I look into his blue eyes, searching for answers nobody knows. He lies too well. I would know. I've been lying to myself for years. He doesn't know what I've done, he doesn't know what I've been through. Just that I was put into a mental institution and remember every torturous second of it. Now he's just adding to the pain. He's going away. He looked into my eyes. I looked away. I couldn't take it. His eyes cutting into mine like ice. Sharp blades. Accusations of everything I did and didn't do. "Alexei, don't go." I plead. I know there's no use. He'd go even if just happened to die right here, right now. Who am I to keep him from his dream? He's just going to college, I tell myself. He knows what he's doing is hurting me, but he doesn't seem to care. This isn't him. This isn't the Alexei I know. "Bye, Gracie. I love you." He says it all too serious, like it's the last time he and I would ever see each other.
He's just going to college, I tell myself again. But I know I'm wrong. It's not just college. It's training. To fight, to run, to survive. To feel no emotion. No pain. He already passed the first test. He doesn't care that he's hurting me. He says he loves me, but if he really did he wouldn't do this to me. It's just military camp. He'll only be going there for a couple months while he's in college. "Alexei, please," I beg with tears in my eyes. "Don't go. Don't leave me, Alexei." I grabbed his hand before he turned to walk away. He looked me in the eye again and it was like he was back. Like he had just been a different person. "Gracie, I love you. It'll be okay." He said pulling me close to him. "It will all be okay." He kissed my forehead. "Alexei, why are you doing this?" I ask. "I'm following my dreams, Gracie." He's one of the only people that get away with calling me by my nickname. I've told him not to, but he never listens. It's what my mom used to call me. It's what my brother calls me. So, it seems like it would be weird if my boyfriend called me that, but it's different. Alexei saying it, it's different, especially with his accent. Russian. He was always told not to get close to me, that I was bad news. He should've listened. But he didn't.
"Gracie, listen to me, if you have to run. Don't let people who don't know you get to know you. They'll use you. If you have to fake an emotion, don't fake happiness, fake sadness. Then, you'll get to see who actually cares, who stops to ask if you're okay, to see if you need help." He says. It's like he knows me more than I know myself. He probably does. "Goodbye, Gracie. I love you. I'll be back soon." He got on his plane and I went back to the embassy.