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Grigor Kurochkin is dead. And while that means Alek and I can finally be together, it won’t matter if he doesn’t survive.
Fuck you, universe.
I’m weary. My eyelids are heavy, and I don’t resist it, letting my eyes stay shut.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep is Alek’s final kiss, which plays in my head like a movie reel on repeat.
“Willow, honey. Wake up.”
A gentle nudge presses on my arm, and I open my eyes to find Dad standing above me. Outside the window, the sky has descended into dusk.
“Alek is about to give a press conference.”
I shoot upright on the sofa, trying to disentangle myself from a blanket someone covered me with. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s going to start any minute now.”
He takes a seat beside me on the sofa as Galina sits in a reading chair opposite us. I stare at the screen, which is transmitting a feed of a wooden table with microphones. A pair of Andarusian flags sit against a beige curtain backdrop, but the chair in the middle is empty.
“Where is this broadcasting from?” I ask.
Dad shakes his head. “Not sure.”
“Really? Or are you just saying that because it’s ‘classified?’” I use my fingers to make air quotes, emphasizing my sarcasm.
“I honestly don’t know.” He remains calm, which only angers me more for some reason.
I scoot to the edge of the sofa and hold my breath, waiting to see his face. My teeth chew on my lip as my legs bounce with nervous energy.
A movement on the left of the screen makes my stomach jittery. Then a figure appears, but only from the neck down with his head off-screen.
I can’t breathe.
When the figure sits, a ragged sob is wrenched from my gut as all the air leaves my lungs.
Alek is alive.
He’s pale and gaunt. But his icy blue eyes are alert, piercing the screen as though he’s staring right at me and no one else. His hair is slicked back, which makes him look older than usual.
I’m only used to seeing him in a well-fitted suit, but this one he’s wearing looks borrowed and hangs off his body. At least there’s no trace of blood on him.
He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s in Russian. At the bottom of the screen are German subtitles, but I can’t read them.
“What’s he saying?” I ask.
To my surprise, it’s not Galina who answers, but my dad, and his clear, tenor voice carries over Alek’s.
“Good evening, my fellow Andarusians. I speak to you not as my father’s son but as one of you. Our homeland is undergoing a radical revolution, but tonight, I beg for us to come together as one and seek a peaceful resolution to the violence gripping our nation.
“In the spirit of peace, I have sat down with members of the Labor Party to discuss a path forward. I support their progressive vision for our nation, one without such a great divide between us. A vision of prosperity for all, not the select few deemed worthy by outside influence.
“But in order to achieve this future, we must cease this violence immediately. Andarusia was born out of violence at the end of the USSR. It is in the fabric of our nation’s DNA to fight for freedom and equality. But at what point do we decide to show mercy to the ‘other?’ When will we stop punishing the ‘other’ because of their ancestry or socioeconomic status?
“We are stuck in a cycle of hate between Germans vs. Russians, but when will we recognize ourselves as Andarusians? We are in the twenty-first century now, and it’s time for our nation to modernize with it. But that starts with our way of thinking.
“So, lay down your weapons. Instead of violence, I am calling upon the government to hold a special election to elect a new president for our country. These elections should be held on September 15th, in three months’ time. This will give the government time to appoint a special committee with representatives from all political parties. The purpose of this special committee will be to fight corruption and keep foreign interests out of this election.
“In light of my father’s death, his second-in-command has assumed office. I ask Mr. Baranov to comply with this plan, and recognize himself only as a temporary steward of this nation.
