No Place Like...Home?

Nadia tightens the sash of her terrycloth robe as she sits on her bed, thinking about the earlier events of the afternoon.

It’d been thirty minutes of sheer terror commuting home. Jumping from bus to bus, muscles tense, always keeping an eye out for a teenager in a bulky overcoat or an old man looking a bit too out of place as she walked towards the terminal. It didn’t help that the noise from the school had shaken her. She’d patted her pistol the entire time, insuring her it was tucked safely at her side just in case she needed it.

Good thing the safety was on.

She glances at the gun on her bureau, all black and menacing. How campus security allowed her to go to school with that thing is beyond her. They probably didn’t know enough about her or cared. About the only crime that really takes place is vandalism and tagging, and they just let those kids off with a fine or detain them until their richie-rich parents arrive. ‘Bout the only difference than them and the hoodrats downtown are their deep pockets.

Doesn’t matter Nadia sighs. They’re all crooks. Stealing, blackmailing, intimidating witnesses… Except the taggers on this side of town are more likely to be hailed as the next Banksy than have their mug splashed in the newspaper’s police blotter.
A knock at the door startles her.

“Dinner’s ready.” The girl’s on the other side chirps in a sing-song voice.

“Thanks, Kristy.”

There isn’t much that Nadia has affection for. Christine “Kristy” Love being a glaring exception. In the time since they’ve lived under the same roof, she’s become something of a little sister. Annoying , bratty…and the closest thing the Russian had to blood in the states. The sibling rivalry they carry on in the house can be a handful, but when push comes to shove, there isn’t anything one would do for the other.

Living together means sharing everything. Kristy frequently makes no bones about her sleeping around with the boys at the public school cross town. Which grates Nadia to no end—she’s always been more private about such things. Some things should remain secret.

As she pulls on her jeans and over shirt, she glances at the pistol again. Hiding the truth hurt. She longs to be able to just be straight with Kristy and the rest of her surrogate family. But what would they think of a would-be gangster living upstairs, mere feet from Kristy? Sneaking around, dealing dope, responsible for some of the most heinous crimes in town?

Forget the thing with Mr. Doe. They’d go ape shit--then by her a ticket on
an Aeroflot bus.

So much for sharing your life with complete strangers.

As she climbs down the steps, the smell of roast beef lingers in the air. She spies the table laid out, every conceivable meal from rolls to green beans laid out for her to sample. The family gathers together as Kristy says grace, sitting down and making small talk about how they spent their day.

So unlike Russians, Nadia can’t help but wonder.

Her mind drifts to her instructor from the other day. She can’t help but think about how gentle he was, the way he caressed her skin. So and yet…so innocent. Does he have someone he comes home to? Does he have someone to talk to and share his struggles?

Who the hell knows?