before you fix me."
"You do?" he asked, distracted by a beep that announced the completion of the diagnostics process.
"I have the eddies to pay you back. Already paid, actually. Transferred them at the bar an hour ago." my nervous fingers dug for the inhaler in my pants pocket, where I had stored it like an otter hiding his favorite rock.
His eyes rested on my face, quietly asking me to meet his gaze. I looked up, waiting for him to pry the rest of the story out of my ashamed, cowardly self. Unfortunately, he refused to do that. He just looked at me and raised a brow.
"That’s what today’s fight was for," I muttered.
His face remained a wall.
I took a deep breath to inhale some desperately needed courage. "I had a whole plan for paying you back today, and I just couldn’t lose the chance."
"Told you I don’t need it at the moment," he finally said.
"Yeah, I remember."
"So why the rush?"
"Because I care what you think of me. Maybe a bit too much." Hesitantly, I offered him the inhaler, and he took it out of my hand, looking at it in thought.
"I don’t know, Vik." My mouth went dry. "I think I can’t bear the thought of disappointing both of you." An unwanted tear crept out of my right eye as I was caught off guard by my own words striking so close to home. I quickly brushed it away, overwhelmed and annoyed by my emotional state. "I want Jackie to become a legend."
"And what do you want for you?" he asked, gently pushing.
"To be more than a parasite to you. Or anyone, really. But mostly you." Adrenaline rushed through my skull, and I realized that my pulse wasn’t a secret anymore. My hand twitched as the impulse to yank out my personal link became a sudden reflex.
As if he could read my mind, he reached over to his monitor and turned it off, respecting my privacy.
“Wanna hear my thoughts?” he asked after a quiet pause.
I nodded.
“We are a loyal bunch – Jackie, me, n’ Misty. We have room for second thoughts and doubts, and we can handle disappointments. Unlike someone from your past, but that’s just a wild guess.”
I looked at him, tilting my head like a puppy. “Honestly, Vik, I wish I could grasp the deeper meaning of your words. They make sense somehow, but sound like a whole different language to my fucked up brain. Isn't that sad?”
Viktor shrugged. “It is what it is,” he said with dry sympathy. “But you'll figure it out. Just need to let us in, y'know.”
“I thought I did that already. Feelin’ like talking is all I do all fuckin’ day.”
He snorted. “Yeah, some cryptic bullshit about dream fabrics and – what was it again – interior something…?”
I raised my right hand to block his mockery. “Shove it up your arse, Vektor. Ketamine unlocks my inner rusty and dusty poet. Unfortunately, today's audience consisted of only one completely unworthy, unromantic peasant."
Letting out a grunt, he raised his hand to his heart as if he'd been critically hit by my words. With his other hand, he switched the monitor back on. “I think it’s time to put you under, parasite.”
“Vik, don’t call me…”
“No, listen to me for a sec, will ya?” He interrupted me with sudden seriousness. “I care about you, Volya. You are allowed to be my parasite. Hell, I like it. Supporting you doesn't just happen to me. I chose to do it. I choose to do it right now.”
My brain felt like it short-circuited, leaving me just staring at him.
Viktor stood up and went to his desk to snap on his surgical glove. Speechless, I just watched him walk across the room. Back at the chair, he shot a quick reflex-booster into his wrist and moved his hand in different directions to test the glove's functionality. I followed the movement of his fingers until he was satisfied. His face came back into frame as he sank back onto the stool. Our eyes locked in an honest moment. I saw it in the depths of his pupils. The way he meant it. The way he let me in on his side of our unspoken something. At the same time, I sensed a shared understanding – that now wasn’t the time to delve deeper into whatever this was.
Still processing, I leaned back and stared into the glimmering surgical lights.
“Y’know, I was looking forward to forgetting everything I said since I stepped into your car,” I finally said. “Now I’m afraid it might really happen. I need to process all of this, less hurt, more sober.”
He nudged my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll fill the gaps together, alright?” For a moment, he let his hand rest on my arm. “Ehh. Not sure how I feel about adding another stressor to your system a second before I send you to sleep. Sorry, V.” He took his hand back and ran it over his face. “I just hate to be a pawn in the stories you brew within yourself.”
“Don’t be, Vik.” I looked at him past the surgical light, seeing nothing more than his silhouette. “I get it, and I’m gonna work on it.” I took a deep breath and brought this strange day to a halt, letting myself find peace with the here and now. “I’m ready. Fix me, Doc.”
“Will do,” Viktor promised in his deep baritone. “Will do, V.”
