Letters

[BlueFaerie]

AN: This is my first attempt at writing my own story, so please, be gentle! Please let me know what you think--I'd love some ideas on how to make this better! And be warned; this first letter is a wee bit on smutty side. Forgive me, please! It becomes much more tame after the first part!

Part One, Chapter One:

Dearest Jack,

I was thinking about days gone by. Years gone by. Things that used to be.

I’ve been trying to think of a reason, besides my enduring love for you, as to why I can’t escape you, and my memories of you. I know you don’t completely believe me when I tell you how much I love you. As a change, I’m going to tell you a more simple reason; I can't forget about you because you were the first one to pay attention to my needs and desires. You were the first who cared about me and pleasing me just as much, if not more, than your own pleasure. God, you were always so amazing.

I remember it so well, the first time, that is. We came back from that Mexican restaurant, and from wandering around the city, and we were laying on top of the bed in my apartment. I was curled up on my side, laying next to you, my head on your chest, my hand trying to feel your heartbeat, and my eyes closed, trying to sleep. You were listening to the news on the television, and you were stroking my hair and my face. Then you rolled me over and started kissing me. I didn't put up any fight, and joined in the battle for control. Then surprisingly, you stopped and started moving down. Your hands found their way to my pants, and tried to open up my fly. For whatever reason, you had trouble, so I did it for you. And you pulled down my panties, and just looked at me with your wonderfully deep brown eyes, begging me to give you permission to continue. My eyes told you what I wanted. No longer waiting for me to answer, you moved your head down and started kissing me in my nether regions. Your tongue just licked, sucked and kissed me senseless. Then you started putting your fingers in me, pushing in and out, and stroking my insides. I had my hands in your hair, pushing you down on me, not wanting the delightful torture to stop. You looked up with me, a grin on your face, and continued your ministrations and started feeling me up at the same time, squeezing and feeling my breasts. Meanwhile, I’m just focusing on breathing, deeply, heavily, and my mouth left my control, leaving me breathing your name, moans of pleasure. I was embarrassed about my uncontrolled reaction, and covered my mouth with a pillow so you wouldn't hear my groans of pleasure. In hindsight, I shouldn't have; I'm sure hearing your name chanted as though it was a lifesaving mantra was very exciting. Then as I was coming, my landlady knocked on the door, and was demanding to come in. You lifted your head up and were like, "Oh s***, it's Mrs. O’Malley!" I was just laying there, pretty awed and amazed. Somehow, you managed to get my pants back on and propped me up on a pillow. I wasn't much use. I was completely dazed and pleased. When you'd rid us of Mrs. O’Malley (who wanted to let us know that your headlights were on), you came back and laid down next to me. If you had wanted, I’d of done just about anything you asked. I was in such a aroused state, that I was completely open to suggestion. I rolled over, and just clutched you, and got as close as I could to you. You just held me and murmured into my hair, “girls are great, girls are just so great, Laura, you're great.” I got on top of you and kissed you and started to show you how much I cared about you, telling you how amazing you are. And later, we were just entwined on top of the bed, legs mixed up, my head just resting on your head, in my favorite position. I felt so content laying there, your hands idly roaming over my body. No KGB, no handler, no spying. Just us. My feet finding their way up and down the inside of the leg of your pants, you saying softly, "mmm, footsie." We stayed there as long as we could, and when you had to leave (you had a test the next morning) you sat up and asked so properly and politely if you could say goodnight. I giggled shyly. And by goodnight, you meant kissing me, kissing my breast, and kissing me between my legs. I should have told you to stay. To forget about your test. I should have told you to come back after your test. We could have cuddled and slept together. We should have that day. My handler was away, and I had been able to scramble the bugs in my apartment so that the KGB couldn’t intrude on us.

I think that memory is one more physical reason why I can't escape you. Can't stop wanting you.

We were so young then.

I think that's one of the best moments that I can ever remember after Sydney’s birth. I wasn’t a virgin when I met you, but I had never had a man care about me and my pleasure. You were the first to care about me beyond my appearance, though parts of it was a lie. Only the name and background though. The rest was me. This is partially why I can't give up hope. You cared so much about me that you made me complete and whole again; the first time since I was a young girl in Russia. It's only one part of why I want to be allowed to love you and be with you again so badly.

The other night, I worked so hard to stay calm when you were with me. Dancing with you just aroused me so much, and I didn't want to let go, didn't want to stop. When I had my hands around your neck, I couldn't resist touching the short hairs at the base of your neck, where it creeps up to your head. I couldn’t help but smell that scent that is distinctly you; your cologne (the same kind that I always bought you for your birthday), the smell of the fabric softener you use on your clothes, the smell of mutual desire. I couldn't resist squeezing your incredibly muscular arms. I liked having your hands resting on the small of my back, pulling me closer. Even though we were only masquerading as a couple, a disguise for a CIA mission, I couldn't help but feel the desire creeping throughout my body.

I want to be with you again.

Let's spend the night together.

Always yours,

Irina

She looked up from the letter that she had painstakingly written, and put her pen down. Pausing, she picked up the letter, and read through it once more. The woman sighed, and propped up her head in her hands. She brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, and folded the letter in half.

Walking over to a metal trash bin in her hotel room, she placed her letter in the bin, along with dozens of other carefully folded letters, and carried it out onto the balcony. With the soft rain falling around her, she sat the bin down under the overhang of the balcony above her, and lit a match. The woman stopped, quickly contemplating her actions, and reluctantly tossed the match into the bin. She watched as the letter caught fire, and disappeared in the flames.

“Someday, Jack. Someday.”

 

[BlueFaerie]

Part One, Chapter Two:

She sat in an oversized chair, pillows insulating her from the pain that ate away at her heart.

"Jack, where are you? Have I made you hate me again?" she thought to herself.

With slim black-framed glasses perched at the end of her nose, she studied the latest epistle she had produced. As she reread the lines of perfectly aligned and formed letters, she found herself remembering the event as though it had happened not thirty some years ago, but only yesterday.

My dear Jack,

I was thinking of you once again. You never leave my thoughts, and my dreams are full of images of you and I and how we used to be. My hope is that someday we might be that way again.

Do you remember the time we went dancing? You decided that it would be fun to go out to a night club, instead of our more “pedestrian” dates at the bowling alley, a baseball game, or that little café we always went to. Arwin and Emily, who were also dating at the time, came along with us. Ah, how things have changed. Remember the man Arwin once was? That night it was so clear, so honest; the love he had for Emily was almost palpable, it was so overwhelming. He doted on her, worried about her; he did anything and everything for her. But I digress. It is us that is important now.

You came around five o’clock to pick me up, and when I opened the door to my apartment, your eyes shone brilliantly, and I felt as though my breath was being chocked out of me. We both were completely shocked at the other’s outfit. I was wearing a strapless red dress that twirled and flowed as I walked. You had on a white shirt and that blue sweater I had bought you on your birthday, and had this adorable look on your face, shyly holding out a red rose. “Hi Laura,” you had said, “you look especially beautiful tonight.” I remember how you looked so nervous, we hadn’t gone out on a more formal date before, and I knew how completely self-conscious you were, doubting the fact that a “beautiful woman” could ever love you. What a silly notion that was Jack, you were always such a gentleman, sweet, caring, and absolutely lovable.

Though we were mutually awed by one another, we managed to get to the night club in time to meet Arwin and Emily, who looked like the dazzling happy couple that they were. As we talked, laughed, and sipped at our drinks, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You had my complete attention. When I felt you slip your hand under the table and reach to hold mine, I felt so secure. You were being so possessive at the club; three different men had come over and asked me to dance, but you gave them your piercing icy look, and scared them all away. When the main act came on, and the room was filled with the sound of gently swaying jazz, you finally asked me, “May I have this dance, my dear?” and we excused ourselves. Even though you were self-conscious and panicked that evening, when we stood to dance, your confidence returned to you, and we began to twirl and sway across the floor. Later you told me that you had gotten Arwin and Emily to teach you how to dance, weeks in advance, so that you could impress me. Again, what a silly notion; you needing to impress me. Jack, you impressed me from the first time I laid eyes on you. Your tall, lean body, your deep brown eyes that searched my heart and soul, your gently curling brown hair, your stunning smile that peeked out on special occasions; I never expected to be so enraptured by an “American capitalist pig” when I first came from Russia.

As we danced, you holding me close, the smell that is so distinctly you overwhelming my senses, the way your arms just fit so closely around me, the way that you would kiss my neck and collarbone when you thought no one was watching, the way that you looked at me at that one moment, with such utter love, trust and happiness in your eyes; that was when I knew my mission had failed. Jack, you beat me at my own game. From that one single moment when we were dancing at that club, I knew that I loved you. Standing in your arms made me feel so complete, so needed, so loved. It was the first time I told you that I loved you. It was the first completely honest thing I’d said to you. What a night that was!

I was reading a book, and I came across a poem that reminded me of you. Of course, that’s nothing special, since these days, everything and anything reminds me of you. Standing in the shower, the smell of coffee, watching the stars at night, the feeling of raindrops drenching my clothes; all of these things bring me back to you. The poem was this:

If I knew

If I knew it would be the last time
That I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly
and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.

If I knew it would be the last time
that I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss
and call you back for one more.

If I knew it would be the last time
I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would video tape each action and word,
so I could play them back day after day.

If I knew it would be the last time,
I could spare an extra minute
to stop and say "I love you,"
instead of assuming you would know I do.

If I knew it would be the last time
I would be there to share your day,
Well I'm sure you'll have so many more,
so I can let just this one slip away.

For surely there's always tomorrow
to make up for an oversight,
and we always get a second chance
to make everything just right.

There will always be another day
to say "I love you,"
And certainly there's another chance
to say our "Anything I can do?"

But just in case I might be wrong,
and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you
and I hope we never forget.

It feels as though all of our troubles and the history that divides us, that it hides the truth from both our eyes and hearts. Despite everything, despite the lies, deceit, and pain, despite the powers that be, there is one thing that I am sure of: Jack, I have always loved you.

Always yours,

Irina

She got up, and once again, folding the letter in half, she walked over to where she had left the trash bin the previous night. She moved as though to toss the letter in the charred bin, but stopped. Tilting her head, she contemplated her choices, and with the letter in her hand, she went back over to the desk, and pulled out an envelope. She placed her letter in the envelope, sealed it, and wrote, “Jack” on the front. She then placed the letter inside one of her books, and saved her decision about its fate for the morning.

 

[BlueFaerie]

Part One, Chapter Three:

She woke up, gasping for breath, her heart beating wildly and erratically. The white sheets tangled around her body, her thick dark hair splayed across her pillow. She sat up abruptly, smoothing her hair behind her ear, as she often did when troubled or anxious. Her hands fell to her lap, and she studied them carefully. Clean, smooth, manicured; her hands looked perfect and flawless, hiding the truth that exists beneath the surface. “Some stains may never be washed away,” she thought, echoing the words of the unsexed Lady Macbeth. She rushed over to the sink, and washed her hands, scrubbing them raw with the bar of soap. The sins of yesterday seemed to be permanently written on her skin. She was only supposed to meet with a contact, only supposed to receive her monthly update on her daughter and husband, whom she monitored from afar. When it became clear that she had been compromised by her formerly trustworthy contact, she was forced to eliminate him, to kill him. Another man dead at her hands. Sighing, she dried her hands and slipped on the fluffy white bathrobe provided by the hotel. She silently walked over to where she kept her writing supplies and drew out a sheet of paper. Attacking it with a vengeance, her soul pouring out into the words that she wrote, as she recalled happier and almost simpler times.

My love,

It’s been too long since we last met. Too long since we last loved. Too long since we last trusted one another. Too long altogether.

Last night, I received my monthly update on you and Sydney. I was compromised. It didn’t end well. I was terrified when I woke this morning. When I first opened my eyes, I reached out for you and was confused as to where you were and why you had left me alone. At that instance, I remembered. I remembered where I was, who I was, what I’ve done, who I’ve hurt. And then I broke down. I sat sobbing in bed, mourning the loss of so many things in my life; crying because I had ruined so many lives, including my own. I know you probably don’t believe me, but yes, Jack, I broke down. You’re the only one I can ever say these things too. You’re the only one who I want to see my weaknesses, my vulnerabilities, my desires, my feelings. I felt so lost, so alone. I needed you then. I need you now.

Looking at the photographs and notes I collected from my contact before his betrayal, I studied the latest picture of Sydney; she’s really grown to be quite a beautiful young woman. She has your eyes, Jack. Those deep, dark, intense orbs that can read into one’s soul. She’s so much like you, even though she looks like me. I’m happy she’s not like me. I would never wish that on anyone, least of all my little girl. That picture of Sydney reminded me of her as a little girl. I have a picture of her from when she was six. It’s one of my most prized possessions, along with a letter she wrote me. You’ve never seen this letter, Jack; it was left on Laura’s grave.

Do you remember when we first found out that I was pregnant?

When I had first discovered that I was to have your child, I was overwhelmed by the complete joy and utter satisfaction that filled me. I had already privately acknowledged to myself that I loved you just as much, if not more, than you loved me, despite the fact that my superiors would extract me if they had known. However, I was unprepared for the absolute love and excitement that came with the doctor’s call. When you came home that day, you looked dreadfully tired and worn out, your head and shoulders drooping from stress, disappointment and exhaustion. As soon as you saw me though, you almost immediately perked up, dropping your coat and briefcase, and kissing me as you picked me up and spun me around. Your eyes had that glow about them, that look that says, “I love you.” I told you I had a surprise for you upstairs, and practically dragged you up to our bedroom. Opening the door, your jaw dropped as you saw the room, lit only by candlelight, flower pedals strewn on the floor and on the bed. I had you sit down, and told you that I had a present for you. Lifting up my shirt, I showed the wrapping paper I had taped around my stomach. You cocked your head in that adorable little way that you do when you’re thinking, and you had a puzzled look on your face. When the light bulb finally appeared above your head, and you unwrapped me, you saw the note that said “Baby Bristow.” “Oh Laura,” you said, “I’m going to be a Daddy.” We didn’t get out of bed until the next morning.

Jack, Sydney is the best thing that has ever happened to me, besides meeting you. Her birth was the happiest moment of my life; I had a family.

I know I don’t deserve it, but I want that again. I want my family back. I want my baby girl. I want my husband. I want the man who is the sole reason I continue to live to look at me, and have something other than distrust, hatred, disgust, or anger in his eyes. Jack, I want you to know and to believe me when I tell you I love you.

And oh, how I do love you.

Always Yours,

Irina

PS: When you next see Sydney, tell her how much she means to you, tell her you love her. Show her how your world revolves around her.

She sat her pen down, massaging her cramped hands, and looked down at the letter. Smiling, she folded it in half, sealed it in an envelope, and placed it with the letter she had written the day before, wedged in between the pages of a book. She placed the book back in its proper position, and saved them to be sent another day.

 

[BlueFaerie]

Part One, Chapter Four:

The clock began to ring, marking the new hour. She looked up from the floor plan she was studying and stopped. She thought, “What day is it?” When she looked at her watch, her eyes filled with tears. It was her daughter’s birthday. As the tears began to cloud her eyes, she rushed over to her bag and searched through it, tossing out random books and papers and clothing. Finally, she stopped, and triumphantly pulled out a yellowed and tattered envelope that was marked, “Mommy” in the handwriting of a small child. She carefully drew out the pages, and sat down on her bed to read them as she did every year on this day.

Dear Mommy,

I miss you Mommy. I don’t like it without you. Daddy’s sad all the time now. He cries when he thinks I don’t see him. I don’t like Daddy crying. He’s not allowed to cry.

I want you to come back now Mommy. I know you’re in heaven with God and you’re an angel. But Mommy, God doesn’t need you. I need you. Tell God that you have to go back to your Sweetie. If he doesn’t let you come, he’s mean and I hate him. I hate him. He took my Mommy. You’re not his Mommy, you’re my Mommy. And I want my Mommy.

Daddy went on a trip yesterday. These men came and took him from me too. I didn’t want him to leave me too. I held on to him really hard, but they made me let go. I didn’t want to let go Mommy. I’m sorry I let them take him. I know you told me to take care of him. I’m sorry Mommy. I’m sorry.

Mily is writing this for me. I say what to write and she does it. Aunt Mily is watching me now. I ran away yesterday. Daddy was gone and Mommy, you’re in heaven. I ran to where they put you. They put a stone that says Laura there. I brought my blankie and my teddy and some food and some pictures and some clothes and my piggy bank. I stole Daddy’s other briefcase Mommy. I’m sorry I took it. But when Daddy goes away he takes his briefcase. So I took it. Then at that place, I put my pictures out for you. I drew them for you. It’s us. I drew Daddy and you and me and we were at home and we’re happy. I know you like my pictures. I was going to live with you Mommy. If you come back, I thought you’d come back there. So I was going to wait for you. I had some food. I had my teddy and my blankie. I had my pennies. But the lady across the street, Mrs. Poofy-head, she was supposed to watch me when I ran away, and she sent some policemen to find me. Now I’m with Aunt Mily. Aunt Mily’s really nice. I like it better than Mrs. Poofy-head. Uncle Ar is angry that Daddy is away. I heard him yelling at the phone. He said “His wife is dead” and then he said a bad word that you told me not to say so I won’t, but he said that Daddy should be allowed to come home now. I like Aunt Mily and Uncle Ar but I like my Mommy and Daddy better. Come back soon Mommy. Aunt Mily said to pray. I pray every night for God to give me my Mommy back. If I pray hard enough, he’ll have to let you come back.

I love you Mommy.

Love,

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sydney

She smiled sadly, and sat the letter on the night stand next to her. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, tears freely streaming down her face. Her little girl was one year older, and she wasn’t there. Another year she wasn’t with her family. With her husband. Turning out the light, she gave up on doing any further work, and allowed herself to sit in total darkness, crying herself to sleep.

 

[BlueFaerie]

Part One, Chapter Five:

Opening the door, she crept into her new hotel room. She moves from place to place, leaving no trace behind; always hiding in the shadows. Her new room was much like her last, and she placed her things around the room, marking it as her own. The day before had been yet another draining experience. She had witnessed the death of a friend that she was completely powerless to stop. She had seen the final destruction of a man, leaving only a cold, calculating being in the shell of what he used to be.

Emily was dead.

Emily, who had been her first friend in America all those years ago. Emily, who had captured the attention, love and devotion of a man who would become a cruel, power-hungry monster. Emily, who had cared for Sydney when she was forced to leave. Emily.

Frustrated, she let out a breath of hot air, smoothing her hair behind her ears, and plopped down in a chair. She had been completely unable to prevent the tragedy of her death. Her efforts to stop the madness were futile. Looking for some comfort, she remembered her running dialogue she was having with her imaginary Jack, safe in the letters she kept hidden in her books. She opened her bag, and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper, preparing to begin yet another written conversation with her husband.

Jack,

She’s dead. Emily’s dead. And it’s all my fault. I should have saved her, I should have done something, I should have stopped her before the bullets rang out. I didn’t do enough, and now another person has died. Another person who was close to me has suffered. Jack, all I am is bad luck. I bring suffering and agony to those who dare to become close. And I know I’m not worth it.

All I have now are my memories.

I remember Emily when I first came to America. She was so pretty and pure; just what I had expected of an American woman. She had curly blond hair, sparkling eyes, and a mouthful of perfect white teeth. I was immediately jealous of her. How dare she have such an easy life? How dare these Americans live so well when there is so much suffering at home. When my little brother and sister are barely surviving, when my father works at a dead-end government job, when we have so little to live off of. I hated her at first. She was so kind to me though, it was as if she had adopted me as her sister. She showed me the city, visited me, talked to me, spent time with me. I came to like her and appreciate her company in the strange new place I was exploring. She even helped me figure out how to meet you; we planned it all out one night. She was dating Arwin at the time, and knew that you two were friends, so she got Arwin to tell her your daily routine. You were always so strict and regimented, always wanting to have things planned out. We figured out that you always went to the library in the afternoon, and that you had a specific table that you always sat at. For days, Emily and I watched you from behind the bookshelves, until finally, she pushed me forward and told me to go sit down with you. The library was especially busy that day, and there was no where else to sit; so I asked if I could sit at your table. You absentmindedly said “yes,” and didn’t look up. I sighed, knowing that this would take a larger effort on my part, and started to pull out my books. Emily gave me a thumbs-up from her hiding spot, smiling at my little victory. I sat and worked for a while, when you suddenly threw down your pencil, jumped up and said, “Yes! I’ve figured it out!” You stood happily for a moment, and then your facial expression changed to one of confusion as you finally noticed my presence. “Who are you?” you asked.

I rolled my eyes and smiled sheepishly, “I’m Laura. You said I could sit here.”

You sat back down and studied me closely. “I’ve seen you before,” you stated.

Emily, who was watching the whole scene unfold, huffed loudly and came out from behind the shelves.

“Of course you’ve seen her,” she said irritably, “she’s only been trying to get your attention for the past two weeks. You must be the most oblivious man alive. This is Laura, and she really wants to get to know you. Now what you’re supposed to do is say, ‘Hi, I’m Jack. Do you want to go get some coffee?’” She glared at him, tapping her foot impatiently.

“You’re Emily,” you said bluntly, “you’re Arwin’s girlfriend.”

She sighed, “Yes, I am, but I’m not the important one here, Laura is. Now if you don’t ask her to go get some coffee so you two can talk, I’m going to have to send Arwin after you.”

I just blushed, knowing my face was probably bright pink at the conversation that was going on as if I wasn’t sitting there. I rose and started to leave quietly so that I could escape, when you said, “Wait, Laura,” and you left Emily with a dirty look and followed me out of the library.

We walked in silence for a while, when you asked, “Have you really been following me around for the last two weeks?”

I looked at my feet, and answered, “Yes.”

You got this look in your eyes and a tiny smile appeared, “How would you feel if I told you I’ve been watching you for the past four weeks, trying to decide if I should talk to you or not?”

I felt a tingling feeling rising up from my toes, and looked you straight in the eye.

You continued, and asked, “Now, I know someone like you would never be that interested in me, but I’m going to ask anyways,” stumbling over your words and suddenly getting very shy, “would you maybe like to go get something to eat sometime maybe?” And you looked at me, nervously, waiting for my response.

“I’d like that very much,” I said, strangely feeling almost like a young schoolgirl again, despite the fact that I was 21 and was only following my KGB orders. I was excited and happy. I just attributed it to the fact that I was starting to succeed in my mission. But now, I know it was because of you. Because you had taken an interest in me. Because I had taken an interest in you. And my interest had nothing to do with the KGB.

Emily was so happy when we started dating, and when we were married. She was so happy for us when Sydney was born, and when we asked her to be Sydney’s godmother.

I miss her Jack. I miss her, and I miss how things used to be.

Tell Sydney that I’m sorry that Emily is gone. That I’ve allowed someone else important to her to die. That I’ve failed her, yet again.

I wish I could tell her how much it meant to me that she befriended me. I wish I could tell her that I really was her friend all those years. That it wasn’t a lie.

I wish I could tell you the same, and have you believe me. I hope you will someday.

Put a rose on her grave for me.

Always yours,
Irina

She put the pen behind her ear, and detached the pages from the notebook. She dug around in her bag for an envelope, and pulled one out, placing her letter inside, and writing, “Jack” on the front. Then, she opened the book where she kept her letters, and pulled out the other two she had written. She studied them for a few minutes, and then put all three back in the book, and back in the bag. Later that night, as she lay in bed, almost asleep, she thought to herself, “Maybe I should send those letters to him.” With that thought, she drifted off to her dream world where she lived with her husband and daughter who still loved and trusted and cherished her.

 

[BlueFaerie]

Part One, Chapter Six:

She heard the knock at her door, and opened it to see another nameless face. This one was bearing her order from room service. She thanked the man, tipped him, and was left alone once more. Her life was one of loneliness, without familiar faces, without love, without joy, without happiness. It was if she had been chewed up and then spit out by the world, leaving only a bittersweet feeling. She lounged on her bed, staring at her plate. It was breakfast, and there were two pieces of toast lying on her tray. She studied the toast for minutes, before putting the lid back over her food. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

The toast had stirred the stew of memories that swirled around aimlessly in her head, dredging up images of times past. One image, however, remained in her sight, refusing to leave. She sat down at the desk in her room, and drew out a sheet of paper from her traveling bag, and grabbed the pen that she had left on top of her books. She looked at the paper for a few minutes, the image still filling her mind, but she shook her head as if to shake loose the thought, and turned to her paper.

Dearest love,

I had toast for breakfast.

Always yours,

Irina

She stared at what she’d written and grunted. She angrily crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the nearby trash bin. Pulling out another sheet of paper, she immediately began attempt number two.

Dearest love,

I miss you and I want to come home.

Before writing another word, again, she took the paper, ripped it in half, and sent it over to the graveyard of unsatisfactory letters.

My Jack,

I was thinking about our little family. I wish it hadn’t been so small. I wanted Sydney to have siblings, to have a little brother to torment, to have a little sister to advise and lend her clothes to. I wanted to feel that joy of seeing our baby for the first time, again. I nearly did.

When I was forced to leave, I was 8 weeks pregnant. I didn’t know it at the time. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I knew. There wasn’t much of anything I could do. When I arrived back in Russia, I was lauded as a hero and an example for other young KGB agents to follow. I was allowed to return to my home, return to my mother and father and younger sister. My brother had left home to continue his education in Leningrad at the university, but my sister was still living in our tiny little house. Months went by as I reacquainted myself with my “home,” but somehow, it didn’t feel like home. I wandered around the town where I grew up, and felt utter confusion and loneliness in the familiar sights of my youth. Without you and Sydney, my world was shattered.

About two months after I had returned, I noticed the swelling of my stomach, and completely broke down. I locked myself in my tiny room in the attic, and sobbed for hours. I was so afraid that the KGB would try to take this away from me too. I confided in my family, who had no love for the KGB or the government, deciding to keep this secret from the world.

Talking to my mother, I realized that this baby was a blessing. While the government had taken away my husband and my daughter, I had a chance to keep a part of my heart alive. After that, I allowed myself to enjoy my pregnancy, talking to our baby, telling him about his daddy and older sister. When I felt him kicking for the first time, I cried, wishing you were with me. When I was pregnant with Sydney, you were the happiest man alive. You used to lay with your head on my stomach, listening for the tiny heartbeat within me. I patted my stomach, whispering words of comfort to myself.

I gave birth to our son on a rainy night in September. He was tiny; smaller than even Sydney was when she was born. We didn’t have the same medical care or food as I had with Sydney. I was so afraid he wouldn’t make it, but he was your son; he was a strong little baby. I named him Jonathan, after his Daddy, but we decided to called him Ivan so that his name wouldn’t stand out. When I looked down at the tiny bundle in my arms, I smiled sadly, wishing my Jack was there with me, wishing my baby girl was at my side, peering over at the new little addition to our family. Our son looked up at me with his little brown eyes and stared at me. We studied each other, and he opened his little mouth and yawned. I cradled him, and sang him to sleep with the same lullaby I always sang to Sydney.

The next week brought the KGB banging at our door. A jealous neighbor had sold us out to the local officials. My parents and sister were imprisoned. I was taken to Kashmir. Our son, they killed him. They killed him in front of my eyes. I tried to stop them, but they kicked me and held me back. My heart died that day. When they tortured me in prison, there was nothing left for me to lose.

I know now I was wrong.

I can’t bare to lose you again, Jack. You and Sydney both. I need you. You make me whole again, you make me feel loved and needed, you keep me sane. It’s time I gave up on my silly pride.

Jack, I’m begging you to believe me. The truth is all I have. My lies have left me alone and cold. I can’t bare this pain much longer. Rambaldi can go to hell. He doesn’t hold me, kiss me, tell me that he loves me; he doesn’t throw his hands in the air, wanting to be picked up, he isn’t my beautiful baby girl who’s become a beautiful young woman. He isn’t my husband, my heart. Jack, you are what keeps me alive. You are my lifeblood. I cannot lose you again. I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve another chance. But I am asking for it anyways.

Lyubov' moya, pridi ka mne; come to me, my love.

Always yours,

Irina

A slight smile came over her face as she read the letter; she completely approved of the possessiveness with which she addressed Jack. Sealing her letter in an envelope, she opened the book that was sitting next to her, and opened it to the pages where she had left her last three letters. She stood up and put on her long overcoat, slipping her letters inside the inner pocket of her jacket. Almost carelessly, she left her hotel room, venturing out in the open. She walked two blocks down the busy street, and stopped in front of a post office. Minutes went by as she analyzed her choices.

Her decision was made.

She entered the post office, and placed her four letters inside a larger envelope. Addressing it neatly to “Mr. Jonathan D. Bristow,” she handed it to the clerk and paid for its postage, sending it first class to his home in Los Angeles.

She walked back to her hotel, a spring in her footstep, and she smiled to herself; “The game is afoot,” she thought, “and now the ball is in Jack’s court.”

 

[Faela]

I really like this! as in a lot! its nice to get something from Irina's perspective. How hurt she was when she left, pouring her heart and soul out to Jack. How could jack not love her? I mean dude, if Sydney and Vaughn are perfect for each other, then jack and irina were poured out of the same mold, they fit so well together.

Ok i like this, i would really love a PM if your still working on it. It would be great to get jack's way of looking at it now.

Please let me know when you update.
Thanks
P.s I would also like to know where you got that Pic you use in your avatar! Thats sooo cool, i want it! i neeeed it! please please please!! pretty please!