It had been a while since Valentyna had written through the night. One of her first nights in Thailand, when she’d been far too warm to sleep properly, she’d stumbled out of bed, the heat in the air, the oppressive thickness to it giving her imagination just the fuel it had needed. She didn’t focus on her main story that night–a break from her frigid home life. Instead, she’d written about air thick with spirits, with the ghosts of the past, and drowning in the history of a place she’d never known. By the time she’d finished, she’d glanced outside, recognizing the baby pink on the horizon–morning. That had been a night of inspiration.
Last night had been grief, shock, anger. A deep set rage that had no other way to let itself out.
Konstantin had always been selfish; she had no qualms about that. She may be one of the youngest of her family, but she didn’t fancy herself a fool. He was someone who cared more about his losses than the losses of those he claimed to love. He was so lost in his own desires that he often didn’t see what was right before him. Unreasonable, even at the best of times, with his own incompetency hanging over his head like a noose. Still, beyond his faults, Kostya had been her brother. He was supposed to be her family. He was still supposed to care about those beyond him, even if it was less than himself. He, who’d she’d gone to for help so often in the past… And he hadn’t even thought to leave his own family a letter.
Shock, when she’d heard he had gone, tasted like the sharp tang of blood in her mouth from biting her tongue, swallowing back a reaction while her heart raced in her chest. Later in the evening, her grief had tasted like the stinging burn of vodka, her own family’s, in her mouth. Like the salt of the tears she’d not been able to hold back. Only for a moment, though… Her anger had looked like red ink, marking up her latest story, furied pen rewriting a scene with the monster of her story. She still felt sick, as she remember her own father’s biting tone from the page she’d written. She’d needed to be scolded for trusting the intentions of a traitor. Perhaps she’d forgotten how little family truly needed to care, at the end of the day.
The morning’s glow wasn’t pink like the last time. Fitting, since that morning felt like some childish daydream. She stood from her little desk, holed away in a corner of her room, and properly stretched for the first time since she’d sat down the night before. Eight long hours, and the relief she got did little to soothe her in the slightest. She rolled her neck, eyes shutting as a sigh left her. Her hands were aching, curling and uncurling at her sides in search of some relief. As her eyes opened, accepting stiffness and discomfort as the new normal for her day, she gazed out of the window. A hazy morning, foggy, with threatening dark clouds on the horizon… Fitting, truly.
Pausing for a moment, she turned on her heel, moving to grab a pack of cigarettes from underneath one of her pillows. Guilt pooled at the pit of her stomach–she’d told her siblings she was cutting herself off, truly, this time. And she’d meant it at the time. The pack was meant to remain buried under that pillow, perhaps to be thrown out by a maid who got too carried away with her room. But it hadn’t been, and now she couldn’t stop her hands from clutching the half-gone pack, lighter found easily in her side drawer. One thing after another, and she was grabbing shoes, heading out of the door, walking, walking faster, eager… Pushing open the doors leading outside. She hardly made it much farther than that.
Stinking of last night’s vodka and sweat, she lit the cigarette, leaning back against the wall, the morning air hitting her. The scent of tobacco, at least, was stronger. The sound of the doors opening after her startled her, and as she glanced over at the intruding person, she lifted the hand with the cigarette in a tired greeting. “–It’s early to be out,” she mentioned, voice gravely as she finally brought the cigarette to her lips.
an open starter for the war of royals verse
It finally felt like Izsak’s life was going in the right direction. He met a boy. A real breathing human who actually found him attractive. The two went on three dates including Halloween. Izsak didn’t take dressing up too seriously. Throwing on some cat ears on to his usual black hoodie and jeans get up. But for the first time in forever, he enjoyed Halloween. He had no worries about the candy and desserts that were lining the tables. He wasn’t in his head about how he looked. All his focus was on Kostya and how happy he made him feel.
It still didn’t feel real that he even knew who he was. Let alone ask to go back to Isak’s room. Which Izsak happily agreed to. He had seen enough rom-coms in his life to know what the third date meant. He liked Kostya. And Kostya liked him back. It was that simple. Izsak wasn’t going to let his anxiety stop him from finally losing the virginity he’d been holding so tightly on. He had built up the moment in his head a million times over. Thought about Cameron and how the plan had been to lose it to him before it was revealed he wasn’t even real. It wasn’t exactly what he thought it would be. Not the perfect romantic night he dreamed about. But it was perfect for what is was.
Waking up to the sun rays rising into his room, the pleasant memories of last night filled his head. Thinking about Kostya’s hands, lips, and much more all over him might have been the best possible way to awake at this too early of an hour. He shifted over, expecting to still see the Belarusian in his bed. Instead the other side was empty. A note sitting in the middle of the pillow. The note was short. Starting simply with the declaration that Kostyra had left the island. It was followed by the additive that it had nothing to do with Izsak and that Kostya did actually like the boy.
He was crushed. Left speechless as he read the letter over and over. He took apart the bed, desperate that there would be some other note saying it was some cruel prank. The denial stage of grief hitting him right on time. Just like it did when he awoke to his leak. Why him? Why is it every time Izsak was happy, the universe found a way to take it away from him? Just when he was starting to feel comfortable again. He should have never put so much hope in a guy. Not when it always ended the same.
Sitting on the floor, whole room torn apart, he skipped past anger and bargaining - straight to depression. Izsak spent the whole day in his room. Not even leaving to eat. Why bother? He sulked in his bed, replaying last night so not to think about the hurtful truth that last night would be the only night he would have with Kostya. But the thought found it’s way of seeping through. Leaving Izsak’s eyes to well up before being buried in the pillow.
As the next morning rose, he thought about remaining in bed all day again. With Cameron, he didn’t leave his room for weeks. But Izsak was stronger now. He had learned to take all the pain in stride. Or at least to try to. He put on a clean pair of sweats and made his way out of his room. Not knowing who knew what about Kostya’s sudden departure, he decided to keep the fact to himself
Making his way outside, the smell of tobacco breezing past him before the warm tropical air could, he shoved his hands in pockets. “Could say the same for you.” He replied. “Then again. I’m not a smoker…Been thinking about picking it up though. Maybe it will make the days go by easier.” The latter sentence mumbled as he turned away,towards the water.
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