Alex had dreamt of his confrontation with Darius, he was now going to discuss it in group. Group therapy here was more of a challenge than the laughing fits he's had in rehab just before his sixteenth birthday. There were no rich kids here with violins accompanying their sob stories. These were undercover cops, field agents and special operations soldiers with grim tales told with stern countenance of the assuredness that life was shit, deal with it. They had listened as he had talked about his youthful misadventures and no one considered his problems trivial. The truth was they were all expecting long term problems, because deep psychological trauma had no guaranteed quick fix.
"So I pulled a gun on them, did the whole speech stating there were bullets with all our names on them, for a proper murder/suicide, only I knew I'd crossed the line from me to psycho shithead. I was no better than Julius or Sayle or any of those other guys who'd been one barrel short of a load and out for world domination and or destruction, delete as necessary. Darius was a smug bastard when I broke down and started to cry. Called me a nothing better than a cokehead whore, who'd had fame and the spotlight handed to him because of his daddy. I am so sick of people assuming Vladimir s my father, I fucking wish; but, no I have the paternal genetic material of a long dead murderer. So he was there acting like the king of the world and I just had broken, not because of him; but because of my shitty reaction." Alex then waited for the verdict of Sam, Derek, Charlie and Lorraine.
"So, he was great in bed, but had zero personality. I'd have kept him around. Great sex is great sex." Lorraine added. "You then threw them both out, I take it."
…..
The whole confrontation had been perfect for instantaneous revenge, only for the dancer to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror in his bedroom. Sasha was gone and had been replaced by the shade of cruel, malicious and homicidal Julius Grief. That fact alone had broken all the carefully constructed barriers erected between Cairo and Sydney. All masks and delusions were laid bare, he was once again Alex Rider. He was the same boy who had kept vigil by a burned out car in the desert, which smelt of smoke, cordite, petrol and charred flesh. Jack, his one hope of normal was reduced to cremated remains, murdered by his own doppelgänger.
The seventeen year old witness had watched his boyfriend's partner crumble into the broken mess of absolute despair, loss and grief. He had caused this, he had been the instrument of destruction. He fell out of love as soon as he had fallen in love with tall dark and handsome Darius as he heard than man ridicule and emasculate his former lover during his breakdown.
Alex was a snivelling wreck on the floor, but he pulled together what little remained of his dignity, to give his final ultimatum "Get out Darius, you have five minutes to clear the building. I won't kill you but I might remove your knee caps, I've see my ex, Danny do that to a few people who pissed him off. He favoured a baseball bat to smash the bones into pulp, but a bullet works just as well."
The responding quip died on the love rat's lips as he took in the look in his ex-lover's eyes, which was hard, brutal and resolute. Darius, with no thought to his present lover, scrambled into his trousers and picked up his shoes and other clothes to make a hasty exit.
Alex did not ask him to leave his keys as he would be changing the locks this afternoon and organising a professional cleaner. He was already listing what to pack and what to put in his car. He could rent this place out immediately and look for somewhere new to live, one a good distance from the city centre and any chance of crossing paths with his ex in the near future.
When the door clicked shut, Alex moved to the bathroom oblivious to the remaining witness and vomited what little was in is stomach. He was again wracked with sobs unburdening years of pain, loss, unresolved grief and loneliness. It had been minutes when there was a soft knock on the bathroom door and the forgotten interloper inquired "Mr. Makarov are you OK?" then a lengthy pause, "Can I call anyone for you?" and then finally "Should I do something with the gun on the floor to make it safe?"
Empathy and understanding was still there, Alex was not completely lost to his inner darkness. Here was a kid, so like himself, in love with a complete tosser and left high and dry when push came to shove. He stood and used the towel to wipe away the mess of snort, spittle and tears on his face. Before throwing the offending item on the floor. Everything in this place was tainted with betrayal.
The dancer stood, more exhausted than after twenty hours straight in the rehearsal room. He exited the bathroom and went straight to the gun to do a bit of sleight of hand. The real hand gun was replaced by a harmless facsimile. He threw the offending item to the kid. "It's a novelty lighter, a present last Christmas from Clara." He had been invited to her parent's ranch and impressed her rather macho father with his shooting skills, both with clays and then real hunting, when this Russian-American nancy had no qualms at killing, skinning and butchering. "Sorry I was a dick earlier and scared you. I suppose I should run you home since Darius neglected to take you with him." He looked at the boy, not really a man yet and sighed at the folly of his own stupidity. "Don't apologise, don't regret, just move forward. It's all you can do."
…
Mitch had arrived back to hear all about the debacle from Kiki, only Scott had the full story from the two other participants.
Alex said wearily "Yes, I threw him out, changed the locks, bought a new mattress and burnt the bedding and now Terri and Rachel are renting my place. I'm at the Four Seasons, but I've put a deposit down on a place in Manly, near Queenspoint. Three month contract, enough breathing space for me to reorganise myself. I move in a week after next." The principal dancer then smiled at his sort of friend, having lied about the hotel and the flat, as he was happy with his car as his temporary home, but thats what normal people would do. "The kid's parents had no idea about Darius. I got him home and kind of dropped him in it. I hope to God I didn't out him. I haven't seen him since to sort out my monumental faux pas. It's not a thing you can just send a bouquet to apologise for. 'Yeah you screwed my boyfriend but sorry I told your parents what a loser Darius was and maybe outing you in the process'."
"Yes, quite. He's not been to class since and I heard he's been off due to a family crisis."
Alex wanly smiled at that, "Yeah, the crisis being their precious baby was fucking a forty year old two timing asshole, who just happened to be the kid's teacher last term. Modern dance module for the seniors at the dance academy. It's caused a shit storm over there. Darius is likely to lose his teaching accreditation. Oh, what a shame. He should have thought about that before sticking his dick into the twink." Alex exhaled having spoken enough about his own dirty laundry, so changed the subject "So, how was the party in Hong Kong?"
….
Luci hated family therapy sessions, because she knew some other horrible revelation would be aired. Life was not fair, a lesson she learned at twelve when faced with the corpse of her mother to say goodbye to. The empty shell, devoid of all that made it human, which had driven home the absolute of gone forever. If she could she wished she could have been a true mother to Aleksandr, only he was only twelve years her junior. Born the same month her mother died. Seven years before she had met and fallen in love with Vladimir.
She sat and sipped tea and Sasha spoke of the true horror of his time at boarding school. That he had killed. Her Sasha, her cuckoo, lost and alone for so long.
Dr. Chandra was happy to sign the release forms with the assurance that Alex would be supervised at home and have intensive therapy. Luci Stravenkov had promised that for the long haul she was there to support her friend's son. He was family, there was no question of not being there for him.
"What about work? I'm still under contract until June." Alex neglected to mention he had already turned down an extension, a fact he had not even informed his agent of. He had made no plans. The blank diary had been a comfort, not retirement, just a short amount of time for him to reassess his life. Maybe move over to choreography or getting proper dance qualifications at college. Whatever, he was in limbo.
It was the psychiatrist who answered this difficult question. "The Opera House is aware of how serious your condition is. You need a stress free environment for the foreseeable future. Maybe you can return after Easter, but that is only a maybe. They have also said that it might be better to just to write off the next six months off as sick leave. Its covered by both your and their insurance. The only thing you should be worrying about is your health and well-being."
The twenty-seven year old processed this information. His attempted suicide was enough for his employers to sue him for breaking the contract. The fact the insurance company was paying out meant the lawyers had hammered out a deal on a technicality, as he had always been nuts. His actions meant he would as likely never be offered a permanent position in any company again. He was too much of a health risk. He put his head into his hands and tried to imagine what he was going to do, if he could not dance. He would do what he had done at fifteen, completely reinvent himself. He sat up and sighed. He was going back with Luci to a luxurious five bedroomed house at Darling Point owned by Paul Roscoe. A multi-million dollar home his school friend had only bought to visit Sydney and see Sasha dance twice in the last two years.
…
It was the day before they departed back to New York, when Alex, took flowers to say adieu to the Artistic Director. He felt OK to be truthful and would have welcomed a return to work, but that decision had been taken from him.
He was meeting her at the Opera House, not the rehearsal room. Nina gripped his hand as they walked up the steps of the iconic building on Sydney Harbour. Luci reduced to carrying the bouquet of fifteen dark pink roses as well as her daughter's back pack. In the foyer, Martika waited for her guests. To say goodbye to her dazzling principal, hating the fact he would dance for her no longer and with the strong possibility he would never dance on stage again.
Nina went back to her mother, suddenly shy in this strange place and with a handful of unknown adults to meet and greet. Alex saw the line of staff for his farewell and his emotions overwhelmed him, bitter at this cruel dismissal, his hard work reduced to nothing. He stroked his left wrist and the words nothing is forever. Once again he was weak and sobbing. He croaked "I'm abysmal at goodbyes." He looked at the familiar ceiling and with three sharp breaths quelled the storm of hurt, "I have loved working and creating here. My heart is breaking because I do not want to go. I'm sorry. Once again I have destroyed my future, a future I work so hard to attain. You have every right to hate me, because that is the one constant in my life. I hate myself, my stupidity, my weakness, my lack of control. I did so want to belong." He then murmured to himself "Nothing once more, everything reduced to ash and dirt."
Luci stepped forward, but it was Nina who hugged the man who was neither brother nor uncle but who was more than a friend to her mommy and daddy. "It's OK Sasha. We can both hold mommy's hands when we go back to pack. Remember, its pizza for dinner tonight, then ice cream. No horrible salad or yucky onions on the pizza. Just sausage and spicy meat." The little girl pulling him back into the present and small goals, the only ones achievable, when all the big ones have been erased.
A photo was taken of Sasha with Martika, in farewell. The woman holding the flowers which begged for forgiveness and sorrow at their abrupt parting. The print would later be framed for her office. Her dream male lead, so sad, so forlorn and so broken. The Spanish woman knew a thousand curses but none did justice to the man who had broken beautiful Sasha, she cursed Darius Clavell to eternal torment; but it was others who was responsible for breaking the dancer's mind. Her curses were on the damned souls of Ian Rider, Julius Grief and Alexei Sarov.