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Your heart is pounding, pounding faster than the wind and waves, harder than when you'd slipped out of Natalya's watchful eye to run to this shore. Seawater brushes up against your tattered shoes, the cold air seeping in and biting your skin. Shivering slightly, you reach into your coat pocket and withdraw a crumbled letter, its contents near illegible; in your fear, you had fussed with the paper so much that the ink washed off onto your hands. Still, you could make out a faint and hastily written message.
arrested. ivan's coming. run.
Tolys
Something heavy bubbles in your stomach, and you crunch the letter into a tight ball.
Where did it go wrong? You and Tolys had had the perfect plan. A chance to leave the country. The perfect cover story. Friends to hide with. All of this had been carefully planned out for months, even years via coded letters. You had even bribed your patron to turn a blind eye and keep others—especially Ivan—in the dark about it. So where, where, where did this go wrong?
But, you should've known Ivan would've caught on. Even though his childish personality would've thrown anyone off, you never thought of him as stupid, not after he had cornered you with a smile and asked, “You really aren’t from Moscow, yes?”
Someone approaches you, their footsteps barely audible in the sand. Your muscles stiffen like stone, and you feel your knees crumble a little. The world around you spins and tilts slightly as you take deep, ragged breaths to calm yourself.
“Why aren't you back at the cottage?”
You flinched at the harsh, but familiar tone, and a part of you relaxes. It's alright. You know Natalya. You could handle her.
(A confession:
The first time you met Natalya, you’d been terrified to the bone of her. Could anyone blame you? She’d proven true every single one of the rumors your fellow dancers had whispered, under breaths and behind closed doors. She was just as cold and ruthless and pragmatic as her brother, and whenever you saw her, you’d shy away and you hated it.
You’d hated it because she reminded you of all the tears you had shed in your life, and when you looked away from her, it only meant you were too much of a child to move from the past that hurt you so.)
“I couldn't sleep,” you say at last, looking up with an uneasy smile on your face.
Natalya narrows her eyes. “So you wandered out in the middle of the night. That's bullshit,” she says, storming up to you. You wilt a little because she sounds so much like her brother when he got angry. At least...with Natalya, she wouldn't hit you. Would she?
“I couldn't sleep,” you repeat. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage now, so rapidly you're afraid it might crack. “Please, Natalya, let's leave it at that.”
“No,” she says forcefully. “What's wrong?” Her hand grasps yours, and the memories of bruises and threats are coming back, and why did you lie, _______?
You can barely see now—everything turns into a smudgy blur as you drop down into the gritty sand. Your head is pounding too now, spinning round and round, your lungs labouring to keep up with your sobs and tears. Your left hand trembles and throbs, even though the bruises faded a long time ago—
You vaguely hear the rustling of fabric as Natalya kneels down next to you. She folds your hands in hers and brings you in closer.
“Please tell me.” Her voice is gentler now, sadder. Guilt builds up in your chest and you bite your lip. “Something's not right.”
***
You hadn’t meant to watch her dance. But there had been something about the way she’d danced, bringing Myrtha to life, in all her elegance, in vengeance and sadness, and you were drawn in, her Hilarion in this danse macabre.
You’d watched, hidden behind the doorway as she danced on, hair floating around her like a silken veil, the pale light caressing her face. The shadows sunk into her face, you’d remember later, bringing forth the hollow of her cheeks and face. She’d turned, and you’d caught her eyes, wild and dark and striking.
“I’m sorry,” you’d whispered into the wind, and ran away, heart beating in your chest.
That night, you dreamt of her eyes.
***
It comes out in a whisper. “...they'll take me.”
Natalya stiffens and pulls away. “What did you say?”
Her voice is cold, like Ivan. “They...they'll take me too.”
Natalya goes deathly pale. Her eyes narrow and she's gripping you so hard that her knuckles go white. “_______,” she says steely. “What happened?”
The tears begin to fall again and you bury yourself into Natalya's shoulder as she runs her hands through your hair in quiet sympathy. But you didn't want sympathy—you wanted to scream, scream and curse and rage against the world until they made something go your way. Enough was enough. Everything in your life had gone wrong—being born in the wrong class, living in the wrong time, having the wrong home. Everything was wrong, wrong, it was all wrong!
In the end, you knew it was a stupid idea. You could scream and cry all you wanted to, but nothing would change. The world would continue to turn and you would still be arrested, because at the end of the day, you did not matter. So you take a shaky breath and say, “I tried to escape. With Tolys.”
You are pushed away as Natalya reels back, her eyes flashing. She's quivering from rage now and instinctively, you dig a fist into the sand and try not to close your eyes. They always did say anticipation made the blow more painful...
“You idiot!” she cries. “You fucking idiot! Why did you do that? You know what they'd do to you!”
(Natalya was terrifying when she was angry. Terrifying and forceful and wonderful, and you still can’t fathom why that was a reason for you to love her.)
You hiccup violently as you try to gulp down air. Your head is pounding now, your breath hot and harsh. “I'm so tired,” you whisper. “I'm always the enemy. The scapegoat. I don't want to lie anymore, Natalya. I can't. I'm so sick of being hunted and eliminated over and over - I just want peace. Please...I just want something to go right for once.”
***
Once and a time ago, when you were still starry eyed and happy, you’d asked your mother why your family was suddenly the enemy.
And your mother had sighed, the years and tears showing on her face as she murmured:
“Because we were here when it happened.”
***
Natalya says nothing, but her embrace tightens, as if she is trying to shield you away from the world. Your mind is working in overdrive and you feel dizzy.
“It's not too late to run,” you say slowly. “They haven't caught me yet.”
“And where would you go?” she snaps. “To Siberia? To Kazakhstan? You'll get there one way or another anyways.”
Your heart stops for a brief second before you slump down. She was right. Even if you did manage to get away right now, you had no money, no safe destination. Most likely, your home wasn't even yours anymore - it had probably been seized and is being re-distributed right now. Again. Oh, what difference does it make anymore? Why did you expect anything to be different?
“Y-you're right,” you sigh. “But it doesn't even matter anymore.”
Natalya stares at you. “_______. What are you—” she begins, but you cut her off.
“Come to think of it, this is like every other event in my life. This wasn't even the first time I've lost my home.”
“_______.”
“I could argue that this is a permanent, fatal change,” you laugh. “But so did losing my family.”
“Don't you dare—”
“Natalya,” you say quietly. “Indulge me in this for a moment. Please.”
“If you're thinking about jumping into the sea,” she growls. “I’ll fucking kill you myself.”
You tense up, then relax. “I won't,” you reassure her. “I...I want to kiss you. Is that alright?”
Natalya pauses, her eyes searching you intently. She has his stare, you think.
“Fine,” she says finally, her lips pressed together in a thin, soft smile.
Your mouth twitches upwards, and you almost smile.
“Thank you,” you say, and slowly, you kiss her.
***
The first time you fell in love with Natalya:
It was late December, after all the fracas of a performance, and you’d stumbled out of the theatre still light headed and red faced from dancing. Natalya had trailed behind you, her expression impassive and her lips pursed.
You’d laughed there and then, bounding down the street on shaky legs, gulping down breaths of the cold winter air as she’d watched. Natalya had been radiant under the moonlight, all but glowing, eyes glimmering in something between amusement and disapproval as she clucked her tongue.
“You dance, even when you’re acting like a fool,” she’d said, and reached out a hand. “Come, hold onto me before you hurt yourself.”
You’d stopped immediately, feeling your face grow even hotter in spite of the winter winds.
“I’m sorry—I couldn’t—”
“Just take my hand before you fall, dammit,” Natalya had snapped. Something in her tone softened as she added, “I’d hate to miss you at rehearsals.”
You’d stammered like an idiot as you’d taken her hand, so cold against your own, relishing in the way she almost seemed to smile when you squeezed her hand ever so softly.
The whole way home, you didn’t let go.
***
She is gentle, much gentler that the others you have kissed. Granted, they had been done by accident; awkward and meaningless actions that you tried hard to forget. This was different. Natalya appears to actually care - she is almost greedy, her kisses intense, her hands wandering. You don't mind, returning her passion with equal ferocity.
Perhaps this is just all a dream. When you opened your eyes, it would be morning. Iryna would be making tea in the kitchen and Natalya would be reading. The three of you would pack up and visit the beach one last time before taking a train home. When you'd arrive back home, you'd go straight back to work - long, painstaking rehearsals, trying to get each step right. But it'd all be worth it, because it'd be the last time you worked with your current company. You'd go to Paris with Tolys and disappear into the dark Parisian streets. Once you had your life back together, you'd somehow find a way to see Natalya again, to ask her if she wants to come. She may, she may not. Something would go right for once, because after all you had seen, it seems only fair.
But when she pulls away and you open your eyes, everything is still the same. You were still on the beach. Natalya was still in front of you. You were still going to be arrested.
“Not to a soul,” you say, eyes darting around.
“Not a soul,” she agrees.
There's the sound of a car engine in the distance, accompanied by faint lights.
“They're coming for you,” Natalya says, voicing your thoughts. She grips your hand.
There was no running away now.
You look at her, studying her intently. The way her eyes remind you of the sky - unrestrained and endless. Her expression - often she was downcast or angry, but they did not always reflect her inner feelings. Her posture, ever contemplative; if she wanted to spend an eternity reflecting upon one spot, you were sure she could do it. You try your damn hardest to focus on Natalya, eyes greedily memorizing every trait, quirk, and characteristic of her, because if you were going into the jaws of despair, you'd do it with one final, happy memory.
Natalya gets up, and you follow.
“We should head back,” you say, brushing sand off your clothes. "I want to retrieve my suitcase before I leave.”