Asher ✓

47 | despair

MARCH 15, 2016 / DELROV HOUSEHOLD

Asher looked towards the door when he heard a timid knock.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," Asher pushed himself up into a sitting position as Vasily took a seat at the foot of the bed.

He hadn't meant to stay in bed so long, but as of late he'd become painfully aware that he couldn't do anything anymore. He couldn't work, which, Vanessa assured him, was alright as they had hired a new employee anyway. He couldn't run, he couldn't ride his bike.

Asher didn't do.

Instead, he became an object to which things were done. He was a scandal, a reckless anti-role model that no-one in motocross should aspire to be like, a crash dummy, a spectacle whenever he went out in public and small children pointed at him.

It didn't seem like he had any say in what became of him anymore. He was just a passive buoy, floating on the turbulent waves of life as they pummelled him whichever way they pleased.

"I assume you and Ryanel had a fight?"

Asher sighed. His eagle-eyed father had noticed the very moment he came home from his most recent physiotherapy appointment that he was in a foul mood. But it wasn't until the days dragged on, with no visits from Ryanel, that the gnawing absence in Asher's life became clear.

"It's perfectly normal to fall out," Vasily continued, seeing no impending reply. "This is a stressful time for us all."

"What is it you want to tell me, Dad? I've heard enough sagacious life advice from you, my physio, my friends. Just say what you came to say."

Asher cringed internally at the acidic edge to his voice. It was becoming harder to keep such resentment at bay lately. Whatever he did usually carried an undertone of despair, like these ugly feelings were becoming a part of his identity.

If Vasily was hurt by it, he didn't show it. "You are quite like your mother."

His eyes glazed over momentarily, like he was suddenly transported back to Russia, back to brighter days with his wife.

"She overthought and obsessed a lot. Over big things, little things. Your future was often one of them. What if he is injured? What if he never supports himself? What if he isn't happy? She always had another question to ask, another answer to frantically search for."

Asher furrowed his eyebrows. He liked to hear about Ekaterina, which was not always the case when he was younger and the wounds were still raw. Now, tales about his mother brought a bittersweet smile to his face.

But he didn't see how this related to the situation between him and Ryanel.

"And most of the time, she wouldn't tell me about these worries or concerns. She'd give a vague explanation, but never unload the real depth of her pain onto me. I don't know if doing so would have relieved her of anything, maybe keeping things to herself was best for her," Vasily shrugged, "But for you, Asher. I can see you are hurting. And there is a way to diminish the pain."

"Really? I'm supposed to magically feel better after saying how shit I feel?"

"You might."

"And if I feel better, what's the point? Nothing will be solved. The bad things that are lined up to happen to me will happen anyway. The bad things I have to deal with now, will still be waiting," Asher could feel his calm demeanour unravelling, thread by thread as his voice rose in pitch.

"Whatever evil things that lie between my birth and my death will happen regardless of who I talk to. Don't you get that?"

"I don't believe that, Asher. Your path is not fixed. It is ever-changing, depending on what you make of it."

"That's fucking bullshit. What have I tried to make of my path? I've been trying to make it not so debilitating my whole life, and my path still crossed that of a drunk driver. Did I mean for that to happen? Did I mean to be born so weak?" 

In frustration, Asher wrenched his pillow from behind him and threw it as hard as he could at the bookshelf.

"Why was I born?"

Despite the hot tears falling from his eyes, Asher could only register the aching, cold emptiness that tore at his heart. It felt like bits of him were being torn in to a black hole. The ripping and shattering of his heart was agonising, but he feared the unshakeable numbness that lingered afterwards more.

"I can't be a punching bag for the world anymore. I can't. I look at my painkillers and the knives in the kitchen . . ."

Inhaling a shaky breath, he forced himself to admit it. He needed to hear it out loud to solidify the fleeting thoughts he'd been having. It would make his demons visible. Audible. Vanquishable.

"I get scared of what I might do," his voice was barely a whisper. "Things I don't want to do. It's like something else is driving me. I just want an escape. And I look for it where I shouldn't."

Vasily nodded soberly, shuffling along the bed to pull Asher into a hug. He was warned of the effects of amputation on his son's mental health, but never had he considered Asher falling into a pit as deep as he had.

"I need you to keep me safe. You'll do that, right? Dad?" Asher clung tighter to his father. "You promise you'll keep me safe?"

Vasily's heart clenched in his chest. He was sucked back to Asher's childhood, when he'd come running with bandages and forbid him from field trips all in the name of keeping his son safe. And he'd hated every second of his worried doting.

Now, when his son finally wanted protection, Vasily couldn't offer it. Because the dangers Asher faced were no longer merely physical. And his father wasn't the superhero Asher had once believed him to be.

"I promise," he said soothingly.

Asher sniffled, saying more to himself than anyone else, "Why has this happened to me?"

It sounded like he was genuinely puzzled, ready to apply equations and formula to find the answer.

Vasily stroked Asher's hair, feeling the dampness of his tears and nose on his shoulder. "Because there are statistics and genetic lotteries and just so many dangerous acts of chance. Someone is the one in a million who has to shoulder these misfortunes. So if it had to happen, I am glad it was to a strong, intelligent, resilient boy like you. I think you'll be just fine."

Asher only released a choked sob.

"And you are not a punching bag," Vasily added. "You always pushed the limits applied to you. A passive person doesn't do that. They don't fight tooth and nail to prove people wrong. To break records. To achieve their wildest dreams."

Vasily chuckled wryly. "I probably don't tell you this enough, but I am so proud of you. I have been ever since the day we brought you home from the hospital. You fucked shit up for anyone who told you you couldn't do something."

"That's the first time you've sworn like that," Asher laughed, his congested sinuses distorting his clear voice into a murky croak.

"Did I get the turn of phrase right?"

Asher lifted his head from Vasily's shoulder, smiling tiredly. 

"You did."