Nicky stares at the floor, vaguely aware of the sounds of her mother vomiting in the downstairs bathroom a few feet away from her. The longer she stared, the more the fury built in her chest. Gingerbread crumbs and glass shards were ground into the carpet, taunting her. All of her hard work, all of her frustrations, all of the hopes she'd put into the gingerbread now lay on the carpet, Marka clearly having taken her own frustrations out on their creation, leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel had left to find their way home. Only at the end of the trail there would be no home for Nicky, just disappointment and – by the sounds of Marka retching – a big mess to clear up.
Nicky's eyes snap up as she finally hears the toilet flush and Marka emerge, her eyes red and makeup smudged. Nicky didn't have the heart to say anything. If she was sure of anything in this world, in her short twelve years, it was that she wasn't her mother. She wouldn't be cruel as much as she wanted to be. Instead, she steps aside to let Marka through to the kitchen. Marka offers a grateful smile, her high heels crunching on the unfamiliar terrain of her daughter's hard work and the glass that she'd managed to smash. As Marka sits in the kitchen, her head in her hands, she looks up to Nicky.
"It's over," she says, as if Nicky is supposed to understand; as if Nicky is supposed to empathise. "Paolo. He left me."
"Oh," Nicky manages, the dumbfounded word escaping from her mouth before she can really think about it. Her hands wring together, her nervous fingers chipping away at the Icing nail polish Lorna had insisted she paint on her nails earlier that week. Blue flakes fell to the floor like tears as the nervous chipping continued, an awkward silence ensuing between what should be the most natural bond there is; mother and daughter. Nicky felt as if all the air in her chest was gone, like a deflated balloon. She always felt this way around Marka. She didn't even have the breath or the gall to make a sarcastic comment.
"Oh?" Marka says mockingly. "I pay thousands of dollars for your education, and the most articulate thing you can manage is Oh?" Nicky's lips press together as she fights the urge to either cry or scream. Count to ten, she tells herself, remembering Dmitri's words to Galina.
One two three.
"Nicole," her mother sighs. "I'd get more comfort from the bottom of a wine bottle. Pass me a glass." Her hands reach out, but not for Nicky. Never for Nicky.
Four five six.
Nicky reaches up to the cupboard, almost snapping the stem of the glass as her fists ball up beside her. "Is that all?" Nicky asks through gritted teeth. Marka raises her eyebrows at her daughter, yet another sigh escaping from her lips.
Seven eight nine.
"Nicole, how can you not understand?" The tears are flowing freely now, and Nicky suspects the wine has had more than a small influence on Marka as the emotions that always remain in check spill all over the counter along with the wine spilling from the knocked over glass. "I loved him." Marka shakes her head, wiping the tears away from her eyes. "I loved him more than anything."
Ten.
Nicky fled from the room, the comment cutting into her more than she ever imagined it could; more than she ever wanted it to be able to. She wasn't surprised. But as she flew up the stairs and onto her bed, facedown, she was hurt. A now damp pillow soaked up her tears and cushioned her sobs. It would provide more comfort than Marka ever would.
"Fucking woman." Galina fumes as the front door slams behind her. Her fists ball up at her sides, her crimson lips pressing together as she attempted to control her rage. "That little girl deserves so much more."
"Galina," a warning voice brings Red back down to earth, but her anger still burns in her eyes. "One, two, three.."
"Yes, yes," Galina snaps. "Four five six seven eight nine ten." She inhales quickly as Dmitri patiently waits for her to explain. "Her mother was there." Galina scoffs at her own words, mirroring Nicky on the first day they were together. "She's not a mother, that woman."
"Well, that's a good thing, no?" Dmitri absently rubs Galina's arm, the sensation providing Galina with little comfort as her mind drifts to Nicky's anxious expression when the door was slammed. Galina glares.
"Of course not." Galina shakes her head, then takes another deep breath. "Dmitri…the woman doesn't know how to be a mother. She doesn't know how to comfort her own child."
"There are worse people in this world. She's got a roof over her head, food in her stomach. Moglo byt' i khuzhe." He takes his wife into his strong arms, feeling useful for the first time in a while. "Come, dragotsennyy. It's late. Let's go to bed." Galina nods but shrugs off his hands from her back, only now noticing the dull ache that resided near her tailbone. "Things will seem brighter in the morning."
Before retiring to bed, Galina steps into the shower. The hot water that runs over her body gives a good distraction, though her thoughts float around the steamy cubicle, suffocating her. She closes her eyes, the water running over her face. Usually, this relaxes her to no end. Today, though, it only gave her mind a chance to flash images of Nicky's face into her mind, and to see the stumble of Marka Nichols as the slam of the door reverberated in her mind.
It was strange to see how the girl had stolen the remains of Galina's heart. It was more than a job to Galina, and it was clear that Nicky needed someone even if she didn't want to admit it. Raising her boys had been hard work, and she thought that they would be the last children she'd have any big influence over. Still, she had to admit that it was nice to have those big Bambi eyes staring up at her in wonder when she said something. Galina knew it wouldn't be long before Nicky trusted her to open up, to instinctively accept a loving touch or shoulder to cry on. She just had to keep trying.
As she fell into bed, she knew it would be a restless night for her. Wasn't it always, these days?
Nicky was awoken by the sounds of screaming downstairs. Her eyes fluttered open, blinded by the harsh light of her bedroom. She groaned, taking a moment to remember where she was and what had happened. After piecing it together, she listened carefully to the noise downstairs. After a moment, she could decipher the noises into words.
"I knew you were sleeping with her! You always denied it but I knew! Well, fuck you!" Marka's voice seemed to shake the walls. Her normally composed, eloquent way of communicating was clearly left at the bottom of the last bottle she'd downed in her attempts to forget. Nicky wonders if she'd end up like her mother one day, trying anything just to forget. It didn't sound like such a bad plan.
An accented voice shouted next, and Nicky instantly recognizes it as Paolo. "I did not sleep with her! Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time? I only love you!" The words are followed by a harsh sound, a slap. Nicky winces as though it's her face that's been struck, and pushes her hair back in a nervous habit. There's smashing glass again – would there even be a glass for breakfast? Nicky wonders – and more shoving. Yelling. Screaming. It's not unfamiliar. It had happened at least twice in the last six months. The last time it happened, Nicky fled to Lorna's house.
The streets were cold, but Nicky's determination drove her on. She wasn't even sure she knew where she was going. Anywhere was better than home, if it even warranted that name. She shook her head, and though she was reluctant to bother Lorna, she really had nowhere else to go. Her only hope was that Lorna wasn't too mad at her.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, an apartment that looked like Lorna's came into view, and Nicky sighed with relief. She bit her lip. But she knew that Lorna's bedroom was the only one with a window facing the street, and the dumpsters next to the building would provide her with the footing she needed to knock on the window. With a final glance behind her, she began to scale the side of the building, spitting on her hands and then taking a running jump.
After falling to the ground with a thud, she realized that it was portrayed as much easier in the movies – and, although she wouldn't admit to watching them anymore, the cartoons. She stepped back for a moment, considering. She closed her eyes, and then ran toward the building. All of her strength and determination went into grabbing onto the side, and keeping her grip. The window wasn't too high up and certainly wasn't on the top floor and for that, Nicky sent up a silent thank you. Her hands stung and her ankle was twisted but she'd reached the window and she heaved a sigh of relief. She gently tapped on the window. When there was no answer, her impatience grew, and she rapped on the glass so hard that it rattled in the frame.
Inside, Lorna jumped. In an instant, she was up, peering out of the window curiously. Her heart pounded as she wondered what it could have possibly have been. When she saw Nicky, her heart almost stopped. She yanked the window open, her mouth working hard to find the right words. When none came, she pulled Nicky through, enveloping her into a tight hug as her heartbeat returned to a normal rate. "What are you doing?" Lorna demanded, her eyes full of concern. "You could have fallen!"
Nicky shrugs. "I…" She struggled for the right words, not wanting to admit what her home life was really like just yet. "I wanted to see you." It wasn't a lie. Not outright, anyway. Nicky did want to see Lorna. She wanted to see her most of the time. Lorna had a way of making her feel secure. She never poked fun at her hair, instead raking her fingers through it enviously as the watched television or Lorna flicked through one of her magazines. She never asked for anything, just friendship. The way Lorna's eyes softened made it clear that she didn't quite believe what Nicky was saying, but she stepped aside anyway.
"You're freezing," Lorna remarks. "Sit down." Nicky does as she's told, kicking off her shoes, and Lorna sits down beside her on the bed. She plays with Nicky's fingers, the silence between them impossibly loud. "Are you alright?" The words are raspy, and Lorna isn't sure she wants to hear the answer. Nicky, who's always smiling and cracking jokes. Nicky, who won't let you be sad for more than a minute without attempting to make you feel better. Nicky…the only person she's ever felt so comfortable with.
Nicky swiftly nods. "I'm fine, kid." Her own words are shaky, but neither questions it. They simply sit together until the sun rises. Until Nicky is warm again. Until the unfallen tears dry, and until Lorna is ready to let go of Nicky's hands.
This time, Nicky was reluctant to worry Lorna. There was only one place she was willing to go to. Without really thinking, Nicky was out the door, her little book of fairy-tales shoved under her jacket. The walk seemed slower in the night time, shadows casting doubt over otherwise innocuous landmarks in the street. Buildings turned into a threat. Cats turned into tigers. The odd homeless person turned into a mass murderer. Nicky shakes her head. Save it for the fairy-tales, Nicky, she tells herself.
The sound of New York at night gave Nicky a distraction. Even the traffic sounds were a welcome change from Marka's yelling, and Paolo's stupid accent. Before she really knew it, Galina's apartment stood in front of her. The fire escape gave Nicky an easy entry into their home, and she hesitated before knocking on the glass. She was beginning to feel like a stray cat, forever tapping on the glass of homes that might want to take her in for a while. It hurt her ego, and her pride was stung, not to mention her hands and feet from climbing.
Inside, Galina lay awake. The sound of tapping on glass pulled her from her thoughts. Cautiously, she climbed out of her bed, careful not to wake Dmitri. Her forehead creased in concern and her eyes narrowed as she attempted to locate the sound. When it happened again, she crept over to the window next to the fire escape, and twitched open the dusty curtains. "Nicky?!"
Here's the next chapter then! I hope you liked it. I know Lorna didn't really make an appearance, but I know there's been a few people wanting to see her, so I tried to put her in there somewhere. Please tell me what you think.
The Russian is "could be worse" and "precious". :)