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PROLOGUE

Sergei

Age Twenty

Two pills.

Two. White. Pills.

They’re not the harbingers of death, quite the opposite.

They are the messengers of reunion.

My only hope of survival. Because breathing is hard. Breathing without her is fucking hard, impossible even.

That’s why the pills. They make it easier, not the breathing, never that, but…sleeping.

Because dreams are the only place where I can see her. In those dreams, she’s still mine.

The pounding in my head grows, or perhaps it’s the pounding on the door that makes my skull throb harder. On nights like these, it’s hard to tell.

Or is it day already?

My psychiatrist has come to a conclusion that I’m insane. Though, I’m sure she used words like, emotionally disturbed or experiencing psychosis, when she truly meant; this motherfucker is a maniac. And borderline self-destructive.

She thinks I’m conjuring up a scenario where this girl leaves me because abandonment is the only thing I know.

She says the girl doesn’t have a name, and the absence of a name is an evidence that she isn’t real.

She’s wrong.

Yes, I don’t know her name but what about her face? What about the fact that I remember every minuscule detail of her tiny, heart-shaped face? The prettiest shade of green eyes. Locks so blonde they look like thick strands of spun gold.

What about her voice? What about the sound she makes when she laughs?

If she’s only a figment of my imagination, then what about her touch?

What about the way her fingers curl around mine? What about the warmth of her skin? Her scent?

What about the dead look in her eyes? My psychiatrist is wrong.

Because I know her. She’s hope. She’s life.

And until I can find her, these fucking pills have to suffice.

The pounding on the door grows heavier as Roman’s yelling registers in my brain.

“Open the door, Sergei.” He’s banging on the wooden frame relentlessly. “Open it.” His loud roar muffled by the wooden barrier between us.

Fuck him.

He was the one who begged me to see the fucking shrink. He was the one who told me my solnyshko doesn’t exist. Fuck. Him.

“Open the damn door before I break it.” He warns but I ignore it, popping the little white pills that’s become my lifeline.

My head hangs between my shoulders as I wait for sleep to claim me. If I don’t take the pills, I can’t sleep. And when I do sleep eventually, I always jolt awake from nightmares.

Sweat clings to my skin when I wake, as if I’ve been dragged beneath the surface again. As if it’s the same water we drowned in.