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Ilya
Laughter lingered in the air, as the blades of his tiny skates glided on the ice of the outdoor ice rink near his mom.
He loved when Mama took him skating. Even more than that, he loved getting to speed around the rink and pretend he was winning a race against imaginary competitors, as she looked on and cheered from where she stood.
He looked over his shoulder at Mama, as he raced, a grin splitting his cheeks open, and noticed that she had an ethereal smile on her own face.
Watching Mama float on the ice made joy bubble in his chest. She was always a beautiful skater and he would ask her to spin, mesmerized by the speed of it and how elegant she always looked.
“Ilyusha, look at how fast you can skate! You are like a rocket, зайчик.”
Her praise bloomed in his chest like he’d been wrapped in a warm blanket and he swiftly changed directions, with a giggle, speeding straight for his mother, embodying the rocket. Mama made him feel so special.
He watched her crouch down, arms spreading wide from her sides, bracing for the impact of the rocket. He slowed down slightly to make sure he would fit in her arms and he threw himself into the them in a fit of laughter.
“I am a faster skater than Sergei Fedorov,” he triumphed, opening his arms as he spoke and then closing them to wrap them tighter around his mother, burying his face into the long blonde hair at her neck. Even if he was six and he was a big boy, he still loved his mother’s embrace.
Her laugh twinkled like a windchime in his ear and she rocked him back and forth in her arms. Her hand reached up to stroke the back of his head, weaving into his curls. He was so warm and safe in her arms, as if he was wrapped in a pair of golden angel wings.
“I love you, Mama,” he said into hair, relishing the warmth of her skin against his cheek.
“I love you with all my heart, мой дрогой мальчик. Always remember that.” Her slim but strong hands rubbed the back of his winter coat and he could almost feel her love permeating it, into his skin, like when she rubs cream into his cheeks, often chapped by the harsh winter winds of Moscow.
“Come. Let me take you home, to warm up,” she proposed, getting up and extending her hand for him to take. Of course, he grasped it and followed dutifully as she led him home, after replacing his skates with his boots.
Their boots made crunching noises in the snow and he stepped deliberately into interesting patches of snow to see what kind of crunch it would make. Mama laughed along with him and told him he was a clever boy.
As they approached their home, the light from the moon and the stars faded and he leaned into his mother’s side, as fear rose in his chest.
“It’s all right, Ilyusha, no need to be afraid,” she said, her voice glimmering golden silk, replacing the moon and stars.
As she walked him up to the front door, she knelt down in front of him, her bright blue eyes boring into his own. There was a slight crease between her brows for only a second, before her expression smoothed into one of bliss. Like magic, her outfit had changed from her jeans and winter coat to a white nightgown bathed in soft blue light.
“Ilyusha, родной, I loved getting to skate with you tonight, my shining star. Please forgive me, but I must leave you now.”
“No,” Ilya whimpered. “Mama, I want to stay with you. Papa scares me.” Tears began to flood his cold cheeks.
“I know, любимый. But I will always be with you. Always.”
Not saying anything more, she kissed his head and moved to stand. As she turned and walked away, Ilya tried to protest. He willed himself to say anything, to make any noise he could but everything got stuck in his throat. He tried to move his arms, his feet, to chase after her –after all, she said he was a rocket– but it was as if he was being held to the ground by glue.
Only tears ran down his face, like torrential rain in a dry river that hadn’t seen water in years. The tears burned the trails they ran down his cheeks and he wished Mama could apply some cream to them tonight.
But she disappeared from view. He had never felt more alone, and the dark swallowed him whole.
He woke on his and Shane’s bed lying on his side, tears running down his face. He wasn’t panicked as he usually was, but the old black void in his chest had reopened, having never properly healed, and all that existed there was pain and emptiness.
He sat up slowly, making sure not to move the bed too much, so as not to wake Shane. He glanced around the room, hoping the betrayal he feels might be replaced by Mama standing in the room, waiting for him to wake up by busying herself with other tasks. Instead, his eyes fell on Shane.
He looked beautiful asleep, his face youthful and unmarred by pressure or anxiety. Asleep, he didn’t have a care in the world. Even in the dark, his gorgeous smattering of freckles made Ilya’s heart swell.
Ilya debated reaching over to run his hand across his face but decided against it. He didn’t want to risk waking Shane. Knowing him, if he’d seen Ilya in this state, he would insist on forsaking his routine by getting up in the middle of the night to make tea and talk about what had happened. His beautiful husband loved his routines, and while he knew he would never complain about it, in this case, he didn’t want to ask him to sacrifice this or anything else.
He turned back to face forward, his head falling into his hands, which pushed into his cheeks and eyes.
The dreams came often. The memories of her crept into his head, especially in the dark recesses of the night, when Shane was asleep and all he could see was shreds of moonlight peeking through the window and all he could hear was the sound of his thoughts swirling in his mind.
It was almost as if, here, in the dark, his mom could finally release herself from the strong constraints he had built in his mind to keep getting by, to try to trick himself into being oblivious and convincing himself and everyone else that everything was completely fine.
But the dark would never keep him safe. He should know that, when it often gave way to images he’d simultaneously wished he could erase from his mind but also wished would never leave him because that would mean he had forgotten her.
The images replayed in his mind. Him opening the bedroom door, slowly. Seeing his mother lying on her front in bed. Moving to her side of the bed, only to see a milky white arm hanging off the side. But the colour was too pale and when he’d reached out to touch her, her skin was as cold and solid as block of ice. Him looking up at her face in confusion, seeing peaceful open eyes, staring at nothing. His heart picking up in pace and the way he’d torn his hand away.
He hated the way these images occupied his mind. They never hurt less and tore open the cicatrized black hole in his chest. Sometimes he was able to wake up, sigh to himself about how it had been a dream, and try to fall back asleep while staving off the memories.
This dream was different from the others, though. It had felt so real. He really thought she was there and for an instant when he had woken up, he had debated giving her a call to catch up. But he remembered she wasn’t there. She hadn’t been in 18 years. This dream left him feeling flayed, like someone had reached into his chest to grasp him heart and rip it from the root.
There was no sleep to be found now. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table and noted the time. 4:14 AM. Great. Shane would be up in an hour and 45 minutes.
Ilya, defeated, crumpled to his side in the bed and brought the sheets up to his chin. He was borderline overheating but he needed to feel something around him. Anything, especially in the absence of Shane’s strong arms, his new home.
Staring at the window, draped by curtains and blinds, his hand rubbing at his mother’s cross like a worry stone, he pored over his dream. The feeling of her hands on his arms, the sound of her voice, her smell that he thought he would never smell again, that he’d even thought had faded from his memory. The warmth of her words, her affection. Her hands, which transformed into an ungodly colour. Her eyes which became unseeing. Pills on her nightstand.
He lay there for what felt like minutes and hours, ruminating about her but with every thought, his chest tightened, like strings of a violin that were pulled too tight. His lungs felt tight too and contracted poorly. He was too tense and tried to stop himself from gasping for air. His head was so full and he felt like he was a bomb, watching helplessly at the clock ticking away.
He needed to take back control of himself. He couldn’t do this right now. Not over a dream.
“Ilya,” a soft, confused voice whispered, barely penetrating the thick fog in his mind.
Ilya wanted to respond but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get the words past the lump in his throat, which only made him more frenetic. Will Shane leave me too?
“Oh, Ilya,” Shane said, placing his hand on Ilya’s shoulder. Even Ilya knew that he felt like cement, as he tried to contain himself.
Ilya heard the sheets crinkling as Shane got closer to him ever so slowly, as if he didn’t want to scare him off. Or maybe it was as if he a spring that Shane didn’t want to decompress too fast.
Shane’s hands glided up his back and to his chest and Ilya could almost feel the paths that they traced thawing. Shane waited a few seconds and then moved in the rest of his body to fit against Ilya’s back. He let him adjust to that too and then held him tightly against his chest.
Ilya melted into his touch but as he did, he started to his lose his grip on his emotions. All the work he’d done to shove his feelings back in came undone, a knot that hadn’t been tied well in the first place.
He twisted around and pushed his chest against Shane’s and tucked his face into his neck. Then, when it felt safe, as he always did in Shane’s embrace, he broke.
Sobs ripped from his throat, animalistic sounds filled the room and as they did, Shane’s arms tightened around his. His whole body contracted and he couldn’t control the flood of emotions that made their way out of him. They were huge and all-encompassing, all-consuming.
Shane never waned, the calm in the storm. He was a beacon, a lighthouse in the darkest of nights. He held him tight and whispered to him, his hands tangling gently in his curls. Ilya couldn’t process what he was saying but his tone, the vibration in his chest as he spoke began to lull Ilya.
An eternity may have passed but Ilya wouldn’t have noticed. He was where he was most comfortable, in the arms of his one and only love. He brought the light of the stars and the moon back and Ilya could finally feel a wave of relaxation settle over him.
They lay there wordlessly, peacefully. Even when his alarm had gone off, Shane seamlessly turned it off and went back to holding Ilya together, until they knew he could hold himself together himself.
“Can I make you some tea? Maybe we can talk a bit? Or whatever you want, really. I love you, you know that, Ilya? With all my heart. I will always love you.” Shane said it all in one breath and Ilya almost wanted to chuckle at how well he knew his husband.
He snuggled impossibly closer to his husband before saying, “After. Can we maybe just lie here like this? Just for one more minute.”
“Yes, of course,” he said with a kiss on Ilya’s head and a pregnant pause. “But we do need to get up for morning skate in 15 minutes.”
Ilya laughed softly. He loved his Shane so completely. He never faltered.
“я люблю тебя всем сердцем и душой, моя луна и звезды.”