Alin lay on his back in the dark, gazing up at the blank ceiling, the only sound being his slow steady breathing. Moonlight drifted in through the gaps in the curtains, so he could make out most of the objects around him, and every time a car drove past, a dull, yellow beam would sweep across, almost as if it was scanning him. He was wrapped up in a warm duvet in Ivan's old bedroom. It was strange, seeing the place where the man had grown up as a kid and teen, and Alin had wasted no time in snooping around the moment Katya had said goodnight and shut the door. What? He was only human!
Alin liked the walls best. Either Ivan or Katya (or possibly Natalya) was an exceptional artist because the walls were covered in a massive painting of a sunflower field. It spanned all four walls and Alin had just sat on the floor, taking in the detail, the colours used, the golds, greens, blues, captured by a sweeping brush, and cast his mind back to when he was a child.
His father was a motor enthusiast, and loved driving the whole family for day trips on the beach, if only so he could clean his car before and after. Alin remembered sitting in the back with his little brother, Andrei, and staring out the window as they whizzed past fields of not only sunflowers, but all different crops and plants, as well as the occasional house or village. The sun was always shining on those days; that was probably why they were heading to the seashore, and he could almost hear him and his brother laughing, buckets and spades on their laps.
Alin wrinkled his nose and pushed the memory out of his mind, turning on his side, and picking at his- well, Ivan's- pyjama sleeve. He knew it was a bad habit, especially when the pyjamas weren't his to begin with, but couldn't help it. He always picked at his clothing when he was nervous. Especially around others, when he was afraid of his sleeves riding up.
He was glad the pyjamas were long sleeved though, very glad, even if they probably weren't intended to be. It was bad enough that he'd resorted to wearing his suspenders with them all evening (what? Those things were way too big for him!). Still, Eduard got a good laugh out of it.
Alin had to admit it was nice spending the evening with the couple. Katya and Ed were good company and they'd laughed, joked and watched TV together. Heck, they'd even brought out snacks and a bottle of wine (Alin ate about half the food himself but refused to touch the drink, opting for water instead) snuggled up on the sofa in pyjamas and slippers before calling it a night at around nine thirty.
Alin wished Tsvetan had been there.
Alin wished Tsvetan was still holding out, still surviving despite the appalling conditions he was facing. Alin let another wave of guilt wash over him, holding back more tears. He'd been silently crying on and off for the past few hours and didn't want to start that again.
But it was just so unfair.
Here he was, wrapped up warm and well fed whilst Tsvetan… well, it was best not to think of that too much. Alin wanted, more than anything, to trade places, to have Tsvetan safe at his friend's house whilst Alin himself suffered in darkness. Why was that too much to ask? Why were innocent people being dragged into Alin's mess? Alin's past mess. Life would be so much easier if the past kept its ugly head buried forever, leaving the future and future alone to guide everyone along.
Alin growled and kicked the covers off of him. That attic at Aleks and Rose's house was freezing; Tsvetan must be freezing so Alin would just have to be too. It wouldn't help in any way, Alin knew, but it made him feel slightly less guilty. Only slightly though.
He let out a frustrated cry and shot up.
Why? Why the hell was this happening to them?
He looked up at the ceiling again, praying silently. A week, that's all I ask. Please, let Tsvet hold on for one more week. I cannot lose him now.
Alin wished once more that he'd realised just how important Tsvetan was to him before.
After all, it was Tsvetan who helped him to overcome his phobia. Tsvetan who helped him to function.
He gave a humourless chuckle, pulling back the sleeves on the pyjamas and taking off his gloves. Yes, they were still there. Why wouldn't they be? They'd never leave.
He stared down at the ugly, red and white scars running along both arms, and partially on his hands too, staining and distorting the skin. His skin was dry and waxy, covered in scarlet blotches.
He'd had them since childhood, since he made that stupid mistake.
He'd only been seven at the time. It had been Saturday morning and he was the only one awake. Standing in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly, he'd decided to make breakfast for everyone, then he'd wake up Andrei and they'd go into their parents' room together and the four of them could have breakfast in bed as a family.
Well, that had been the plan.
Alin couldn't remember much, what with the shock of it and he'd only been a kid at the time. But the pan he'd been using caught fire. Had he used too much oil or had the gas on too high? It didn't matter anyway. All that mattered was that he'd been terrified, but still tried to fix it, like a good child. Maybe if he'd been older, or knew anything about health and safety, he'd have done the right thing and covered the pan in a damp cloth. But no, he'd poured a jug of water onto it, and a simple fire had turned into a raging, spitting inferno.
The fireball- that's what everyone called it later- engulfed both outstretched arms, and even licked against his face and torso.
He didn't remember being in any pain, funnily enough, but, as he gaped in horror at his charred arms, he'd screamed, crying out for his parents to save him.
And they did.
Again, his memories were fuzzy, but his father called the emergency services whilst his mother dragged him and his brother out of the house and poured water on his burns. She draped a blanket over his shoulders, fighting back tears whilst Andrei wailed, only two but knowing that his big brother was hurt. Their mother sang to calm them both down.
There was a ride in an ambulance too… rushing into the hospital was a blur… Half conscious by then, he could only focus on his arms, white tissue surrounded by charred, blackened, waxy skin.
The doctor told him they were third degree burns as he cleaned and dressed them, and then offered him medicine to take away the pain, telling him how brave he was. He stayed in hospital overnight, to make sure the burns didn't get infected, and that was that. He was sent home, after the doctor instructed his parents on how to change the dressing, and nothing more was said.
They managed to save his face and chest from scarring, but his arms would be a permanent reminder of his own ignorance and stupidity.
He could never go in the kitchen when someone was using the stove again. Just the very mention of fire could reduce him to tears and, after he moved to the states, he could no longer have hot, homemade food as his parents weren't there to cook it for him.
One day he'd come home to find Tsvetan cooking eggs, and had a panic attack. His friend had managed to drag him into the hall and calm him down, and once Alin was able to, he had told Tsvetan everything. Why not? For some reason, Alin had found it impossible to lie to Tsvetan over the years. He could hide things, avoid subjects, but not tell him a full blown lie to his friend's face.
Tsvetan had still been at collage then, and jumped at the change to test his knowledge in the psychodynamics. The pair had therapy sessions, where over time Tsvetan managed to help him overcome most of his fear. They talked, did brain exercises, and delved into Alin's past, well, the less shady parts anyway. Tsvetan explained that, whilst pan-fires were unfortunately quite common, you could avoid them if you knew what you were doing. Tsvetan gave demonstrations on how to avoid pan-fires and, eventually, Alin was cooking for the first time since he was a child.
Whilst Alin could stand to be around a small, controlled fire, the idea of wild, open flames still terrified him to the very core. Feral, brutal fire that ripped though you with its soft claws, surrounding and engulfing everything that stood in his path. Alin felt his breathing quicken and he looked around, panic rising. He had to remind himself that he was safe, there was no fire and there was no need for fear.
That would not be the case with Tsvetan.
Oh how Alin wished he knew enough about psychology to help Tsvetan with his own phobias in return. They could never afford a therapist, so Tsvetan was stuck being afraid of the dark. Not to say Alin didn't try, though. He bought his friend little nightlights, and batteries for them, on every occasion and the pair had managed to get to the source of his fear.
Apparently, when Tsvetan was a child and the family still growing, they had moved from a flat to a larger house and, on the day of moving, Tsvetan had decided to see if his- now empty- toy cupboard was large enough for him to fit in. It was. In fact, it was large enough that he closed the door and accidentally locked himself inside. Tsvetan had been terrified that his family would leave without him and he'd starve, trapped in the little cupboard for the next family to find. His own family found him, of course, but not before he'd worked himself up into complete hysteria.
Sometimes, when Tsvetan was feeling particularly uneasy, they'd share a bed. Not the most comfy situation, seeing as they both had single beds, and they both had their annoying habits, but it was nice.
Alin felt a rush of affection spread through his chest. Tsvetan was everything to him. They were everything to each other. It was funny, Alin couldn't even tell what kind of affection it was. It confused the hell out of him, and had done so for a while now, but he usually pushed those thoughts to the back of his head and refused to face them. He was almost certain that what he felt was different to simple friendship. Sure, Alin had slept with a fair few people, both sexes, and even had full blown relationships with some of them, but he had never got his heart involved too. It was too risky. But now?
Every thought of the man was accompanied by such a powerful wave of affection that Alin thought his heart would burst through his chest. He wanted to scream and cry over how he needed to be right beside Tsvetan, hugging him and holding him close, so that no one else could hurt him again. He wanted to tear anyone apart that dared cause this amazing human suffering or grief. Every time Tsvetan ever doubted himself in the past, or made a negative comment about himself, or thought of himself as anything less than wonderful, Alin wanted to run up to him and scold him for daring to talk bad about his favourite person in the world.
Tsvetan did not deserve what was happening to him. He did not deserve to pay for Alin's mistakes like this. The fact that people were holding him against his will, causing him unimaginable suffering and making him relive his worst fears made Alin shake with a dangerous anger.
Jensen and Kirkland had no fucking idea what they were dealing with.
Of all the people in the word, Tsvetan was the most deserving of anyone's love. It was just Alin who felt he could not be loved back.
It was startling, frightening, and Alin didn't know what to do. Yes, he was in love with Tsvetan and, it would seem, had been so for a while now, but Tsvetan deserved better. There was nothing else for it. Alin would save Tsvetan, get him back on his feet, pay for a professional therapist to get him half sane again, then leave. Just go far away where he could never hurt anyone he cared for again.
Yes, Alin like that plan.
All he had to do now was raise to money to pay for Tsvetan Borisov's life.
…
Sorry if this seemed a bit late, but I had to do a fair bit of researching. So, enjoying the story so far? Any advice?
So yeah if you put water on a pan fire it will make a fireball. Trust me, I saw it once. It was on a school trip where we learnt about stuff like recycling and the police, and fire safety. Even though we were kept far back from the fire safety demo, I'm still surprised my eyebrows didn't come off. That trip always sticks out because there was a stranger danger section too, and in order to educate us on abduction, they got an actor to attempt to abduct us. Safe to say I didn't talk to strangers for a fucking long time after that.
Tsvetan's story about the toy cupboard was inspired by me doing the same thing to my toy cupboard when we were moving. My brother was the first person to find me… and the fucker didn't open the door!