+Welcome to Hell+AmericaRussia

Welcome to Hell.
That sentence is what is reverberating in my head, watching my brother Matthew study his life away, and my boyfriend Arthur scolding people for whispering.
Hell is what finals week – and the week before – is like for me.
I’m watching the rain fall down and hit the large windows of the library.  I’m waiting.  Waiting for Arthur.  Waiting for Matthew.  Waiting for this goddamn hell I’m living in to stop.
“Alfred?”
The voice startles me.  I haven’t heard it in a very, very long time.  The accent is heavy, but every word is clear.  He is questioning what I’m doing here.  He is questioning if I’m real.
I’m assaulted with the image of the large Russian crying, and the smell of burning.  I shake the long-buried memories back into their slumber.  That was a different life.  I’m going to school.  I’m taking care of Matthew.  I have a new boyfriend.
But I can’t just ignore him.
“Hey, Ivan.”
He sits next to me, the large amount of books set carefully on the table.  His now-free hands are quick to grab my chin and force me to look up at him.  The other hand slowly – almost reverently – comes up to touch my eyes gently.  I close them as the large fingers brush over them.
“They’re still as blue as a clear sky.”
I understand.  The words of the past echo in my mind.
I love you, Alfred.
I know.
Do you know what I love the most?
No.
Your beautiful, blue eyes.  They spark with emotion.
His eyes are still the unique color of purple that I could never quite describe.  There are bags under them now.  He is obviously tired.  Did I do that?  Even his eyes seem a shade darker than their usual color, now that I think about it.
Color.
Arthur would chastise me and tell me that it’s spelled ‘colour’.
He’s in freaking school in the US.  It’s ‘color’.  Fucking Brits.
Thoughts of Arthur bring me back from the many images, smells, emotions that are of the past.
Arthur is my boyfriend.
Here and Now.
But here is Ivan, like a ghost.
And his presence is haunting me.
His hands have left my eyes and now are tracing lightly over my lips.  I do not move out of… habit, maybe?  Or is it something else?
“Alfred?”
I do not move even though I recognize Arthur’s voice.
Would Ivan kill me if I did?
“Alfred?  Ivan?”
Now Matthew is here.  He stands there for a moment, stunned, but then he rushes to my side, tugging on my arm, breaking my carefully placed emotions.
I can feel myself crying as Matthew pulls me from my seat, telling Ivan a hurried ‘goodbye, we’ve got to go, sorry’.  Arthur is giving me his worried expression, and I know that I’m crying harder now, the white-hot tears falling onto my face.
I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder to get one last look at Ivan as the two most important people in my here and now tear me away from the most important person from my past.
---------
Arthur is asking me about Ivan while Matthew drives us home in the rain.
I can’t respond.
Every bit of me is going through my past, refusing to let go of those sweet, horrible memories.
Matthew responds for me, short and to-the-point.  He adds nothing to explain further.  He’s upset with me.
“Ivan is Alfred’s old boyfriend.”
Arthur twists in the front seat to look at me, but I can’t meet his gaze.  I know what it’s asking.
Do you still love him?
Of course not.
You’re lying.  You never look at me when you lie.
I’m sorry.
The conversation is silent, but we both understand.  Even Matthew can feel the almost-physic words between us.  His grip tightens on the wheel, but he says nothing.
The car is in silence the rest of the way home.
As soon as we arrive, I vanish into my room and lock the door.
I can hear Arthur drilling Matthew for more information.  They’re both upset.  Matthew is mad at me and Arthur feels like I betrayed him.
But it’s over.  Ivan is the past.  The past.  I know not to bring it back.
But here it is, flooding back.
The reflection of the moon in the dark red pools of blood that puddle at our feet.
The flashing lights and loud sirens.
The after-adrenaline rush that came after the crash.  It had nothing to do with the adrenaline, and everything to do with a perfect escape.
And those kisses.  Fleeting and wonderful and made you crave just one more.
I’m sure that I’m crying now.  I miss him, but I can’t go back.  I can’t go back to what I was before.
Francis has come over.  He’s one of Matthew’s good friends, but I don’t understand why.  Matthew probably called him.  Matthew is pissed.
Arthur is too, and crying.  Francis is comforting him while Matthew goes off into the night somewhere, most like to get dinner.
I want to run out there and tell Francis to get his hands the fuck off of my boyfriend, but it’s my fault that he’s crying anyway.  It’s my fault that I can’t, no, won’t leave the past.  It’s my fault that Matthew’s pissed and Arthur’s sad.  And I won’t do anything about it, because I’m still stuck far, far away.
Francis has sex with Arthur in Arthur’s room, next to mine. I can hear it.  I hear Arthur call Francis’ name and not mine and it hurts, good fucking lord above, it hurts.
So I run, just like before.  I run and run and don’t look where I’m going and end up in the one place all of this started.
I don’t know what possesses me to do so, but I knock.
It’s Toris who answers.  That stings slightly too, but I’m not all that surprised.  I’m the one who left.  And it’s just a drop of pain.  It’s nothing compared to the sea I’m drowning in.
I see what looks like anger flash in Toris’ eyes.  I know why.
Why did you come back?  You got out. Why why why?
I do not answer his questions, just ask one of my own.
“Is Ivan here?”
A brisk nod.  Toris moves aside to let me in.  Raivis is crying into Eduard’s arms down the dirty hallway I’m familiar with.  Did it happen again?  I do not ask.
Wang Yao is conversing Im So Yong further down.  Is another person dead because of them?  Where is Kiku?  I remain silent.
I stop at the door and knock twice, clear and crisp.
“Come in.”
Can the others hear the way Ivan’s voice tilts just so?  He’s depressed.  Very.
I open the door quietly.
His eyes are dark, and puffy.  He looks surprised to see me.
I move and sit next to him, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear.
Did you miss me?
Yes.  I missed you so much.  I’m dying from the pain of you going.
I won’t leave tonight.
What about tomorrow?
That is not important now.
And it isn’t.  His lips touch mine, hesitantly.  It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve felt the spark from kissing.  Arthur never gave it to me.  I assume that is normal that way.
But this is so much better.
He’s hovering over me, suddenly, kissing my cheeks, my nose, my eyes.
A cell phone rings, and a small part of my brain recognizes the tune as the one I have for Arthur’s phone.
It is left unanswered.
---------
The next morning Ivan and I are awoken to the sound of my cell phone again.  This time it is Matthew’s ring.
I pick it up, a sleepy ‘hello?’ slipping from my lips.
“Where are you?” he demands.
“Somewhere,” I vaguely answer, more preoccupied with the hand playing with my hair than with this conversation.
“You’re at his house, aren’t you?”
I pause.  It’s deadly pause that gives me away.
“No.”
“You’re lying.” There’s the disappointed tone from him.  I haven’t heard it in so long.  I instantly feel resentful.  Who is he to judge me?  He hasn’t gone through the same things I have.
“Does it really matter?”
He grows angry now.
“Yes, it does!  You have a boyfriend-”
“Who fucked Francis is the room next to mine!”
“Only because you left him alone!  He thinks that you don’t care about him, but I know you do!  A-and you can’t go back Alfred, you can’t!  Think about everything you’ve done!  You’re going to college!  You’re going to graduate soon!”  Matthew’s crying now, and I feel bad.  I really do love my brother, and Arthur.  But Ivan…
He’s hugging me, and whispering in a mixture of Russian and English into my hair.  I can feel the tears.
“Are you going to leave me on my own again?  Пожалуйста, только не это. I love you.  Я. Не покидай меня, пожалуйста! Она болит.”
“I’ll be home soon.  I love you.  Tell Arthur I love him too.”
“I’m not going to tell him, Alfred.  You do it.  Because he sure as hell won’t just believe me.”
“I’ll be home soon,” I repeat, and Matthew is the one who hangs up.
Ivan is hugging me tighter.
“Don’t leave,” he whimpers, and holds tighter.  And I know that I can’t again.