We've been watching for a miracle
We're praying for a sign
When the cure is made of poison then it's hard to rest your eyes

Shoot Out the Lights - Ron Pope

Chapter Seventeen
Past Misfortunes

X

''Oh, you guys are soooooo getting back together again''

Rei frowned at the phone squeezed in between his shoulder and ear, spraying the stove with detergents he knew not whether to laugh or bang his head against the wall.

''Yuriy, you're starting to sound like a high school girl''

There was a huff on the other end.

''Why are we even talking, anyways?''

Rei opened his mouth, but came up with no answer. He had never thought about it, really. As he felt it Yuriy had always disliked him and the times they ever spoke were few and impersonal. But the last weeks the two had been talking more and more. It had been by accident at first; the redhead picking up when Kai was not home and Rei ending up speaking to him because he was on the verge of insanity. More and more it became a routine and after a while Rei didn't even bother to ask for Kai anymore. If Yuriy picked up, Rei would talk to him.

''I don't really know. You're free to hang up whenever you want, you know.''

''Eh. Got nothing to do. Heard anything from the prickmaster?''

Rei smiled weakly at the name. Yuriy always managed to say the strangest things, it seemed the man was able to cheer him up simply by being awful. Part of why Rei liked that was because it allowed his anger towards Boris to be vented through somone else's mouth, as he himself felt to guilty of his wrath to ever voice it.

''No.'' Rei sighed, scrubbing the stove a little too forcefully. ''But I'm actally relieved not to.''

''Ah'' Yuriy chewed on something quite crunchy, the sound hurting Rei's ear. ''Right. Withdrawal. Nothing too fancy, I presume.''

Rei cringed. He did not want to imagine what Boris was going throgh. He had seen the man at bad times, but this time had to be the worst and guiltily, Rei knew he was glad to not hear from the man just yet.

'''Yuriy''

''Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's wrong to not want to know what he's going through right now.''

Rei had to smile at that. Sometimes it seemed like Yuriy could read his mind. Although, he was quite predictable and Yuriy was good at recognizing patterns.

For some reason he chose not to mock Rei this time, something the dark haired man silently appreciated. Unwillingly, he thought the two of them were actually starting to become friends.

''Yeah''

''Well'' Yuriy crunched a little more. ''That's normal. I mean he's sure to be a mess right now and that's hard to endure.'' Even for him, Yuriy thought with grim amusement.

''I just feel... Like I should be there for him. You know?''

''Christ, Rei. Haven't you already done enough? How much are you going to exert yourself for this idiot before it's alright? Don't feel guilty. That's stupid. He wouldn't even be alive now if it weren't for you.''

Rei was silent for a moment. His grip around the cloth hardened, his hand still but his mind moving frantically. He had hoped cleaning would have taken his mind off things, but the dread and fear and depression was getting too strong to be held off by the smell of lemon now. And Yuriy, that loveable bastard, understood, and for some reason tried to act upon it.

''You know, Rei'' the Russian said with a mouth full of food. ''I've never seen him happy. Through all the years I've known him, Boris just got worse and worse until we were sure he'd die.''

Rei detected no emotion in the voice but felt on some deep level that the man was not entirely unaffected. Still Yuriy kept speaking mechanically, matter-of-factly even.

''But, for some reason, you helped him. A lot more than you'll ever be able to see, I reckon. You see Boris was a train wreck from the start. But I never knew you'd be the one to pick him up.''

''I'm as surprised as you are. I mean, the man tried to kill me when I was fourteen, for god's sake.''

Yuriy chuckled dryly.

''Yeah, well. It was nothing personal. Actually, the reason I think he tried so hard with you is because he liked you. You don't want to murder a person that badly if you don't have some feelings about it.''

''That's... that's just messed up, Yuriy.''

The man chuckled again, more heartily this time.

''See it like this. We were brainwashed and manipulated. Boris was taught to be a sadistic murder machine from day one. You were just another vicitm. There was nothing personal or special about your case. The only thing making you a viable victim was that you were good enough to be considered a threat. But Boris...'' he thought he heard Yuriy shake his head. ''Boris saw something else in you. Since that game, since you beat him, it was like he actually, for the first time, respected someone. He became obsessed. He watched you every time you fought. If we were watching something else the dolt would beat us down to change the channel, just to see you.''

Something in Rei's stomach hardened.

''When you lost'' Yuriy mumbled through another mouthful. ''he'd laugh, so pleased that you were beaten. Revenge, in a way. It'd keep him damn near bouncing with glee for days. But when you'd win...'' he snorted. ''I've never seen him so intrigued, Rei.''

''I... I don't know what to say.''

''So don't. I'm just saying you're special. To him, I mean. I think you're a disaster.''

Rei smiled.

''Love you too, Yur.''

''Now what the hell kind of stupid nickname is that, Kon?''

Rei scoffed and resumed his cleaning.

''Thank you.'' he said, after a long moment of semi silence, filled only with the awfully loud crunching from Yuriy's chewing. ''I don't know how to ever repay you.'' Yuriy said something which was drowned in the chewing. ''What ever are you eating, anyway?''

''Shereal'' he crunched. ''yuu shwud pry it''

Rei rolled his eyes.

''I'll talk to you later, Yuriy.''

He heard swallowing.

''Don't piss your pants, Kon.''

X

Boris hated this place. He hated the stupid, blue walls and the stupid full floor carpet - really, were they stuck in the god damn seventies? - the disgusting food which reminded him of sewage, the annoying, giggling nurses who watched him with bedroom eyes every god damn time he turned a corner and the whiny, stupid patients. They tried to befriend him but from the start Boris put on his most murderous glare and not too much later they left him alone.

Boris especially hated a group of addict friends who were so fucking sad all the time, looking at him with tearful eyes as if he'd comfort them. God. What had he gotten himself into? And that stupid nurse, Soren, with his perfect blonde hair and perfect, movie-star face had seemed to take a liking to him. Whenever they ran into each other the man would just talk and talk endlessly about something Boris never really listened to. God. He missed Rei.

Which was odd. He never thought about it, but the time they'd been apart had grown into such a routine that he eventually didn't notice how much he missed him. Now when they'd been together and were parted once again, the emptiness at his side was more protruding than ever. Boris hated rehab. It made him feel so stupid, so weak and idiotic. Like he failed a life everyone else seemed to live with ease. The only thing that made him feel slighly better was that at least everyone else in that place were just as messed up as he was, if not even worse.

But even when he wasn't ignoring feelings that threatened every god damn day to surface, the detox was till not over. He didn't know what day it was, sometimes he barely rememebered his own name. The first night was spent shitting his pants and almost drowning in his own vomit. Sweating and shaking until he thought his bones would break. Soren was monitoring him endlessly, giving him water and what else he needed. Cleaning him up when he was too delirious to do it himself.

The worst thing wasn't the shaking or the sweating or even the soiling. It wasn't the unbearable pain, like his body was tearing and splitting into burning, miserable little pieces. It wasn't the insomnia or even the nightmares, constantly reminding him of days of his chidhood that he had tried to forget. Remembering the beatings, the exhaustion, the abusive exercise and malnutrition and brainwashing. All the things he had tried to drown suddenly resurfaced and it felt as if all his years of drinking and trying to forget had all been in vain now.

Still it was nothing compared to the hallucinations. When the walls and the floor and the ceiling melted, blended together into one foggy mess of colours set out to destroy him. Images of blood, seeping from the cracks in the walls, dripping down on him. Images of Rei standing in the corner, crying like he always seemed to do. Boris tried to touch him a few times, but never quite reached him.

His mucles contracted and contorted in ways he never thought possible. His skull was threatening to split open and the smell, the odor, the foul stench from his skin was enough to make him want to crawl out of his body. The sweet blessing of unconsciousness only rarely visited him and he always seemed to wake up much too soon. And whenever he woke the hallucinations, the images, were right there to greet him. Boris didn't know how much time had passed, but it felt like long enough.

Soren sat by his side, reading a book, looking sympathetic and kind. How Boris wanted to break his pretty little face. But he could not move; his body was heavy and in constant pain, no matter how many soothing substances was pumped into his blood. And his throat. God, his throat. It was killing him. It was so dry he swore he could taste blood. He was just so thirsty. If he could only have one, just one little drink. It didn't even have to be something strong. Just a little sip of liqueur. Fucking cider. He just needed something to quench the thirst, to stop the ants crawling in his head and the constant sensation of dying.

Boris had been through a lot of things, but nothing nearly as horrible as this. The Abbey, that wretched place he swore he'd left behind, sometimes he lived it all over again. He remembered a superior's face, telling him how worthless and stupid he was. Hitting him across the face as soon as he showed emotion.

''Emotion's are for the weak, Kuznetsov. And do you know what happens to the weak?''

''They get devoured'' Boris murmured, sometimes. This time with Soren looking at him over the edge of a book.

''Sorry?'' he said, looking familiar with the experience, almost detached.

''We get devoured'' Boris panted.

Soren wasn't sure if the man knew he was even there. Probably not. The delirium had probably taken over him completely. Whatever Boris experienced, it had to be a memory, a false image created by a mind starved of its drug. Putting the book aside, guessing he'd not get to read it anymore, Soren inched closer to the bed.

''What do you mean, Boris?''

''Devoured'' his sweaty, disturbingly pale face tossed and turned about. ''No emotion. No memory. No longing. Wishing. Satisfaction. There is nothing but the Cause.''

Soren frowned. He had heard a lot of crazy things in his days, some patients got really out of it, but he never got quite used to the things they confessed.

''What is the cause?''

''The Cause'' Boris panted, eyes boring through the roof but seeing nothing present, nothing but the warped images produced by his own starved mind. ''We must serve the Abbey. We must destroy those who oppose. We must hurt them if necessary. We will hurt them if necessary.''

Soren gave a crooked, hesitant smile. Not sure if the patient could handle it, he put his hand on Boris' arm.

''It's alright, Boris. I'm here. Soren, remember? I'm here and it's going to - ''

No further did he get until Boris grabbed his throat, his pupils so small they were almost devoured by the grey. Soren looked frightened for a moment but soon relaxed when Boris' features softened.

''I'm sorry'' he mumbled, his Russian accent suddenly very heavy.

''Excuse me?''

''I'm...'' Boris looked at him but who he saw was not his nurse, instead there sat a thin Chinese man, feeling and looking older than he was. ''Why?''

Soren smiled awkwardly.

''Why what, Boris?''

''Why did you stay with me? For all this time I...''

''Boris, you're delirious. This is just a hallucination. I'm not whoever you think I - ''

''Net, net! Shut up, Rei! Shut your stupid mout for vance and let me talk!''

Soren stared at him in confusion, but ultimately nodded.

''O-okay...''

Was this protocol? He didn't know. He probably should call for someone to come and assist him. They were at day three, usually it took the patients around five days to get through the worst. Some of them came through the withdrawal sooner, others later. He was used to seeing them hallucinate, lost and delirious and so far gone in their own heads they saw nothing but things they'd tried to run away from. Usually though he'd have someone with him, someone more experienced. But, Soren was a trusted man now. He had to take care of them by himself. It was his responsibility.

''Yuu, yuu'' Boris wrinkled his forehead deeply, his eyes so dark the nurse thought they'd poison him.''I... I'm so sorry. She... she means nothing to me. She... I didn't...''

Boris couldn't find the words. So long had his emotions been locked up, killed if they ever should surface, he was not used to voicing them. But holding what he thought was Rei, he knew he had to say something. What or why he did not know. But the pain and the fever and the dizziness pushed him forward; he knew deep in his gut that if he didn't say this now, by God, he never would.

''Rei, I... I uh...''

Soren put his hands on the man's shoulders, gently rocking him.

''Shhh, shhhh. It's okay, Boris. It's oka-''

No further did he get before Boris sat up and threw up all over him. Over his baby blue scrubs, his honey blonde hair and into his handsome little mouth. For a moment Soren did not know what to do. He was torn between vomiting right back at Boris, starting a war of stomach contents, and dropping dead right on the spot. Instead he removed himself calmly from the room, motioning for a passing nurse to take his place, never completely closing his mouth.

Meanwhile, Boris was lost in another world, forgetting all about the previous minutes, he laid back down like nothing had happened. Constantly muttering completely in Russian.

This time, he saw nothing but a swirl of colors dancing in front of him. It was as if being drunk, only painfully aware of everything. No warmth coating his brain, no numbness in his lips or heaviness in his limbs. Only a dizzying, confusing swirl of visions he did not understand.

By the time the new nurse had joined him, he threw up on her too.

X

''Well, Boris. Have we made any progress as of late?''

His cognitive functions, hell, his entire body, were still not functioning properly. The detox, that nightmarish hell of an experience, was finally over. It had taken him around six days, Soren had told him. Boris had been too delirious and in too much pain to even notice when the sun rose. So talking to Dr. Baba, as she was henceforth going to be called in his head, was not exactly the first thing he wanted to do that eighth morning at the clinic.

''I stopped shitting my pants, if that's what you're wondering.''

She smiled stiffly at him. Truth be told, the only thing that had been on his mind the last days had been the relentless thought that he wanted to die. Just plain right on the spot die. His body felt weak and used up, everything still hurt and even if the worst was over and the hallucinations were finally gone, he couldn't stand the thirst. It was driving him mad at every single nanosecond of the day. It kept him up at night, ruined his hunger signals and just about everything around him got drowned by the scream in his head craving a drink.

''That is certainly an improvement. Anything else you want to tell me about?

Maybe if he attacked the staff they'd sedate him. That'd be almost as good as alcohol, wouldn't it? Yes. Yes, it would work. It would definitely work. If he picked up a chair from the leisure room and broke it over Sorens precious little head, maybe then they'd pump him so full of narcotics he'd either be satisfied or dead.

''So, how are we doing?'' Dr. Baba, noticing the lack of response, decided to ask more specific, but not too direct, questions. Getting him to talk about something inconsequential and then slowly lure him into more personal territories seemed to be the most effective approach. ''Getting used to the food?''

Boris scoffed.

''I contemplated stabbing my eye to get out of eating the meatloaf today.''

''Ah, well, it's no Borzcht, I guess.''

''Now, that's racist.''

She smiled again, tilting her head. Wanting to be a little bolder, she decided to ask something more personal, but still inconspicious.

''Were you born in Russia?''

Sensing her shifty behaviour, almost as if hearing her thoughts, he raised a skeptical and wary eyebrow at her.

''Why?''

''Well, your name indicates Russian heritage. I was just wondering whether you were born here, since you almost completely lack an accent, or in Russia and just are a very smart boy.''

He glared long and hard at her. Still too dizzy to pinpoint exactly what felt wrong about the conversation, he decided to answer but to answer carefully.

''I was... born in Moscow, yes.''

''Mhm, mhm'' she nodded in peculiarly increased interest. ''Is it nice there? Lots of snow, I bet?''

''I guess?''

''Mr. Kuznetsov... mind if I call you Boris?''

''I will rip out your kidneys.''

''Mr. Kuznetsov then. We can work on that.''

He growled but was professionally ignored.

''What's it like in Moscow? I've never been, you see. I hear it's a very beautiful city.''

He shrugged.

''It's a city.''

''Well, with those towers... what's it called?''

''Saint Basil's Cathedral.''

''Saint Basil's, right. Why, aren't they just beautiful? Or maybe you don't remember? When did you move away from Russia?''

Leaning forward in his seat - in hindsight a very bad idea as it put him close to fainting - he bared his teeth at her. As soon as the room had stopped spinning he threw in a glare as well.

''Just what the hell are you getting at, here?''

Sternly, she was silent for a moment, watching him thoughtfully, almost a bit apprehensively before she sighed.

''Mr. Kuznetsov. You probably understand that we need to get to the point and find out what is the main cause of your drinking problem. Normally I'm not one to prance around the matter and I am sure you aren't, either. So what say you? Shall we get down to business?''

Boris' eyes thinned, his face hard and unbetraying. Snorting, he crossed his arms and leaned back into the backrest again, closing his eyes.

''Now, I'm just going to sleep for the next fifty minutes and then I'm going to go to my cell - ''

''Room.''

'' - whatever. I'm going back to my cell and then I'll spend the rest of the day thinking about all the things I could tell you, but won't.''

There was an eeerie sort of sadistic pleasure in his voice, albeit very laborious, a sound which unsettled her.

''Oh, trust me, Mr. Kuznetsov, I will find out. I don't know how, I don't know when, but eventually your life is going to drive you crazy and then I'll be the only one here who can treat the disease instead of only the symptoms.'' she smirked. ''Face it, I'm the only one who can help you get your life back.''

Boris scoffed.

''I'll believe it when I see it.''

X

The porch was, for the time being, devoid of any other patients except for an old woman sitting in a cloud of cigarette smoke, staring thoughtfully into the distance, unaware and not really all that much of a nuisance since she hardly made no sound, other than the quiet puffs and huffs as she took another drag. Boris was sitting alone by a table, glaring at everything that moved around him. Other patients were running around in the yard, playing what looked like cricket. It was just past lunchtime and with some free time at hand the patients were mostly strolling around, minding their own business. In every far corner though, Boris could se nurses and staff personnel lurking. But he pretended not to notice them, focused on counting the days to his release in his head.

''Aw, missin' a lass, are we?''

Boris knew the voice came just beside him, but he ignored it to the best of his abilities. Tired and on edge, his jittery hands shaking as the last of the drugs left his system, in no mood to socialize but much too tired to assault people. Instead he had etched a permanent glare of hatred, warning others to stay away lest they perish at his hands, into his eyes. It didn't seem to work on the one patient to his side, though, as the next moment the man sat down.

Boris raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, grinding his teeth angrily. The man smiled raggedly at him, waving a little with his hand the plastic band around his thin wrist rattled. He looked ruffled, as if in constantly engaging in fights to the death with raccoons. His red, tousled hair and sharp stubble was quite the contrast to his sallow skin and dark eyes, brown irises glinting almost playfully. But there was a tiredness in his posture, one Boris would have used to his advantage if circumstances were normal and he hadn't just spent half of the lunch hour throwing up.

''Come on, man, ye ain't really gonna give me the silent treatment, are you?'' When Boris, still not moving his mouth, only darkened his glare, the strangely familiar man sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing his hands in air. ''Ye know, from the looks o' ye, I'm guessin' ye'll be here a long time, yeah? Prolly good t' not be such a giant dick, ain't gonna be easy otherwise.''

Boris just glared at him. There was something irksome with the man's face, something recognizable and yet elusive. It was as if he'd seen the face before, a long time ago. The years had not been kind to the man. He looked hollowed out and rugged, his voice hoarse and breaking every few words. The ban looked at him with the same intent in his eyes, looking equally annoyed as opposed to the smug grin he'd carried just a few seconds ago. It didn't take long until the dark eyes widened, a slightly disgusted shock in his gaze when he suddenly let out a loud, incredulous laugh.

''Well, fuck me blind and retarded. If it isn't Boris Goddamn Kuznetsov!''

Boris glared at him; as if it was supposed to matter who he was. He was just about to growl something hurtful, when suddenly it hit him like a jackhammer.

''Johnny?''

''In the flesh!'' the Scotsman grinned. ''However puny it may be at this moment.''

As Boris just kept on glaring at him, face devoid of emotion save for a twitching eyebrow, Johnny winked.

''The views nice, yeah?''

''What the fuck are you doing here?''

Johnny turned with a shrug to gaze upon the yard, the group of patients playing unethustiastically. One throwing his club away in exasperation as the ball had rolled into a bush, the others laughing until the sore loser ran towards them, tackling the largest of them to the ground. At first the staff in the shadows had tensed, posing as if ready to move, but when the tackled and the tackler began laughing, the personell eased in their postures and remained where they stood.

Johnny smirked, nodding towards one female patient for the moment reprimanding them two quarreling males. After she had yelled at them for a while she bent over to pick up the discarded club.

''Yeah...'' Johhny said absentmindedly, almost wistfully, ogling her. ''Real nice view.''

Boris rolled his eyes. Johnny kept grinning as he kept his eyes on the woman. This time she was handing the club back to the sore loser, smacking him loosely before yelling at him to play nice. As soon as the disruption had begun it was gone and the game picked up exactly where they'd previously left off; the patients in their cream coloured robes running around, one making a victory dance when he got the ball through a bow. Johnny frowned, but not in irritation as much as strange amusement.

''Makes you wonder why they play the game when they obviously don't know the rules'' he turned to Boris again, his previous grin now a simple smile. ''What, you don't like ravens?''

Boris glanced at him stupidly first, wondering what hell kind of question that was, until the redhead nodded to the girl again. Noticing that her hair was dark caused the Russian to sigh.

''Oh, I have nothing against those'' he muttered, idly his thoughts were reaching back to a certain Chinese man, wondering what he was doing at the moment.

''What then? Too skinny?'' Johnny gave her an analytical look. ''Well, meth'll do that to ye, I s'pose.''

Boris resumed his silence again, eventually realizing to his great joy that Johnny hadn't spoken for almost a minute, when suddenly the man gasped. Slowly he turned his head to face Boris with a very disturbing smile on his face.

''Oh, no! Don't tell me...'' he laughed heartily, slapping the table's surface. ''Oh, man, ye for real?''

Boris frowned, not sure what he'd done to make the man act so strange.

''Were you droppped as a child?'' he said, crossing his arms.

The Scot smiled more wickedly, in a teasing sort of way, shaking his head. Boris felt himself tire tremendously, thinking about what repercussions would follow if he simply leant over the table and throttled the man.

''No, sir'' Johnny put a hand over his heart as if taking an oath. ''But, I may however, have been a bottle baby.''

''Did your mom put arsenic in that bottle?''

The Scot laughed again. Boris really wished he'd stop doing that.

''That's a great attitude, Kuznetsov'' Johnny said sarcastically ''Just 'cus you're an addict doesn't mean you can't have a little fun!''

''This'' Boris pointed at his stiff, spiteful face with his thumb. ''is not me having fun.''

The other snorted.

''Thank lord for that. Ye're just a real tough guy, aren't ye'?'' Johnny put his hands up in front of him in mock defense. ''Haven't met those before''

By the sarcasm in his voice Boris assumed the man was not fully realizing just who he was talking to. Leaning against his arm, the Russian inched closer to the other, eyes cold and threatening.

''Are you really that suicidal?''

Johnny seemed unfazed, smiling again. This irked the Russian somewhat.

''My dear, Russian friend, where I come from people wouldn't even condescend to blink at your threats''

Boris scoffed and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair.

''Now who's the tough guy?''

The Scot gave a short, bitter laugh. With a shrug he returned his stare to the female patient, now getting a pretty good look down her shirt as she was somewhat bent forward, focusing on swinging the club just right.

''Where's yer place?''

''London.''

The man cocked an eyebrow.

''Yeah? How long've ye been here?''

''Why do you care?''

Johnny shrugged.

''Just making conversation. Got shit else to do 'round here.''

Perhaps, Boris mused, the man did notice how unwelcome and unwanted he was but chose not to consider it. Which was strange, he found, but even stranger was how he had yet to smash a chair across the Scots head.

Maybe he wasn't just tired, physically, the Russian thought. Maybe he was just too damn drained mentally to bother for the moment. Besides, annoying as the man was, it was nothing Boris couldn't survive. Surely, the doctors had told him he would feel stronger and more energetic as the days passed and as his body flushed the toxins out of its system. And eventually, he assumed, he would be in just the right mood to break the the redheads weak little neck.