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The only thing that Shane heard was the pounding of a heartbeat. Not his own… it couldn’t be… this one thumped hard and fast, and Shane’s beat softly under his gear.
His gear…? He was on the ice a second ago–what happened? He looked back at Ilya and… He couldn’t seem to remember the rest.
It hurt. His body ached like never before, but the intrusion of the beating seemed to make him feel more. His hands were restrained, he couldn’t bring them to his temple to try and ease the pain… When was the last time he felt like this? It hurt to think.
The thumping sound seemed to echo through the walls of his mind–the deeper he dove in the louder it grew. Despite the annoyance, it didn’t pain him. The noise was almost a comfort, something he should follow.
The black abyss seemed to never end… he listened to the too-fast heart beat and reached out for any sense of familiarity in it.
It seemed like eternity before he stopped wandering. The view of a building slowly started to piece itself together as he approached.
He was at his cottage, everything was normal, except for the abnormal cold that he felt.
The cottage was always warm. Why was it suddenly so cold?
Shane shivered as he went inside. The beating, yet again, grew louder.
As he looked around he saw that everything had been in the precise condition in which he last left the place. Everything except for a nearly empty bottle of vodka on the kitchen counter.
He tilted his head to look at the label. It had been a brand he had never seen before. The only recognizable feature was the russian letters strung together.
The long glass sliding doors were open. That must be where the chill was coming from.
Shane went to close the doors, but when he got to the handle he noticed a figure out by the lake. The thumping grew louder and louder. It reverberated through his entire body.
Shane carefully went to the lake, not daring to take a step onto the ice.
Since when was he scared to step on ice?
The figure was still unrecognizable, a mess of disorientated shapes and blobs that wouldn’t focus in Shane’s eyes.
When the figure turned around, the world seemed to go still.
Despite his body not coming into focus, Shane could recognize those sad, angry eyes anywhere.
“Ilya.”
Blood rushed to his ears, the thumping growing louder than Shane could handle.
He almost didn’t hear what Ilya said to him: “I’m sorry Hollander, I am not fan of the cold.”
The earth started to open.
And Ilya fell straight down into an icy hole.
Everything went white and deafening before Shane could do anything.
He plummeted into his own hell.
The first thing Shane could register was the sharp stench of rubbing alcohol.
The stark white light was so similar to what he saw when Ilya fell. The slow beeping of a monitor a complete juxtaposition to the loud thumping heartbeat that brought him comfort.
Shane tried to open his eyes, but he was met with nothing but muscles that refused to move.
“Rosa…” was all he was able to mutter through his cracked lips.
A cold hand then touched his forehead. Normally, Shane would have flinched from how cold it was, but his body was too weak to move on its own.
For now, all he could do was listen and stare into the bright light behind his eyelids.
“Hollander seems to be responsive,” he heard someone say.
“Asking for Rose?” another voice.
“Too bad she’s busy filming, must be worried sick…”
Rose.
That’s not who he wanted.
When he looked into the light above him, it was not Rose he saw.
It was Ilya.
His Ilya.
The Ilya that held him in bed. The Ilya that kissed him goodbye so gently. The Ilya that trusted him enough to cry in his arms.
Ilya.
I need to get to Ilya.
The light began to fade.
“Because Russia! I would not be able to go back to Russia!”
The voice repeated over and over in his head. A spiral of draining sadness dragged Ilya deeper and deeper into the underworld of Shane’s mind.
He was back at the cottage, standing in the same spot he was before. The lake was cracked open with nothing but darkness underneath it.
Ilya was down there.
Shane needed to get him back.
“Vy ne mozhete idti etim putem.”
You can’t go that way.
Shane turned around and was met with a woman he had never seen before–she was beautiful, devastatingly so. One of Ilya’s friends maybe; she spoke Russian, but Shane was able to understand her somehow.
“What?”
“Chtoby dobrat'sya do nego, vam nuzhno vybrat' drugoy put'.”
You have to go a different way to get him.
“Which way?”
“Eto opasnyy put'.”
It's a dangerous path.
Shane turned his head and looked into the black abyss in the ice.
He looked back at the woman with a new determination in his eyes.
“I don’t care. Tell me, please.”
The woman inhaled sharply. Her eyes darted from the lake back to Shane. She was quiet until she finally gave in: “Mezhdu vashimi ushami i v vashikh glazakh prolegayet put'. Vy poymete, kuda idti, kogda okazhetes' tam.”
There is a path between your ears and in your eyes. You'll know the way when you get there.
Shane straightened, his brows furrowed slightly.
“How am I supposed to get there?” He sounded slightly annoyed.
“Tem zhe sposobom, kakim vy syuda popali.”
The same way that you got here.
Shane nodded his head absentmindedly, trying to remember how exactly he got here.
Walking around mindlessly… then he’ll know the way? It made no sense.
He started walking past the woman, towards the cottage again.
“Good luck, Jane.”
Shane whipped his head around, but the woman was no longer there.
He was utterly alone again.
He continued to the house.
When he crossed the threshold, the sound of the heart beat came back. This time it was gentler, he could barely hear it.
Shane closed the sliding door. The cottage needed to be warm for when he brought Ilya back.
He said it himself: “I am not fan of the cold.” The house would be warm for him. A shelter away from the blistering flurries and the icy wounds that the journey back would leave to him.
Shane stepped out of the cottage.
He didn’t turn to look back at all, not even when the landscape faded to darkness.
The heartbeat was steady; it subtly filled every inch of Shane’s body with each step he took further down.
The pathway down Shane’s mind was a scary one.
He was left alone with his own plaguing thoughts–not just the ones currently on his mind, but also the ones that regularly circled through his head.
The fight with Scott Hunter on the ice; how horrible he was in bed with Rose; his mother asking what was wrong and not answering her.
One in particular seemed to enjoy circling:
“I can’t do this.”
“Hollander.”
“I’m sorry– I can’t–”
“Hollander.”
That dreadful moment spun in his head constantly. Sometimes when he saw Ilya on the ice it was the only thing he could think of.
Sometimes Shane wished his head was only filled with hockey and his plans to take home cups like how a lot of media outlets thought. Instead, hockey was the last thing on his mind; hockey usually wasn’t on his mind until he stepped into the arena.
The further Shane spiraled downwards the further he lost track of where he could be or how long it had been.
He saw versions of himself that he couldn’t remember–none of them made him stop and gawk.
None except for one: when he and Ilya had met for the first time in 2008.
Ilya had looked so different. All his muscles were tense, there was not even a hint of the Ilya that Shane knew now. This kid was hard, rough around every single edge, not approachable in any way.
Maybe Ilya would enjoy looking at it on the way back.
It felt like hours before Shane pulled away from that image.
The Ilya he knew–he loved–would be waiting for him down under, still rough, but Shane would be able to see straight through into the sad boy that laid underneath.
Shane pushed on.
On the road to Hell Shane was met with three old women who dressed the same. They circled around and through him like apparitions–phantoms to bring him doom.
There were no clear signs of their faces, but their voices were crystal clear.
Who are you? Why are you all alone?
Shane stumbled when the voices whispered in his ears. The voice was so familiar, but he couldn’t decide from where.
The voices would come and go. Sometimes a screech in the back of his mind, sometimes a whisper that sent shivers down his spine.
Where do you think you’re going? Who do you think you are?
The only thing that kept him from growing crazed was the heartbeat that grew slightly louder at a far slower rate than Shane would have liked.
He would make it through. He had definitely endured worse than the voices in his head. He would endure worse for Ilya–no matter how tortuous, how dangerous, or how devastating.
Who are you to think that you can walk a road that no one ever walked before?
Eternity in the darkness is what walking this long path felt like.
Between every heartbeat, every memory, every seed of doubt planted there was no sign of how much longer Shane had to endure.
The cruel nature of self-sabotage nearly made Shane turn back around to run back to the cottage. A place he knew existed. A place that wasn’t cold. A place that doesn’t make you feel like you’ve been stuck there for three years.
Shane knew the end was coming when heat started to prickle at his skin.
He couldn’t tell where the heat was coming from, only that his body seemed to thaw.
The heartbeat was loud enough to echo in the abyss. That woman was right, he knew the way, he had Ilya’s heartbeat to thank for that.
A hint of light came into view, Shane followed to it.
Suddenly the heat was close to unbearable; he shrugged off his jacket and left it in the darkness before he stepped through into the new world.
Shane looked around, trying to see where he was. He noticed the architecture first, then the stuffy scent of cigarettes. There was only one other time he was in a place like this.
He was in Russia.
Ilya was in Russia. Shane needed to get him out.
Shane was unfamiliar with the place, this didn’t seem to be anywhere near where he was for the Olympics a few years ago. This was slightly quieter, more local.
A few buildings were of close proximity, but Shane didn’t dare to go near any of them.
He continued forward on the path that the heartbeat laid out for him.
No matter how slowly Shane walked, the humid air seemed to seep into every pore and every seam in his shirt. The heat was almost unbearable.
Ilya, just get to Ilya.
Never did Shane think about turning now that he was in a physical place. All he could think about was how sorrowful Ilya’s face was when he talked about his ‘home’. How he cried, Shane had never seen him cry before–not even when he won the Cup.
The heartbeat led Shane into a side street, over a fence, and into a garden.
When he turned the corner he saw Ilya.
He was standing over a patch of grass with the same cross that he wore around his neck stuck in the ground.
Shane let out a sigh of relief and made his way over to Ilya.
“Come home with me,” Shane said breathlessly.
Ilya’s head whipped around, his eyes wide and full of unshed tears. “It’s you.”
“It’s me.”
“Shane…”
“Ilya.”
Shane ran to Ilya, trapping him in the tightest embrace. The heartbeat sped up before it slowly festered away; Shane could now feel it through Ilya, finally back in the place it belonged.
Ilya was tense, Shane could feel his fingers twitch, begging him to let them grab Shane back.
He stayed still.
“...I prayed you come,” Ilya said quietly.
Shane released him, but his hands stayed. He held Ilya’s face so gently, like he would break if too much pressure was attached.
“Did you?” Shane asked with a smile.
Ilya nodded.
They stayed silent for a moment, letting the feelings linger for a second. Now that Shane knew Ilya was here the heat didn’t seem to bother him too much.
“How did you get here?” Ilya asked finally. “Plane?”
Shane shook his head, “No, I walked.”
Ilya let out a small laugh as he shook his head. “You are insane, Hollander.”
It’s because I love you, Shane didn’t say, instead he only smiled at Ilya. “Maybe, but now I can take you home.”
Ilya’s face dropped, he stumbled backwards, trying to put distance between them. “No, Hollander, I can not I–”
“Molodoy chelovek!” a loud voice boomed.
Young man!
The hairs on the back of Shane’s neck stood.
Ilya had already put his walls back up, Shane could tell just by how hard his facial features had become once again.
For the first time on his journey, Shane turned around.
He was met with an old man, white hair and a face full of wrinkles. He stood in full uniform, metals on display.
This was Ilya’s father.
“Mne kazhetsya, my ran'she ne vstrechalis'. Ty ne mestnyy, paren'. Ne znayu, kto ty takoy, no mogu skazat', chto tebe zdes' ne mesto. Vozvrashchaysya tuda, otkuda prishel. Ty okazalsya ne na toy storone.”
I don't think we've met before. You're not from around here, are you? I don't know who you are, but I can tell you that you don't belong here. Go back where you came from. You've ended up on the wrong side.
“Papa–”
Mr. Rozanov held his hand up before Ilya could continue.
“I came to take him home,” Shane said, his voice not even wavering.
“On doma.”
He is home.
Shane shook his head, “I’m taking him home.”
A hard, angry slap was the response Shane got from that; so powerful that it made him fall to the ground.
“Ilya.” Mr. Rozanov said, a warning before he started for him.
Shane could barely see what was happening, the attack was so forceful that the crisp hospital smell started to fill his lungs, his vision turning more white by the second.
No… I need to get Ilya out…
His breathing turned rushed and shallow, his hand gripped his chest, trying to hold on.
He could hear the mechanical beeping from machines, feel the iv in his forearm. He was slipping, Ilya would be stuck here forever with no way out and–
A firm grasp of Shane’s shoulder dragged him back down.
“Breathe. God Damn it, Hollander, breathe!” It was Ilya.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked.
“Yes, yes, I am fine! Don’t worry for me!”
Shane’s eyes wandered to where Mr. Rozanov now stood, above the same cross that Ilya had been.
He slowly turned and faced the two.
Ilya helped Shane stand.
“Pokhozhe, moyey zhene vy ponravilis'.”
It seems my wife has taken a liking to you.
Ilya let out a sound that Shane couldn’t quite recognize.
“Poskol'ku moya zhena — vasha bol'shaya poklonnitsa... ya sobirayus' dat' vam zadaniye.Yesli vy yego ne vypolnite, vy uydete ni s chem.”
Since my wife is such a fan... I will give you a task. Fail and you walk away with nothing.
“No, no–” Ilya was saying.
But it was too late. Shane nodded his head.
He had already gone through hell willingly for Ilya; a small task was not going to stop him.
Mr. Rozanov let out a low laugh.
“Mal'chik! Idi syuda!”
Boy! Come!
From behind Mr. Rozanov, a young boy stepped forward.
“Znamenityy Sheyn Khollander, chto by podumal o tebe etot malen'kiy mal'chik? Mal'chik s palkoy v rukakh. Yemu nechego zhdat', krome kholoda. Proizvedi na nego vpechatleniye tem, chego ty dobilsya. Posmotri, gorditsya li tvoye yunoye "ya" tem, kem ty stal.”
Famous Shane Hollander, what would this young boy think of you? A young boy with a stick in his hands. He has nothing to look forward to except for the cold. Impress him with what you have made of yourself. See if your younger self is proud of what he turns into.
His younger self.
That's who was standing in front of him.
The poor boy who didn’t have many friends. The sad boy who didn’t fit in anywhere. The lonely boy who hoped for someone to come and save him.
Shane looked up at Mr. Rozanov who was already glaring back at him.
Shane cleared his throat before getting on his knees.
He looked at his younger self with more care than anybody ever had.
“Um… we play for the Metros… we lead them to the cup two years in a row as captain…”
A barking laugh roared from above him. Mr. Rozanov’s clearly.
“Prodolzhat'”
Go on.
The woman from before was back, she was standing next to Ilya.
Shane nodded and looked back to his younger self.
“We, uh, didn’t do it alone… we have a team full of friends who don’t judge us. Hayden especially, he actually invited us to dinner during one of our first games–and he didn’t think it was weird when we told him what specific food we eat.”
The boy didn’t seem to budge, he bit his lip in waiting, not knowing what else to do with himself.
“We have found a lot of people that love and support us more than anything else…”
A pause.
“There is one special person that you’ll meet in a few years. You’ll see him skating on the TV, then you’ll meet him and he will ignore you… But one day you’ll be talking all the time, he will always respond and never get tired of you. He won’t ever leave you, even if you want him to–which you won’t, not really anyway…”
Shane smiled to himself.
“He’ll always be there and will make you laugh with his stupid accent. He will understand you and what you need no matter what. And he won’t get mad when you lash out at him.”
Shane looked into his younger self’s eyes, trying to convey every fucked up, loving feeling he had for Ilya.
“We’re not alone anymore?” His younger self asked.
Shane shook his head. “We won’t be ever again either.”
That’s when the smile cracked on his younger self’s face.
He did it.
Shane did it.
Ilya was coming home.
Shane fucking did it!
As soon as Shane saw his younger self walk back he stood and practically tackled Ilya in another hug.
“I did it! I did it! Ilya!”
Ilya didn’t hesitate to hug him back this time. His arms circled around Shane.
“You take me home now, yes?”
Shane turned to Mr. Rozanov
“Can we go?”
“YA ne znayu”
I don’t know.
Shane’s limbs slowly lost their grip on Ilya.
He didn’t know?
What was the task for? Shane was supposed to fail, a cruel joke just to entertain Mr. Rozanov.
Was that all for nothing?
“ne sovsem”
Not quite.
The woman from earlier walked past them and directly to Mr. Rozanov, the two of them spoke in Russian, but Shane couldn’t understand them anymore.
“There is way out. There has to be, you beat his game.” Ilya said, his arms still firmly around Shane. “It will be fine.”
Shane nodded his head, even though he was not fully convinced. “As long as you get out,” he murmured.
The woman came back, a small twist of disgust on her face.
“Dva momenta. On skazal, chto vy mozhete idti.”
Two things. He said that you can go.
“He did?”
She nodded her head, but before there was any time for celebrating she continued to speak.
“No yest' yeshche odno zadaniye, kotoroye nuzhno vypolnit'.”
But there is another task to complete
Ilya let out an exaggerated sigh.
“What now?”
“Vy ne mozhete idti vmeste. Vy voobshche ne mozhete idti ryadom. Sheyn dolzhen idti vperedi, a Il'ya — sledom. Yesli Sheyn obernetsya, chtoby posmotret', idet li za nim Il'ya, to on vernetsya syuda bez vsyakikh shansov na prodolzheniye.”
You cannot walk together. You can't even walk side by side. Shane must walk ahead, and Ilya must follow behind. If Shane turns around to see if Ilya is following him, he will return here with no chance of continuing.
Ilya looked at Shane, determination in his eyes.
Shane couldn’t bring himself to look back at Ilya. Was this another joke? Another chance for Mr. Rozanov to laugh at him again?
“Vam pridetsya doveryat' drug drugu. Vy smozhete eto sdelat'?”
You will have to trust each other. Will you be able to do that?
“Da,” Ilya answered for Shane.
Shane looked down at his feet, reluctantly he nodded his head.
He had already walked the path here, he could get them home. He would get them home.
“Togda poproshchaytes'. Zhelayu vam udachi.”
Then say goodbye. I wish you good luck.
With that, the woman walked past the two and into the house, only stopping to lay a poppy in front of the cross.
Shane looked at Ilya, trying to hide his fear.
“Don’t look like that. You know way; Take me home.” Ilya kissed Shane’s cheek and smacked the side of his thigh to get him going.
“It’ll be cold… and you won’t be able to come back here ever again… and–”
“Shane,” Ilya held his face, “I don’t care. I want you.”
Shane could barely look at Ilya, he swallowed dryly, trying to make sense of it.
“Are… are you sure?”
Ilya scoffed, “How many times do I have to say it? Fucking take me home, Shane! Do you want me to shout from rooftops?”
Shane shook his head, “No… I just… I don’t want you to regret it.”
Ilya’s lips formed a straight line, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. His eyes glanced down to Shane’s lips. He wanted to say something else, Shane could tell–he just wondered if anything that Ilya said would convince Shane that he actually wanted it.
Shane was about to speak instead, but Ilya brought his face to his, quieting Shane with a kiss.
A gentle one, not like the ones that they would secretly greet each other with; this one was Ilya’s way of telling Shane that he trusted him. That he wanted him.
When Ilya drew back, he stayed close, close enough that their foreheads touched.
“Okay,” Shane said quietly, “I’ll take us home.”
With a final kiss, Shane stepped forward.
Ilya would be right behind him. That’s what Mr. Rozanov promised.
Ilya would be there.
He was taking Ilya home.
It wasn’t long before the darkness consumed the pair. The cold immediately came back as well.
Shane’s determination seemed to last for the beginning of the journey. He didn’t seem to notice when the chill set in; he didn’t seem to notice that he walked right past his discarded jacket from earlier. He could not turn back for it now, or ever.
It was a lot quieter than he had imagined. With Ilya’s heartbeat he had something steady to listen to, but since it had been returned, there was nothing but the void.
It was once again hard to tell the time, Shane had no idea where he was–close to the memories with Ilya perhaps?
Maybe. Once he got there he would stop for a bit, let Ilya look at them.
Only if he’s actually following behind you.
Shane cleared his throat, the only noise that surrounded him.
Ilya was there.
He was.
But what if he wasn’t?
The apparitions from earlier seemed to start circling Shane again, this time there was nothing to drown out their wails of sorrow.
Where is he?
Where is he now?
Where did Shane think he was going?
Who was Shane to think that Ilya would follow him into the cold and dark again?
Why was Shane all alone?
He stumbled, making him double over himself. Shane clutched at his chest, hoping for Ilya’s heartbeat–he would even settle for his own. Just something to convince him to keep going.
He could look– no he couldn’t.
Who was Shane against Mr. Rozanov?
Why would he let Shane win?
Why would he let Ilya go?
Who was Shane to think that Mr. Rozanov wouldn’t deceive him just to make him leave alone?
Where is Ilya?
Shane couldn’t think about that. He needed to continue on.
Ilya would get home. He was behind Shane.
Right?
Or was this all a trap that was laid out for him?
Shane used to be able to see how the world could be; now all he saw was the way it was.
Where was Ilya?
Ilya.
Ilya.
Ilya.
Ilya.
A faint light crept in.
The cottage.
It was so close.
Shane did it.
He made it back.
And Ilya was right behind him.
Shane broke into a sprint, he couldn’t even feel the cold kissing his skin.
Shane stopped when he crossed over, his task done.
Ilya was home.
Shane turned and Ilya came into view.
A rush of relief flooded him, he had been there all along.
Ilya looked at him with wide eyes.
Shane smiled, “It’s you.”
Ilya did not return the smile. Shane didn’t understand why until he saw the darkness start to drag Ilya back.
He turned around too soon. Only one of Ilya’s feet had crossed over.
“It’s me,” Ilya weeped.
“Ilya.”
“Shane…”
Shane tried to reach for Ilya, but he slipped through his fingers once again.
The heartbeat returned to Shane’s ears–it was rushing, pounding harder than it ever had before.
Then it went silent.
Ilya was gone.
Shane failed.
He dropped to his knees again, full of melancholy he sobbed into his hands.
Shane had been too focused on the fact that he failed that he didn’t hear Ilya’s last murmured words: “YA tebya lyublyu”
The next time Shane opened his eyes he was met with his mother, a doctor next to her.
He was in the hospital.
Had any of that been real? Shane remembered it so vividly it had to be.
He tried to look around the room for Ilya, but he was nowhere to be found.
Fuck.
It took Shane three days to figure that the whole thing had been some kind of lucid dream. The discovery didn’t make anything seem any less real, he had still lost Ilya.
He heard the door creek open.
He really didn’t want to see anybody right now, he was sore and aching.
When Shane opened his eyes the person in the doorway caught him off guard.
It was Ilya.
Ilya was here–right in front of him!
Shane could barely believe it.
“Ilyyaaa!” he slurred.
He was surprised when Ilya made no effort to move closer to him.
“I just wanted to uh… are you okay?”
That made Shane smile. Sure he was kind of out of it because of the meds, but he found it funny how formal Ilya was trying to be.
The small talk flew by, Shane could barely recall it right after it had happened.
All he could focus on was that Ilya was not, in fact, spending the rest of eternity in the Underworld. Ilya was here. In his hospital room.
“Heyyyyyy…!” Shane held his arm out, very obviously wanting Ilya nearby.
They had been separated for so long (longer in Shane’s head, but that didn’t matter).
Ilya’s warm hand engulfed his, and Shane felt like he could finally breathe again.
When did Ilya start having such an effect on him? He couldn’t figure it out. But he felt the same sort of relief that he did when he found Ilya in Russia.
The rest went in one ear and out the other.
Shane couldn’t stop himself from asking a familiar question: “Will you come to my cottage this summer?”
Come home with me?
“Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house, we’ll have so much fun, it’s so private–no one will know!”
“Hollander, you know I can’t do that.”
No, Hollander, I can not I–
“We could have a week–maybe two! Completely alooooneee.”
Shane couldn’t hear how pitiful his begging was. All that he could recall was how much he doubted Ilya’s want for escape. He was able to convince him once, he just needed to do it again.
“Maybe, maybe.”
Shane was going to push for it some more, but the door creaked open again.
A maybe would suffice for now.
He would somehow get Ilya there.
He had once before–or… almost had.
The image of Ilya being pulled back under haunted his dreams, even in his delusional state Shane couldn’t think of anything else.
He had to watch it over and over again.
And Shane had to watch it again, this time the stakes weren’t as high, but they were just as cruel.
Ilya stepped out of the room. Shane watched, letting his eyes linger on his back. If it was the only thing he could do, he would stare at Ilya’s back all day.
He turned to the nurse, let her do the tests she needed to do.
The only thing on his mind was that he just saw Ilya slip through his grasp yet another time.
This time it wasn’t definite, but it didn’t hurt any less.
For the rest of the time that Shane was in the hospital his eyes kept drifting to the door, yearning for Ilya to walk back through it.
With all of this time to think Shane had made up his mind about one thing: It didn’t matter how many times he would have to endure the long walk, if it was for Ilya, he would descend into the Underworld without a second thought. A never ending cycle of sorrow, but at least he could get a glimpse of Ilya’s wayward smile.
There would be a day that Shane would bring Ilya to the cottage–bring him home–and he would be able to rest peacefully. Ilya would not need to be scared and miserable anymore.
That would be worth it.