Obsession Series: The Unlikely Saint

Prologue: Abandoned

Nikolai's Point of View:

The word abandon clawed at the inside of my skull, a phantom limb twitching with the raw memory of its utterance. The reek of stale cigarettes and cheap vodka clung to the air, a suffocating shroud. The harsh, grey light of the Belgorod Oblast dawn painted the landscape in bleak, unforgiving strokes. Ivan and Dimitri, brothers in arms since childhood, filled the car with their voices – a frantic, multilingual storm brewing across the miles from Moscow. "Nikolai, blyat, where the hell are you?" Ivan's voice, usually a calm counterpoint to Dimitri's fire, was ragged with panic. "We're under attack!" The words hit me like a physical blow, a gut-wrenching punch that stole the breath from my lungs. My stomach clenched, a cold dread tightening with each ragged gasp. I should be there. I have to be there. The thought was a cold fist around my heart. They needed me, and the crushing weight of my guilt threatened to suffocate me.

But my grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles bone-white against the cold steel, a stark contrast to the burning anxiety that pulsed beneath my skin. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. But what about her? The counter-argument, a desperate whisper, was instantly, fiercely powerful. This wasn't duty; it was primal, a desperate need to protect the vulnerable. It felt like choosing between two drowning men, knowing I could only save one. The landscape blurred through my tear-filled eyes and a desolate expanse of grey sky and barren fields mirroring the turmoil within. "I'm... I'm in Belgorod Oblast," I stammered, the lie a bitter taste of betrayal. "I'm turning back. I need to… I need to handle something." Even to me, the excuse sounded pathetic, a flimsy shield against the crushing weight of my guilt.

Dimitri's voice cut through Ivan's, a furious torrent of curses. "Handle something? Merde, Ivan is bleeding out, Nikolai! ¡Maldito sea! You're supposed to be our backup! CHërt vozʹmy! Yakyy ty durenʹ! What the hell is wrong with you?!" His words were a torrent of fire, burning away the last vestiges of my self-deception. My vision swam, the world tilting on its axis. He's right. I am a terrible friend. The thought clawed at me, a desperate plea for a reason to outweigh the irrational pull in my chest. But the image of her face, pale and vulnerable, flashed before my eyes, vivid and sharp, overriding everything else. I can't leave her to whatever danger awaits her.

"I know, I know," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "Ya ozumiyu, ale… But there's a… a girl. I have to get her." The words felt hollow, a flimsy justification for a monumental betrayal. It felt like choosing between loyalty and love, and I was failing miserably at both. A wave of nausea rolled over me, the taste of bile rising in my throat.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic thump of the engine, a relentless drumbeat against the backdrop of my guilt. Then, Ivan's voice, weaker now, laced with disbelief. "A girl? You're abandoning us for a girl, Nikolai?" The words were a judgment, a condemnation echoing the turmoil within me. I am. I'm choosing her over them. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. This wasn't just a mission; it was a test of my character, and I was failing spectacularly.

Dimitri's voice exploded again, a volcanic eruption of rage. "Sacré bleu! Danger? ¡Qué diablos! We're in mortal danger, you imbecile! Ydyot! Ty bozhevilʹnyy! Ivan is dying, and you're off chasing skirts? You're delusional! You can have a harem of whores, Nikolai! A whole damn palace full! Just get your ass here and help us!" His words were brutal, a mirror reflecting the monstrous selfishness of my actions. My hands trembled, the steering wheel suddenly slick with sweat. He's right. I am being selfish. The thought was a sharp, piercing pain, but it was overshadowed by a deeper, more primal fear: the fear of losing someone I hadn't even known for long.

"I… I can't," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. "I can't leave her." The words were a confession, a surrender to the irrationality that consumed me. A desperate plea for understanding, even though I knew I didn't deserve it.

"Then allez-vous faire foutre, Nikolai," Dimitri spat, his voice thick with venom. "Vete al infierno! Forget this woman, forget everything. Idi k chortu! Znikni! We'll kill you ourselves when we get our hands on you. Consider yourself abandoned." The line went dead. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the frantic pounding of my own heart.

I was alone, utterly and irrevocably alone. I had abandoned my friends, my family, my entire world… all for a girl who didn't even know I existed. And yet, a chilling certainty settled in my gut: I had made my choice. And I would live with the consequences.