"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 6: Composure

I closed my eyes the moment we sat in the jet across from one another. Regret slumped my shoulders against the seat while tense nerves squeezed my chest, pushing my heart into my throat. Frustration still frothed at the mouth, but my tight leash around its muzzle kept it at bay.

All I wanted to do was marinate in my distaste towards this current situation. I craved the roast I'd left for Alina, the savory medley of meat, carrots, and potatoes calling to me from miles away. My elderly neighbor would see to it that the food wouldn't spoil and my pants not whither, but the responsibility should not be hers.

"Still nervous about flying?" His voice came out as a calm grumble as to not take me by surprise, it seemed.

I cracked one eye open to look at him. "Was that in the journal, too?"

His face expressed one word: guilty.

"What's in the letter, Price?" My tone was soft, unlike the anger that seethed just beneath the surface.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. It's for you, and I actually didn't peek as much as I wanted."

From how his expression changed from sympathy to teasing, I knew deception didn't twist his words to make me believe that my two eyes would be the only ones, aside from Simon's, to read the letter weighing so heavily in my pocket. It was so heavy that I didn't think that the plane would take off at all.

But it did.

And we launched our six-hour trip back to base.

Conversation stayed light, away from overweight, dialogue, as it involved mostly him asking me questions about my time in Russia. Did it remind me of the Rocky Mountains? Were my neighbors nice? Favorite meal that I didn't think I would enjoy there?

So and so forth, I answered him with short acknowledgments in return.

Yes, that's why I chose it. Also, yes. Borscht - I never liked beets.

I assumed he figured my mind roamed elsewhere when the friendly interrogation ceased when he left the two of us in comfortable silence. Too tired anyway to give more than what I already had, the respite from socializing gave me the necessary headspace to truly consider what I'd gotten myself into.

The blood that had once stained my hands, saturating them, would surely become dirty again. No amount of water and soap cleansed one's skin that cleanly - only time. Even then, though, I still felt dirty when allowing my past to follow me into nostalgic tendencies.

To not die with a soiled conscience was... wishful thinking.

Without a word, Price stood up and took a few steps behind me to either relieve himself or stretch tight muscles. I didn't care what he did, I was just glad to be left alone for a few moments.

Curiosity consumed me, eating away the best of me, and I pulled the folded piece of parchment from its sanctuary.

This was about to be a mistake or an opportunity for some much-needed healing. I considered the fact very briefly that I wasn't ready to commit to reading whatever was scribbled in this letter, but impatience won me over.

My lungs took an encouraging breath of recycled air for my trembling hands to disclose what had been hiding since last year.

"hey Hello, love. I'm writ"

I thought to myself as my eyes prickled with unshed tears, 'Fuck, I can't do this.'