Chapter 16: From Behind the Veil

Dear Yuuri,

I'm glad you are coming to see me today. I always feel happy to see your smile. My solnyshko. I am doing well. I've made progress in all of my meetings and Doctor Bershov says that he is very pleased with our private sessions now. I would tell you about them, but it's confidential, so he asks me not to explain the techniques he uses. I can tell you that I leave him feeling strong and hopeful inside. Stefan still thinks I am too thin and I can tell by the questions he asks that he thinks I may be depressed. I don't think I am. I miss you terribly, of course. Who wouldn't be lonely or depressed, being away from a loved one? I am working very hard to get better. I can't wait to come home to you.

Love,

Victor

XXXXXXXXXX

Yuuri is coming today, and I am so glad. So much has happened, so many scary things. Doctor Bershov is reassuring and supportive, but I feel the weight of being away from home for too long. Even with Maccachin here, I feel so lonely sometimes. I am working hard to improve, but I really need Yuuri. I miss him so much.

I skip breakfast. I know it's a bad habit, but I can't think of anything but when he will arrive. I barely say a word in my morning meeting, and Stefan says he's worried about how I look.

"Victor, I think it's a good thing you're not training right now, because you're beginning to be underweight."

I give him a little, unconcerned shrug.

"I have to make sure that I don't overdo it while I'm on a break," I explain, "I will eat more when I am done here and go back home. Anyway, it's hard to eat here. Sorry, but the food is boring and I don't feel hungry for it."

"But, I really think that it's more than that," he insists, "I see worrisome changes in your personality too."

"Well, Yuuri and Yakov and everyone else have always complained I'm too excitable," I chuckle, brushing that off too, "And, didn't you, yourself, tell me that as I adjusted to living without an alcohol dependence, my behavior could change in other ways?"

"Well, yes, I did say that," he admits, "but the amount and type of change I'm seeing here are more indicative of something like deep depression."

"I just told you. I miss Yuuri. I miss my home. I admit that I feel sad about that, but I'm really fine. I'll be even better when this is over and I can go home."

"I think we're all looking forward to that," Stefan says, backing down a little.

We talk a little more about inconsequential things, then I leave his office to head down to my room to pick up Maccachin, so we can go for a walk to take up time before Yuuri arrives. Halfway there, I realize I left my jacket behind, and I go back to Stefan's office. I hear voices inside, so I stop without entering.

"Doctor Bershov," Stefan says, "I think it's unhealthy for Victor to be as underweight as he is. I'm very concerned about what is underlying that condition. Is he eating less, as he says, because he is trying not to gain extra weight during a time when he is not actively training, or are there emotional reasons why he might be developing an eating disorder?"

"Well," Bershov answers, "it's true that Victor has lost some weight, but given the intensity of his addiction and the work he has had to put into his recovery, it's not unexpected if he does have the beginnings of an eating disorder. If you'd like, I can arrange for some sessions to encourage him to eat, and we can certainly have his physician prescribe an appetite stimulant…although, it seems that the time he spends with Yuuri Katsuki seem to have a positive effect."

"Yes, they do," Stefan agrees, "But oddly, I am starting to notice…well, I can't say for sure, but it seems like Victor is disassociating from, not just Yuuri, but everyone around him."

"I see, and what makes you think that?"

"Ah…his words, maybe there is something in his body language. Mostly, it's something I feel from knowing him."

"Hmm, could you maybe be becoming a little too personally involved?" Bershov asks, not accusingly, "After all, you went to great effort to pursue Victor and to persuade him to come here."

"I offered the help he came and asked for," Stefan insists, "Yes, working with him privately was something that I don't often do, but it was indicated, based on my first impression of him."

"And also, you were a fan of his and felt motivated to save him, perhaps?"

Stefan doesn't answer right away.

"I do care about what happens to him, but I don't think that it steps over any boundaries. In any case, I have real concerns about him."

"So, you would like me to explore the possibility of an eating disorder? I can certainly do that. If you will take care of contacting the doctor for the appetite stimulant, I will work with Victor and explain everything to him."

"Thank you," Stefan says, sounding relieved, "I know you may think I'm overreacting, but he was down another half-pound today. He's been losing weight steadily, and his personality is showing signs of significant disruption."

"Not to worry," Bershov says calmly, "Victor is a much more receptive patient than he was at first. We are on good terms. I'm sure that I can help him."

I take that as a cue they are done, and I move forward and tap on the door frame.

"Ah, Victor," Stefan says.

I don't miss the little signs that would hint that he's just been talking about me, even if I hadn't heard.

"Sorry, I forgot my jacket," I tell him.

"Oh, right," Stefan chuckles, "I didn't even see it."

I pick up the jacket and start to leave, but Doctor Bershov touches my arm, and I stop and look at him reflexively.

"Victor," he says, looking into my eyes, "I wonder if you'd mind coming to talk to me for a few minutes."

"I…"

"Oh, I know you are meeting with Yuuri today," he says, smiling, "I just want to talk for a little while."

I want to say no, and I even open my mouth, but…

"Oh, if you think it's important, then fine. There is still time before Yuuri arrives."

And the next thing I know, we've said goodbye to Stefan, and we're heading for his office. We walk inside and he sits down and motions for me to sit on the sofa. I don't know why, but I feel a little scared.

"You're not in any trouble," he assures me.

He says something else, and all of a sudden, I feel really, really dizzy.

"Victor?" he says.

His voice is garbled and everything is getting really dark.

Is this because Stefan is right?

I have an eating disorder?

I feel so…

XXXXXXXXXX

My head hurts really badly.

My body feels so weak I can't even open my eyes.

How long was I sleeping?

Where am I?

"Oska?"

It's him again…the doctor. I've gotten to know his voice and the way his hands feel, but as much as I am starting to remember, I still…

"My dear, you should be able to open your eyes now. Please try."

"I…I c-can't."

I feel his fingers brush against my face and I can feel the wetness of my tears.

"I'm trying."

"I know you are," he says comfortingly, "It's all right. Breathe slowly. This is a process that takes a long time to complete."

"What happened?" I ask.

I feel his arms wrap around me and he lifts me, so that he can embrace me. My arms can barely hold onto him.

"Why am I so weak?"

"It's to be expected," he tells me as he touches my face and pets my hair, "You remember what I explained to you last time you woke?"

He told me that I was his lover. He said that I became ill and I was going to die. He used an experimental procedure, to imprint my mind on the body of a man who had lost the will to live and tried to kill himself. The man's body was alive, but his mind was gone. He tells me that the reason my body feels so heavy and I can't move very well is because it takes time for my mind to learn to control this new body.

I didn't believe him, but I see things in my head…flashes of light…pictures. I can hear his voice speaking to me, saying things that a lover would say.

"Will you try again to open your eyes, Oska?" he asks.

This time, I find that I can. But as my foggy eyes blink and squint and start to focus, I notice something.

"You look older."

His smile gets to big and bright, I can't help smiling too. He hugs me even more tightly. His arms shake with emotion.

"Oska!" he whispers.

His lips touch the side of my throat and I shiver.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, pulling free of me and wiping his teary eyes, "It's just that I wasn't sure that I was going to be able to fully awaken you."

He looks deeply into my eyes.

"You do remember me, then, don't you, Oska?"

I manage a little nod.

"I remember you being younger," I tell him, "Sorry, that's just what I see."

"Well, you see correctly, then," he laughs, hugging me more gently, "You see, I was younger when you died, Oska. It took me a long time to take the imprint of your mind, to study it and figure out how it might be imprinted on a body. I first tried to create a fake body, but I couldn't get it to awaken. Then, I thought that there was this man I knew of, who tried to take his life, and even though his body recovered, his mind never reawakened. It took time to convince everyone he died, and to take his body away to try to bond your mind with it. I've been infusing yourmind with memories…stories of our old times…things we did together. You remember now?"

"I don't know," I tell him, "I feel strange. There are memories there, but…they feel distant."

"Well, you were unconscious for a long time before I brought you back."

He takes my hands in his.

"Do you think you can stand?" he asks.

"I don't know. I feel dizzy."

"I'll help you. Come."

I do get onto my feet, but he has to hold me up.

"Sorry," I apologize again.

I catch sight of my face in the mirror…then I feel a strange, throbbing pain in my head and I double over. He lets me down carefully onto my knees on the floor while everything spins and the pictures in my head all spin together.

"I…I don't just remember my…our…us," I stammer, closing my eyes tightly, "He is still here!"

"No, no," the doctor says in a low, soothing voice as I start to cry, "he is gone, Oska. It's just you and me. There are…just some remaining bits of his memory. I know they confuse you, but you can push them out. Just focus on the memories of us. It will take some time, but we will do this together, my love! Please trust me."

Can I?

I know that he did this out of love, but…this body…these bits of another man's mind. I feel…connected to him. I feel, not a will to die, but a strong passion for living! There is a face that provokes such strong, beautiful emotion when I see it…a young man like this one with dark hair and brown eyes…a body like a dancer. I see his lovely smile and hear his laughter.

Oh god…did the doctor…did he…?

"You seem very distressed," he says, holding me and brushing away the tears on my face, "I know this is scary for you, Oska. I promise I will…"

"You say I died of illness?" I ask suddenly.

"Yes. It was…Leukemia."

"I don't have any memories, not even mental pictures of being ill."

My heart pounds and I can barely force out my next words.

"Are you…sure that's what happened?"

For just a moment, I see a flash of fury in his eyes, then he says something in a low hiss and everything goes black.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Victor?"

My eyes open and I sit up slowly, finding myself on Bershov's sofa. Throbs of pain radiate through my head.

"What happened?" I ask him.

He gives me a sympathetic look.

"It looks like what happened is that you passed out from low blood sugar. Did you eat breakfast?"

"Y-yes, I did," I insist.

I know what he's getting at.

He looks at me more closely.

"Victor, please be honest with me. Have you been…intentionally or unintentionally, throwing up after you eat?"

Oh, I don't want to answer him!

"Stefan was telling me that you keep losing weight."

"But you and everyone else said that sometimes a very addicted person will lose some weight and will throw up sometimes. I promise I'm not doing this on purpose. I'm not!"

"I don't think you are," he says, taking my hands, "I think that you are just under stress from the process of withdrawing, and now that your body is learning to live without alcohol, we must strengthen your mind to handle stress differently."

"I don't think I…"

"Victor, I want you to stand in front of the mirror."

God, I don't want to look at myself.

But, he helps me to my feet and I go to stand in front of the mirror.

"Take off your shirt."

I've never been shy about my body, but I really don't want him to see. I know it's for medical purposes, but…

"It's all right, Victor. I understand why you don't want me to see."

He moves closer and squeezes my hand.

"You are a man who perceives himself as always being in control, always being able to handle what comes."

"I think we know that when I used to tell myself that, I was telling a lie," I answer softly.

"Yes."

"I used my sense of humor and I used deflection and distraction. I used alcohol. These things, I used to make myself feel like I was still calm. I was still in control. But, I wasn't."

"No, you weren't."

"And, even though alcohol doesn't control me, and I'm choosing honesty, I Am. Still. Not. In. Control."

He lifts my shirt, so that we are both looking at the evidence.

"Now, it is my body that I am fighting."

"No," he says quietly, "you are not fighting your body, Victor. Your body is fighting, but it is only fighting to survive. It is your mind, your emotions that are in disarray. This causes the discomfort that will not let you eat and sleep properly."

He lets the warm fabric slide back into place.

"Are you going to make me stay here longer?" I ask.

My voice shakes, because I am barely hanging onto my sanity, thinking it will be six more weeks before I can go home. To even think of staying longer…

"No," he reassures me, and the relief is so strong that it escapes me in a hard, guttural sob, "You only agreed to stay for sixty days…and I will make sure that before the end of that time, you are really in control, Victor."

"Thank you, Doctor Bershov," I manage in a shuddering sigh, "I hate this…not you or the program. It's been helpful…I just…"

"You miss your home," he says in an oddly gentle tone, "you miss your lover, and you miss the life that you had before. I promise you, Victor, you will have all of those things back very, very soon."

I do feel better as I leave, and as I head back through the facility and approach my room, I spot Yuuri waiting for me. I bring him inside my room and close the door.

"Victor," he whispers, paling, "Victor, what's wrong?"

"I know I look terrible," I admit, grabbing him and hugging him tightly, "Recovery is really hard. I'm so sorry that I did this to myself, Yuuri…and I'm sorry that I did this to us!"

He holds me for awhile, just being quiet and not saying anything. I feel myself melting under his hands, breathing in his sweet scent like it's my oxygen. It's only with him holding me like that, I start to feel more like myself again, and I manage an honest smile.

"You did bring me another pork cutlet bowl, right?" I ask.

"Yeah," he laughs, handing me the little bag he's carrying.

We sit down on the bed and I open the container and breathe in that heavenly scent. This time, I savor every bite slowly, sharing some with him, offering him bits from my own mouth. Kissing and devouring, we work our way through that wonderful food, then we walk Maccachin together, before returning to my room and laying down in the bed together. We don't have sex right away, and when it happens, it is a slow, savory seduction.

I can feel that Yuuri is scared, and I know what calms him when he feels that way, so I take the lead in our lovemaking, holding him tightly, kissing him passionately and showing him that there is still strength in my body, even if I am struggling. I linger over his body, kissing and licking him all over, making him laugh because it tickles as I consume him as tenderly and lovingly as I did the food he brought me.

I lay down between his soft, spread thighs, first kissing and tasting every delectable inch, then joining our bodies and letting him feel that whatever has happened, I am still his Victor, his lover, his coach and his friend. Nothing will ever change that…nothing and no one.

Not. Ever.