I am Ukrainian🇺🇦. (A VLODYMYR ZELENSKYY FANFIC)

Chapter 15

It took a lot to get Vova angry. It wasn’t really a natural emotion for him.

He couldn’t blame people who shot at him. He didn’t get emotional when people betrayed him. That was what people did. They looked after themselves and everyone else be damned. Vova didn’t even get annoyed at waiting in queues or having bad service.

But then, I had the unique ability to make him feel things he had never felt before.

Happiness.

Wonder.

Adoration.

Jealousy.

Fear.

Joy.

Longing.

Love.

It only made sense that I would be the one to introduce him to complete and utter rage.

But always, in the back of his mind, there was fear. That someone would find out about me. That someone would try to get to him by hurting me. They almost succeeded a few weeks ago.

His only downfall was me a 5'7 blonde/brunette who put sugar on my rice crispies.

And, because it was bound to happen eventually, Vova found himself the target of a particularly angry Russian president.

We had discussed this, early on in the relationship. That someday, inevitably, someone was going to come after him when I was near. And, when that happened, I needed to follow his instructions.

“Menelaus.”

I froze, immediately on guard at use of our codeword. Danger was nearby.

“Where?”

“Behind us.“

He had a plan for this. It was why he made me always carry a set of keys for his car and at least some cash and that is something I hate. Why he made me memorize directions to Bankova from virtually anywhere in Ukraine. He wanted to be sure I knew how to get back to him if we get separated.

But when he told me to run, I didn’t. I wouldn’t leave him.

And it wasn’t fear, it wasn’t me being a brat. I refused to leave him alone, in danger especially since this was my doing.

The rational part of his mind, the side he tended to listen to more often than not, was trying to keep him calm. Was trying to make him understand my perspective. If I had told him to run, he wouldn’t have considered it either.

But he didn’t have my training. It had taken me weeks just to convince him to get him to the shooting range. He flat out refused martial arts classes but agreed to attend twice weekly self-defense classes if only to get me off his back. He also started taking kick boxing classes.

It wasn’t enough. Not for something like this.

It wouldn’t have been enough if he had been alone or if I hadn’t been able to wrestle the gun away from some guy send to end his life.

And that scares the hell out of me.

Pure terror had flooded my system when I realized that Vova wasn’t going to run.

And it had been fine. I had kept him safe before I will manage again.

He was safe.

He was safe!

I kept repeating that to myself but that pure terror had quickly turned to rage once the opponent was disarmed and eliminated.

He was angry that I hadn’t run like he instructed and I was mad that he didn't run as instructed.