Ch 5: THE PAST

EASTON

October 2009—Crestview City

Ilya was still a bit grumpy with me, but not as bad as before. He now spoke to me, and occasionally referred to me as his brother in front of the others.

However, if I called him brother when we were alone, he would scold me severely. I wasn't sure why he did this, but it didn't bother me. I was more than happy with the little attention he gave me.

Today, I was down with a fever, so Mom told me to stay home after the family doctor finished treating me. Mom was worried that my condition might worsen if I went to school.

I didn't want to stay home, though, because I didn't want to be alone. Belinda, our housekeeper, was on leave, and the house was going to be boring with just me at home.

"Please don't go," I pleaded, holding tightly onto Ilya's hand to prevent him from leaving my room.

"I have to go to school. You're the one who's sick, not me," he sneered, glaring down at me.

"You're heartless, brother," I pouted, threading our fingers together. "How can you even think of leaving your brother alone? You should stay with me. Please?"

Ilya groaned, his expression annoyed. "I told you not to call me that," he said, carefully removing his hand from mine. He turned to leave, walking towards the door. As he did, I sat up in bed and removed the damp cloth from my forehead.

"Why do you hate me?" I asked, making him stop dead in his tracks. "I don't understand it. I've been trying to get your attention, to be your brother and your best friend, but you're not giving me a chance. Why? Do you hate me too? Do you also think I'm ugly, just like Ash and Henry said?"

Ilya's expression softened, and he snapped, "Shut up, East. You're not ugly."

He walked back towards me, dropping his backpack on the floor, and took a seat on the edge of my bed.

I couldn't help but smile inwardly; I was finally getting under his skin, and I liked it. Ilya hated it when I called myself ugly.

"I know," I grinned, crossing my legs on the bed, my sleepiness forgotten. "But why don't you want to be my friend?"

Ilya sighed, threading his fingers through his messy hair that mom forgot to help him pack this morning.

"What's the point?" he asked, his voice laced with frustration. "I'm going to leave soon, anyway." He shrugged his shoulders, his expression resigned.

Leave?

My face fell as I remembered that Ilya's stay wasn't permanent. I had been so focused on winning him over that I had forgotten that our time together was limited.

In just a few weeks, I would have to say goodbye to him.

"Can't you just stay here with me?" I asked, fighting back my tears. "If you want, I can ask Mom and Dad to let you stay. They can adopt you, and we'll be real brothers. We'll go to school together, and read my comics during lunch."

Ilya was the second person I had ever considered a friend, after Maria. The thought of losing him was unbearable. I didn't want him to leave me, and I couldn't imagine accepting another stray like I had accepted Ilya Lermontov.

"It's not possible," Ilya said, his piercing golden eyes staring me down. His gaze felt like it was burning into my soul.

"Why do you say that?" I whispered, sniffing back tears. "Don't you want to stay here with me?"

Ilya's gaze held mine for what felt like an eternity, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

But it was the flicker of something else in his eyes, something hidden and unspoken, that made my curiosity pique. There was a secret Ilya kept, a truth he refused to share with me.

I could see it in the depths of his eyes, a hint of mystery that left me wanting more.

Finally, Ilya broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "This morning, I overheard your dad talking to someone on the phone," he said, his eyes drifting away from mine as he let out a soft breath. "They've found a family for me. I'll be leaving soon."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a harsh reality that I couldn't bear to face.

A new family? Ilya Lermontov, the boy who had somehow woven his way into my heart, would soon be gone. He would have a new family, a new brother who wasn't me.

The thought was like a knife to my soul, twisting and turning until I couldn't breathe.

"But I don't want you to go," I cried out, my voice cracking with emotion.

I palmed my face, tears streaming down my cheeks as I sobbed uncontrollably.

I didn't know why I was crying, what exactly I was crying for. Shouldn't I be happy that this stray, this foster child, would finally be leaving? That I would finally have my parents back to myself?

But the truth was, I liked Ilya. I liked him in a way that I couldn't explain, a way that made no sense. There was something about him that drew me in, something that made me feel seen and heard in a way that no one else ever had.

As I cried, I felt a pain in my chest, a hollow ache that seemed to grow with every passing moment. It was as if I was mourning the loss of something precious, something I hadn't even realized I had. Something that was still here with me.

"I don't want to leave you too," Ilya said, his voice soft and gentle.

But I was already out of bed, making a beeline for the door with tears streaming down my face. I couldn't bear to look at him, to see the truth in his eyes.

I couldn't bear to face the reality of his leaving.

"Where are you going?" Ilya called after me, trailing quietly behind.

"Outside," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

I didn't dare look back at him, fearing he'd see the tears streaming down my face. I didn't want to answer his questions, to explain why I was crying.

"But you're still sick," Ilya argued, his footsteps closing in on me.

I quickened my pace, taking the stairs two at a time, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the house.

"Don't care," I muttered, my voice barely audible.

"Hey!" Ilya yelled, grabbing my hand before I could open the door. He forced me to stare at him, his eyes locked on mine. "You should at least put on your shoes."

I looked down at my bare feet, biting my lip to stifle a sob. "If I put on my shoes," I began, slowly raising my head to meet Ilya's gaze, "will it stop you from leaving?"

Ilya's expression was blunt, his words cutting deep. "No."

I nodded, feeling a pang in my chest.

I forced my wrist out of his grip and opened the door, stepping outside into the cool breeze. I walked over to the fake grass and sat down, cradling my knees in my arms.

Ilya sat down beside me, the wind gently sweeping his hair around his face. He nudged me gently. "If... if they don't make me change schools, I'll still see you at school, alright?"

I grumbled, pressing my cheek against my knee. "It won't be enough."

Ilya's eyes widened in surprise. "Why not? Nothing will changed."

"A lot will change." I argued. "You won't be here. I love going to school with you, you know? I like playing video games with you every weekend. And your late night skate... I loved watching you skate at night when everyone was asleep."

"You know?" he asked, his voice full of wonder.

I grumbled, nodding my head. "Hmm."

Did he seriously think I wouldn't know he snuck out of his room at night to skate? Did he think I wasn't awake, watching him glide across the empty street until it was time to get ready for school?

"I have no idea," Ilya chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. It was a beautiful, husky sound that made me want to hear it again and again.

"I still don't understand, though," I said, sitting up straight and looking at him with curiosity. "Why do you only skate when everyone else is asleep?"

Ilya's expression turned serious, and he muttered, "Because I'm afraid."

Afraid? Why would he be afraid? I took his hand in mine, making him look at me.

"What are you afraid of?" I asked in a gentle voice, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ilya hesitated, wondering if he should confide in me. But before he could answer, a car horn blared, making him quickly retrieve his hand from mine.

I wanted to grab it back, to hold onto him, but he shook his head.

I opened my mouth to ask him why he was acting strange, but my mom's voice cut me off.

"Easton, honey," she said, grinning as she stepped out of her car.

Ilya mouthed, "I'll tell you next time," and I nodded.

"Okay," I said, feeling a pang in my chest as he stood up and walked away, leaving me alone to welcome mom.

"Mom," I said, standing up and waving at her. But my smile faltered when I caught the hard glare she sent Ilya's way.

Why was she looking at him like that? Had Ilya done something wrong?