Chapter Text
I am free. My life is my own. It feels unnatural, after so many years of very controlled life. Or, someone could say, after blindly following orders for so long. I lied to myself that I was doing all that for the greater good, for the people of my country. Sure, at first I joined them to help my country, I joined because I believed in their mission. But soon enough things have changed. The real reason, as I started realizing just recently, was laying elsewhere. It was pure selfishness, at first, and later cowardice. I did not want power, at least not in the original sense of the word. And money didn't matter to me, either. (Of course I wanted to have some to be able to lead a comfortable life, but I have never desired to become an oligarch with yachts and foreign properties, unlike some of my comrades in arms.) It is painfully embarrassing, almost humiliating, to look back at what I subconsciously intended by my actions.
I would never, ever admit it back then, not even to myself. Instead, I distracted myself by pushing even harder to be the perfect soldier, trained to the verge of exhaustion, obeyed without questioning, gave orders without considering any consequences other than for our side to win. All of that was for him. For a single word of praise, for a shoulder pat. Nothing made me happier than him calling me his friend. Especially knowing that no one else had that privilege. I had his trust, I had him by my side… Or rather, he had me. He won me over in the very beginning, my stupid enthusiasm for the cause made it easy for him. I could easily disguise the feelings I developed for him as the excitement that I felt for bringing glory to mother Russia. Fucking embarrasing for the past me, the young, dumb fascist, deep in denial.
I wonder if he had ever known how I felt. Sometimes it almost seemed like he had, and he was using it to his advantage. Gave me signals that were just right on the edge of being… a little too friendly. But maybe I was overthinking innocent interactions. Since I have never even considered telling him, or trying anything… I will never know. It was for the best. I think he liked me. He liked my loyalty and although I sometimes argued with him, I mostly disagreed with the details about how to proceed in the current mission and almost never questioned the goal of the mission itself. Even during the most extreme events, I kept my mouth shut and helped him achieve whatever he made up his mind to do. He liked me for that. I think he enjoyed the admiration of someone who he perceived as his equal. If he perceived me like that, of course. I don't know. Maybe he saw me as a dumb dog following him around, useful just enough to keep, and all the signs of friendship and respect were just his way of making sure I was not going anywhere. There's no way for me to actually know. Fuck it. Who cares if he respected me or not. I am out, out of the Inner circle, out of his toxic influence. Starting over.
It took me so long to get away. Why did I have to wait for so damn long? The last couple of months I went to sleep every night determined that I will leave the next day, or the first moment I get the chance. And I didn't. I continued craving his presence, the crumbs of attention that he gave me.
On the other hand, he really was my friend. I've shared with him nearly ten years of my life, it's probably safe to say that he was the closest person to me at the time. If not the closest person that I've ever had… which is pathetic, I know. We went through hell together, I felt like we had a bond no one else would understand. He made me happy. The times when we would just sit in silence and have a smoke on the balcony; we would sometimes sit there for hours, watching the night fall. How enthusiastic he was, the way his eyes lit up when he had a new idea in mind, a new goal to achieve. How he laughed, loudly and unexpectedly, at my dumb, dry jokes, which a lot of people weren't even able to pick up on. There were times he was surprisingly vulnerable, opening up about his (mostly traumatic) childhood memories. I was pretty sure I was the only one who got to see him like that, human like, not the cold, emotionless mask he'd put on for everybody else. (Unless, of course, he wanted something from them, then he became the most charming man in the world.) As if he turned into a different person. Those brief moments gave me hope that he could change, that eventually I will be able to talk him out of the madness, that he is not completely gone. All that hope was in vain, of course, the next day there were no traces of that self reflection or vulnerability, as if it never happened, as if I dreamed it up. Until the next time it would happen again, always out of nowhere. It felt like he saw something in me, something that I was not able to see myself. He chose me as his right hand man, made me feel important, fed my bruised ego with big words about conquering the world together. (I thought he meant it figuratively at the time.) He listened to me, respected my opinion, even asked me for advice. Being asked for advice by one of the most powerful men in the world was intoxicating. It gave me a certain sense of power as well, and I was addicted to it.
If it was not for that horrifying plan to start another world war, I would have never left his side, if I am being honest with myself. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, without it, I'd just keep marching forward with my eyes closed. I saw before what kind of a man he is. I didn't have an excuse for sticking with him through it all. And… I was no better. I positioned myself morally above him because I despised the violence that we caused, while he seemed to enjoy it. But I haven't done anything to stop it. I disagreed, quietly, or I told myself that there is a bigger picture that I might not see yet, a larger perspective, in which those sacrifices will be worth it. I suppose it was similar to when christians excuse their god killing millions of people in the biblical flood. God's ways are mysterious, who are we to understand? Everything is a part of some grand plan, and every innocent life lost is necessary for that plan of His. Fucked up coping mechanism when you experience (or, in my case, cause) pain and destruction beyond comprehension. God is with us. Looking back now, I don't know why he would be with some russian terrorists, wouldn't he rather choose… just any other group? Or perhaps he was with us, maybe it fitted his destructive nature just right. The cruel Old testament God the father, I'm not so sure about Jesus. Looking at the faded crosses on my arm, I'm trying to recall how I felt when I had them tattooed. How sure I was. It made me miserable sometimes, but at least there was some certainty in my life. Now, on the other hand… I don't know what I believe. I flipped a switch and went from knowing everything to knowing nothing. And when someone tells me they know exactly what is the meaning behind it all, I get suspicious. I don't think that the God I believed in would allow us to kill all those people without repercussions. They are gone. Died by the most painful, excruciating death imaginable. And still, I'm here, free, breathing, healthy. Makarov is in prison, but not for those crimes. I am being punished only by the constant guilt I feel, that doesn't seem appropriate. Am I going to hell? If there is such a place, I'm sure I will end up there, but according to the strange God that I once believed in, I would belong there even if I haven't killed anyone. What a weird sense of justice.
Everyone wants to feel like a good person. Even Makarov and people similar to him have a twisted way of seeing his actions as morally right. I certainly had to do some mental gymnastics myself to be able to live somewhat normally. One just can't simply blow up an entire city and go on with their life just like before, thinking that they have been born to make this world a better place. Ironically, my biggest contribution to making this world better required me to betray my best friend. What does it make of me? Becoming a traitor made me a better person? Even if just slightly? What was I before? Who am I?
I did not have the time, and (especially) the guts to think about any of this for many years. I somehow knew that if I started to dig around and tried to figure out where I stand on one thing, I'd eventually question everything, so I made sure I was thinking only safe thoughts. God is with us, I am a soldier, Russia is my country and I am to protect it at all costs, that's all I need to know. Purposefully ignored the fact that I actively participated in multiple mass murders. Or the fact that I jerked off with the man I’m supposed to be right hand man to on my mind nearly every night. That wasn't not happening, that wasn't me.
I allowed myself to feel sad only while thinking of home, missing my parents and siblings. That was appropriate, normal, everyone else did that, they would talk about it from time to time. I could even cry, occasionally. I genuinely missed them, I still do, but then, I mistakenly put all my sorrows in the same pile as this one. It made me idealize my childhood and the people I've grown up with, and when I eventually visited them, it was crushing. It did not bring me the peace, happiness or anything else I promised myself it would. I came home, after months or years of longing, wanting to feel the warmth and unconditional love that I once felt, or I thought I did. I wished to be understood by them, naively, desperately. How could they understand me, when I didn't even understand myself? I would get warmth and love, along with a lot of questions about what I do, if I have a girlfriend, when am I going to get married to her, and why don't I come back to work in the city when there are a lot of open job positions in the factory. I kept telling them I worked for the Russian military, although I was long gone, I showed them my picture with Milena and told them we were dating. It broke my heart to lie to my mom, but it was nothing compared to her even suspecting the truth. I left and felt a sense of relief, could not wait to go back to my routine. And then, the process repeated, as if I haven't learned anything from it.
Now I struggle with the lack of direction and structure. It's like I am a kid who just left their parents house for the first time. Before, everything was sort of determined for me, even the tiniest of decisions. Every day I wore my uniform, I ate whatever food I got at the base I was currently in, followed the same routine that I got used to years ago. Is any of that what I would prefer if my life turned out to be different? I am still up at six am every day, months have passed and my body still hasn't adjusted. My mind will probably take even longer to go back to some kind of state that's close to normal. If it ever will. How am I supposed to know how a normal person's mind works, anyway. Is there even such a thing as a normal person? My guess is that we are all messed up in different kinds of ways.
Luckily, I don't dream. If I did, I would probably be forced to see everything again and again, this way my mind just shuts down when I manage to fall asleep. It is bad enough that sometimes it just enters my mind during the day involuntarily, although it has been years. The brightest of lights. Disbelief. Realization. Complete, utter emptiness. My stomach clenches painfully. There is no redemption, nothing that can be done that makes it better. I would kill myself to change things. But it wouldn't change anything, and it is probably just for me to be alive with the guilt. Seemingly the only one to carry the guilt, since Zakhaev is dead and Makarov is not capable of regret. I can't make it go away, and even if I could, I don't think I should. It's the price I am paying for my selfishness, for my cowardly compliance.
I need to figure out how to not go insane. I need to move on, there's no use in being stuck in the past. I am not helping anyone by beating myself up for what I did, over and over again. I know I was a bad person, I admit it openly. I try to admit to everything, figure out what my motivations were and how I can make sure I will never repeat my mistakes. That I will never hurt an innocent person again, never fall into the same trap of big words and illusion of self importance. Besides, my time is limited. Sooner or later, Makarov is going to get out of jail, probably sooner rather than later, given his money, influence and ability to manipulate, and I am sure he won't leave my betrayal unpunished. Once he's out, I am a dead man. (Assuming that he isn't scheming some revenge that he can act on already, from the prison. That is definitely an option. But, nevertheless, I'm still alive.) Therefore, I need to act fast if I want to make something out of my pathetic life, not just sit around crying. I have to… I owe it to the world and to myself. To prove to myself that I am capable of change.