"Everyone knows I'm in over my head, over my head..." The Fray, You Found Me


Chapter VII

My Love


The days blurred together. Ivan spent much of his time wandering around the house; trying to sleep, looking out at the street, keeping the television on for company. He'd tried to take showers but the effort even to make it to the bathroom exhausted him. Mostly he just sat around, and when he became restless he'd get up and sit somewhere else. He wanted to go outside and do something, anything, but when he opened the door his feet wouldn't move.

It had been going on like this for a long time - he'd stopped counting - when the front door opened.

"Ivan?! Where are you?" It was Ludmilla. ("Иван ?! Где ты?")

She found her husband sitting listless on the sofa, the television and lights turned off. Drago smiled weakly.

"What's happened to you? I've been calling non-stop and you never answered. Are you okay?" ("Что с тобой случилось? Я звонил нон-стоп, и вы никогда не отвечал. Ты в порядке?")

Ludmilla looked into his empty eyes.

"What's wrong, Ivan?" ("Что случилось, Иван?")

Drago's body collapsed in a sob, his fists clenched over his eyes as if to capture and tame his tears. Ludmilla put her arms around him and stayed with him even as the heavings intensified. They sat this way for what seemed an eternity, and then Drago settled into weak spasms.

"What's wrong?" Ludmilla asked, barely whispering. ("Что случилось?")

"I killed him." ("Я убил его.")

"Who? What are you talking about, Ivan?" She cupped his head in her hands; her thumbs brushing the tears from his cheeks. ("Кто? Что вы говорите, Иван?")

"I should've stopped the fight. I knew he was weaker but I just kept hitting him, and hitting him, and hitting him. And then I just watched him die right in front of me. What kind of fucked up creature does that?" Drago's voice broke again. ("Я должен остановил бой. Я знал, что он был слабее, но я просто продолжал бить его, и ударил его, и ударил его. А потом я просто наблюдала, как он умер прямо передо мной. Какой пиздец существо делает, что?")

Ludmilla's eyes were hard as polished stones. "Apollo Creed's death was not your fault, Ivan. You were two grown men, two men trained to win at any cost. If the roles had been reversed, the outcome would have been the same. Apollo Creed was retired, old, and foolish. And the referee was a doddering idiot. It was his job to protect both of you, and he didn't. He is the criminal, not you. You must believe that, my love." ("Смерть Аполлон Крида не ваша вина, Иван. Вы были двое взрослых мужчин, двое обученных, чтобы выиграть любой ценой. Если роли поменялись местами, результат был бы тот же. Аполлон Крид был отправлен в отставку, старый, и глупо . и судья был слабоумный идиот. это была его работа, чтобы защитить вас обоих, и он не сделал. он преступник, не вы. вы должны верить, что моя любовь.")

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" ("Тогда почему я чувствую себя такой виноватой?")

"Because you were powerless. Even a bear* freezes in fear before a bigger enemy. The Americans hated you, and you were alone. It was your job to act fearless, even if you were terrified. There was nothing you could have done to feel guiltless, no way you could have known." ("Потому что вы были бессильны. Даже медведь замерзает в страхе перед большим врагом. Американцы ненавидят вас, и вы были не одни. Это была ваша работа, чтобы действовать бесстрашный, даже если вы были в ужасе. Там не было ничего, что вы могли бы сделать, чтобы чувствовать себя не без наказания, не так, как вы могли знать.")

Drago wiped a hand across his face. "But, it's always right before my eyes. I can't think of anything else." ("Но, это всегда прямо перед моими глазами. Я не могу думать ни о чем другом.")

"We'll find someone who can help you, whatever therapy you need. And I'll stay with you until you can handle it." ("Мы найдем кого-то, кто может помочь вам, все, что вам нужно терапия. И я останусь с тобой, пока ты не может справиться с этим.")

"What about your job?" ("Что насчет твоей работы?")

Ludmilla smiled wryly. "The Soviet Union can wait; you're right here and you need help." ("Советский Союз может ждать, вы правы здесь, и вы нуждаетесь в помощи.")

"Why am I so weak, Ludmilla?" ("Почему я так слаб, Людмила?")

"Because you're human." ("Потому что ты человек.")

xxxx

The next few weeks were like careful steps - Ludmilla taking her husband to see a psychiatrist recommended specially from a connection in the Union, feeding him, sometimes helping him bathe and dress when he was suddenly overwhelmed - she was patient and kind, and Drago was reminded of the early days in his sports training, when his wife had encouraged instead of calculated.

Oftentimes he felt very selfish, but Ludmilla remonstrated him gently even when he didn't mention what he was thinking.

It was a long recovery, but he no longer felt alone.

To be continued...

xxxx

I was originally planning on keeping Ludmilla entirely out of this story, but I rarely write female characters and that pisses me off. As much as I'm not a fan of her character, she's a part of Drago's life, and I'd like to imagine that she must have been a supportive person (sort of like Adrian, but not nearly as soft). Also, I knew it would be better to merely mention treatments in passing instead of going into detail, because everyone's grief and depression are different, and so too are the ways they seek and get help. Going into detail about Drago's therapy is the kind of emotional voyeurism I want to avoid.

*Get it, 'cause Russia is often depicted as a bear. Ugh, I should stick to sarcasm.