Page 81 of The Breath Before Forever

“I don’t think we share the same—”

“Pain is pain. There was a time you wouldn’t get out of bed before a glass of vodka to wash down your Vicodin. I understand that better now.”

A lump in Vaslav’s throat kept him from warning Igor of playing that dangerous game but only because who was he to judge or give advice?

“You learn to manage it,” Vaslav settled on saying while the wind picked up on the roof and carried away anything else he might want to say. Nothing about living, with or without constant pain, was particularly easy. Then, Vaslav nodded at the item he’d noticed despite the shadows. “Well, someone left you a chair up here to sit in and shake it off, anyway.”

Igor soon found the chair in question, folded and propped against the building’s air flow system. Caked with a layer of city dust, Igor didn’t even bother to brush it off before he made himself a seat on the black cushion. His expression showed the relief he found when he wasn’t standing and his back had something to rest against.

“Are you going to be able to hold the gun?” Vaslav asked as he dropped the gun case from his shoulder, and kneeled to the dirty roof to begin his work.

Igor scoffed. “Don’t be offensive.”

“It was an honest question, comrade.”

“Yeah, well,” his friend replied grumpily, “don’t.”

Igor even scowled.

Vaslav chuckled, reminded of himself as he glanced up at an irritated Igor that barely even wanted to have a conversation anymore. That feeling was all too familiar for Vaslav, and the depression that could sometimes come with it took a strong will and mind to shake off.

And time.

Everything took time. From growing to dying.

Igor continued his contemplative silence while Vaslav constructed the long barrel rifle that had been a birthday gift not too long ago. He hadn’t properly played with the weapon since the day Igor gave it to him, but putting together the pieces and snapping the scope into place was still a familiar puzzle he could have done with his eyes closed.

Guns were the only thing in Vaslav’s life that he was convinced he would never be able to forget. No matter what his brain did to prove him differently. He clung to the way his muscles seemed to remember every weapon he’d ever touched. From butt to barrel, every groove and dip was a picture he could paint in his mind.

With the clip loaded and ready, Vaslav handed the rifle toward his friend but Igor didn’t reach back. Too busy peering through a pair of mini binoculars to notice Vaslav and the gun ready for him, Igor sighed at whatever he found in the skyscraper in the new business development sector of the city that was five years in on a ten year plan for expansion. The partially developed block, however, rented office space like a revolving set of doors.

Anyone with a checkbook willing to sign a lease had access to the poorly secure building with only a handful of guards—all of who were willing to be bribed for an evening.

“At least tell me what you see, suka,” Vaslav insulted.

Just to get Igor’s attention.

It worked.

“Fuck you,” he replied in kind, swiping one hand in Vaslav’s general direction while never taking the binoculars away from his face.

“You know I hate when things have to be messy.”

“What’s messy?” Vaslav asked back.

“Nothing.” Igor dropped the binoculars and met Vaslav’s gaze before he deadpanned, “Yet.”

“Da, well, these things happen.”

“They don’t have to, actually.”

Oh, no.

Vaslav disagreed, and he’d even take the time to make sure Igor understood why, too. “What did you see?”

Grinding his jaws until he’d worked through his thoughts or pain—either were possible—Igor snatched the rifle from Vaslav’s outstretched hands without a word. He exchanged the gun for the binoculars, and instead of depending on Igor’s description of the scene in a rented office space in the building across the way, Vaslav had his own perspective.

Of course, they’d picked the perfect time.