Work Text:
3 days before the Chernobyl disaster
Two, three, four. The streetlights blurred past me. Each step felt heavy. My lungs were burning, but I barely noticed. I just needed to keep counting and stop thinking. If I ran fast enough, my thoughts would never catch up with me. I was free out here. Seven, eight, nine. My heart dropped as I saw the front door coming up in front of me. I quietly slipped into the apartment, hoping that my wife wouldn’t notice me. But of course she did. “How was your run, darling.” “Good.” She paused for a second. “You were out for a while.” I could feel every insinuation in that carefully worded sentence. I dug my nails into my arm, trying not to respond with something equally as petty.
I stepped into the shower, and I felt exhausted, deep in my bones. I knew how it ended last time we were like this. But now it was my turn to be cold to her. And keep my distance. It had gotten harder when the kids went away. We moved to Pripyat as soon as Olga left for school. As soon as my son died, I made sure we always had 3000 rubles ready so we could move at any moment. I guess it shows more than anything that I was never quite happy with my life after that. The only thing that made Komsomolsk-on-Amur a home was my perfect family. But that was all gone now.
When we moved, I was happy again, or as happy as I could be. I quit drinking, started running, and for a while it worked. Then Ivan went away too. So it was just me and Isabella with nothing else to keep our feelings at bay. I looked down at the faint scar on my left wrist, a constant reminder of what her love meant to me.
I wasn’t a good husband anymore. Ever since our son died. She always wanted to talk about it, but I couldn’t. Every time I thought about him, I felt tears in my eyes. When she tried to bring it up, I felt suffocated. So I ran. And every time she tried to comfort me, I felt like a burden. I took from her without ever giving anything back. I pulled away. I worked ten hour shifts everyday. And night shifts. And weekends. I tried to limit feeling so that her disappointment wouldn’t feel so harsh. And I knew she was disappointed.
I looked around the apartment as I stepped out of the bathroom. Someone looking in on us would see a perfect home for a perfect family, the kind who belonged in a magazine. The soft blue and white tiles of the kitchen, the hardwood floors. The windows opened onto the canopy of trees in the courtyard below.
But when you looked closer, something was very wrong. The pictures on the mantel, and the walls were old, and faded, the glass of the frames scratched from years of love. Isabella and I looked about thirty, holding our young children. And none of them were taken in Chernobyl. Simply put, our lives had stopped the moment we lost Oleg. We didn’t have a single new memory worthy of being put on our walls.
I crawled into bed next to my wife and turned out my light. Isabella was moving around, trying to get comfortable, and I suddenly felt her missing from me. I wanted to be cuddled and held, but I didn’t know how to ask. Thirty three years of marriage, and I still couldn’t ask my wife for a hug. “I’m cold,” I whispered. “Do you need another blanket?” “It’s okay.” I tried to move closer to her, but she didn’t respond. I almost cried from frustration. How did she not see what I wanted?
I wasn’t used to asking for her affection. It felt demeaning. She was the only one who had ever really held me. My parents had been tough, working class, Siberian. They never told me that they loved me, and I saw no future with them, so I left home at age thirteen. The night when I met my wife, something changed. We sat on my apartment rooftop and laughed and cried until the sunrise. By the end of the night, I knew she was the one. That was the first time I’d let someone know me like that.
2 days until the Chernobyl disaster
We both woke up early that morning. I rushed out of bed to make coffee so I could make my wife’s with a spoonful of milk. She usually took her coffee black. She hadn’t liked her body since having kids all those years ago, but I didn’t mind. I still thought she was perfect. Sometimes when I looked at her, I felt in awe of her, wondering how someone could be so beautiful. I wish I had found a way to tell her that. So I always made her coffee with a bit of milk. Just so it didn’t taste as bitter for her. I’m sure she could tell, but she never said anything.
The light was just starting to pour in through the windows from between the trees. She looked at me over the silly drama novel she was reading, of a family she surely wished was hers. “You wouldn’t have to leave for work so early if you took the bus.” “It’s alright,” I lied, “I like the walk.” A line of worry appeared between her eyebrows. “Are you sure, darling? You don’t always have to be alone.” I was sorry for making her worry, for leaving her alone, but it was better than burdening her with my neediness.
I felt relief wash over me as the cold air hit my cheeks, just to be out of that tense environment. Like most days, I walked over to the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. Walking, moving, I was in control. But I could still hear a voice in the back of my mind saying “It’s your fault your son is dead.” I walked a little faster, and tried to count the streetlights. But they were few and far between.
I arrived at the plant, and walked around. I made small talk with a few of the other engineers before entering reactor four. I could feel my subordinates stiffen as I walked in. Akimov was saying something to Toptunov, but stopped abruptly as soon as he saw me. I was a harsh boss. I know that. But they’d all heard the rumours, so they knew why.
Every time I saw someone make the wrong move, I snapped at them. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t like the other people here. I knew what the risk was. It made me so angry to see them being careless, joking around in the reactor room.
My harshness made me a difficult boss, unlikeable. My coworkers treated me nicely, but it felt surface level. It was my fault too. I never made an effort to become closer to them. I knew they went out for drinks every Friday night, but they never invited me, and I never asked. In hindsight, I wish I’d changed that.
6 hours until the Chernobyl disaster
I went home early to sleep before the night shift. I hated this life, sleeping for a couple hours, taking the longest possible shifts, working weekends. But I had to be in control at work. Because I knew what happened when I wasn’t. The moment I left the power plant, I was back in the hospital room, watching my son sleep. And then his heart monitor crashed out…
When my wife came home and saw me sleeping, she immediately knew what was happening. “So you’re just taking another night shift?” “Yes.” She sat on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted. “Why do you run away from me?” I knew the question had been building in her for a year now. My whole body froze. I knew this was coming, but I wasn’t ready. I turned away from her so she couldn’t see I was crying. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Oh just come here!” I held my knees to my chest, tried to make myself smaller for her. “I’m sorry, Bella.” She looked at me with pity and annoyance. “God, stop crying like a child.” I felt so enraged at her, for kicking me while I was down. But even angrier at myself for hurting her.
Suddenly I was back in that little house in Atamanovo, and my mother was yelling at me. “Stop crying!” But I just cried more. “I didn’t raise you to be weak.” I backed away. I hadn’t meant to disturb her, just wanted a hug. My father looked in through the doorway. “Leave him alone. He’s had enough.” But he did nothing more for me. I hid under the covers in my bed, clutching my pillow, completely alone, at just five years old. I saw then that I was weak, but I could never let it be known.
I brought myself back. “I’m sorry. I’m a bad husband. I’m sorry.” My voice sounded choked, strained. Her eyes softened, but I could still hear her frustration. “No, baby. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face her. “I still feel like it’s all my fault, Bella. I’ve felt guilty every time I've been with you the last couple years,” I paused, wondering how much I should tell her. “But I missed you so much. And you’ve been so good to me, but I didn’t want to burden you.” I dug my nails into my wrist. She pulled my hand away and kissed it. “You can’t just run away. You’ve gotta start being my husband again. ‘Cause you’re the best husband.” I looked up at her. “This’ll be my last night shift. I promise.” She smiled, rolled her eyes, then said “Get some sleep, Tolya.” I looked at her. “Wait, can you…stay with me for a bit?” “Of course.” She pulled me in and I cried into her chest until there was a wet spot on her shirt. Of course I held her tightest when I felt her slipping away from me. “You’re safe,” she whispered as I fell asleep.
3 hours until the Chernobyl disaster
I was woken up by the phone, calling me back to the power plant. I quickly untangled myself from Isabella, who was thankfully a sound sleeper. I got dressed and ready as quickly as I could, but it felt wrong to just leave so unceremoniously after everything that had happened. So I looked back from the doorway. “I love you,” I said, softly. But she didn’t hear
I was reminded, suddenly, of the first time we had sex. Afterwards, she reached out to hold me. I wasn’t used to that show of love and care, so I pulled back and said, rather abrasively, “Don’t touch me.” I saw her eyes fill with tears as she turned away from me. “Wait, I’m sorry.” I reached out and held her close, and felt the wetness of her tears against my chest. I felt protective of her like I’d never been for anyone. “I love you.” I heard her mumble “I love you too.” That was the first time I’d said that to someone and really, truly, meant it.
Back then, it was my turn to be there for her. But this time, she didn’t know about any confessions of love, just that she woke up alone the next morning.