WARNING: this chapter features mentions of drug and child abuse
Set pre-series. A look into Nikita's final run away attempt and her drug use.
She didn't know how good it could feel. Instant relief flooded her veins and numbed her thoughts. For the first time in a long time, her lips lifted in a smile. Maybe it wasn't a real smile, but it was good enough. Her eyes could slip closed, and she could float away without her harmful thoughts. Finally, nothing was screaming at her too loudly to be silenced. The fear rotting her stomach was replaced by artificial bliss. She knew it wouldn't last long, yet how could she care when she felt so great. Freedom felt as though it was coursing through her veins. She was unrestrained for one infinitesimal moment.
Her thoughts needed to be silenced. Nikita had been stuck with them for far too long. Ignoring her pain and everything else around her wasn't enough- it wasn't enough for her sanity. She was running without rest, and it was driving her insane. The cool vial of ketamine was meant to make the screaming stop. After a week of shrieking hell inside her head, she needed to relax. Nikita couldn't survive if she continued to think of the deep, unbearable bruising on her thighs. She had seen drugs silence other people's demons. There possibly wasn't any other way to kill them. Besides, it was only to settle her nerves. Once that was over, she'd be fine.
However, the second she had a taste for the numbing, mindless elixir, she never wanted to go back to her pain. The medicine made her smile; it made her laugh and feel so fucking good. Nikita had found a way to escape, and she could melt away in bliss. She didn't have to be a part of the harmful world anymore. She could drift along from one point to the next like a discarded, torn plastic bag. That seemed to have worked for Caroline and her white pills; she had always been calm and at peace. It couldn't be so awful that she couldn't do it too. Maybe Nikita could be more at peace than Caroline- slip into more oblivion.
She had been in Caroline's tiny bathroom the week before. Her cheek had been busted open, a harsh blow breaking and bruising her bronze skin. With practiced skill, Caroline covered it up. Her touch was so gentle and sure, Nikita couldn't help but study her through the cloudy mirror. A serene expression softened Caroline's features. She was entirely focused on disguising her foster daughter's wound. The parts the makeup covered didn't look injured at all. There was no trace of deep purple bruising, or even swelling. Nikita was in awe of it. She always was whenever she sat on the chipped vinyl folding stool in front of the bathroom mirror. Caroline's makeup skills were incredible.
Caroline's skills to remain silent were also unbelievable. Nikita never heard her speak as she helped her cover the worst of her injuries. She didn't ask about her day, or how she was adjusting to her new high school. A little concealer, a little blush, that was all that was exchanged between the two. Caroline would silently and stoically move around her, while Nikita sat stock-still, fighting the stinging tears in her eyes. She wasn't entirely sure if she wanted Caroline to speak, however. Talking about what had occurred might make it worse. Burying it under makeup was for the best. If it was out of sight, then it was out of mind.
"There. You look perfect," Caroline moved away from the mirror with a soft smile. Nikita pulled herself out of her thoughts enough to focus on her image instead. She didn't like the girl she saw. She left an uncomfortable feeling in Nikita's stomach. The sixteen year old girl in the mirror was far too amazing- far too fake. She was what Nikita should've been. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she could never be that great. Her bruise was gone; though, to make that happen, the rest of her face had to be heavily made up as well. Dark eyeshadow and thick eyeliner made her deep brown eyes pop. Her full lips appeared even fuller with glimmering lip-gloss. And her complexion was absolutely flawless. She was the image of perfection.
Except, it was all wrong. Nikita knew all too well. The makeup only made her appear beautiful; underneath, she was weak and damaged. She didn't even have to look deeply for that, she could've simply wiped off the concealer and blush to reveal the dark, marring bruise. She wanted to wipe it all away. She could simply hide in her cold room for the night instead of facing their rowdy guests. She wasn't up for company anyway. Spending so much time with Caroline was enough for her. As Nikita leapt off the stool and tried to run away, however, Caroline held her tightly in place. Wordlessly, she led her to her closet.
Gary was having his new friends and coworkers over for some important football game or whatever, so Nikita had to look presentable. Not only did the bruises need to be covered, but she couldn't walk around in her ill-fitting, grubby clothing. A simple, borrowed dress would do the trick. Nikita shook her head and pushed the pink floral fabric away from her. The serenity on Caroline's face was quickly replaced with anger. A rare flash of rage flickered in her pale blue eyes. She forced the dress into Nikita's hands and shoved her into the closet. She wasn't allowed to leave until she had changed. Nikita dared not to grumble as she followed the command.
When she had changed clothes and pulled on a pair of high heeled shoes as well, Nikita slowly slipped out of the closet. Caroline had her gaze locked on the mirror, hiding her own yellowed bruise on her fragile neck with concealer. She paid her foster daughter no mind as she finally left the room. Nikita was fine with that. She knew how to fix the dress and shoes so that it laid right and didn't appear too big. No one would know they were borrowed. If they did, though, it wouldn't have been the worst part of the night. Plastering on a fake smile while her cheek still stung would be torturous. Except, Gary wasn't one to disappoint, especially while his friends were around. She needed to be the perfect daughter he demanded of her.
Nikita looked the part, at least. She caught the eye of all of Gary's new friends; Gary even flashed her a kind smile. Yet the peace of the night didn't last long. Maybe it was the bitterness of her thoughts, the nonchalant expression on Caroline's pale, made-up face, the loud alcoholic guests around her, or the pounding pain in her cheek, but Nikita snapped. She said one too many biting remarks to Gary and his new friends (seriously, how had he managed to find the same unbearable people to be with in New Jersey as he had in Detroit). Each "girl, food" and "drink, now" was met with a scathing sarcastic quip. Nothing unpredictable was happening on the television anyway. The men wouldn't miss anything if they left the couch. Their precious bets on the rickety coffee table would be safe.
Gary's caustic comments about her intelligence were probably right. Nikita was stupid for lashing out. It only made the demands harsher and louder. She should've bit her tongue like Caroline had. She should've kept her fake smile or shown interest in the game. Maybe she should've paid a compliment or two to Gary. However, when Nikita looked for Caroline, she realized she had disappeared from the night. She had silently slipped away from the television room and kitchen, far down the dark hallway. As the alcohol passed between Gary and his new friends, Caroline was gone.
She left Nikita to the laughing, betting, surly men.
At first, the only change was that more attention was paid to the young and pretty Nikita. She received more demands for chips and beer from the kitchen. She was paid more compliments- she looked so beautiful and grown up with that makeup. And her sarcastic comments about the game and the men's reactions were met with more laughter than shouts. Nikita continued to be yelled at, however. Each time she dared to cross the television screen during a play, curses flew. She didn't mind. It was no worse than the lunchroom at school, or the unruly senior boys in the hall. Except for when Gary cornered her in the kitchen.
The football game couldn't be seen past the curve in the wall. There was the obvious glow of the television, the obnoxiously loud guests, the tangy smell of the wings and vinegar sting of dips, yet no other evidence of the game existed in the kitchen. It was only Nikita and Gary. The smile he had flashed her earlier in the night was long gone. It had been replaced by strong burning alcohol on his breath. She tried to skirt around him, but there was no escape. There was no help either. Gary's new friends were too absorbed by food, alcohol, money, and the football game. They couldn't see nor hear her. She braced herself for the wrath she didn't know why she was receiving.
Except, she did know. A part of her always knew why she was hit and touched.
The borrowed pink dress tore, and more harsh bruises decorated her bronze skin. After what felt like an eternity of hell with Gary, Nikita finally managed to escape to her bedroom with ragged breath and a sore body. She wouldn't let Gary's new friends see the cracks in her wall as she passed them- she couldn't. However, the fractures grew larger the more she pushed forward. Her fear and fury began to froth at the surface. It brewed and festered inside of her, begging to be unleashed. Despite the revelry in sports, food, and money continuing to rage nearby, the feelings she attempted to bottle up wouldn't be contained. She needed to calm down.
The sparsely filled closet in her bedroom was as good a place as any to collect herself. Nikita kicked off her borrowed high heels, collapsing in the corner. She needed to breathe- in and out in a steady rhythm. She could convince herself she was alright. She was alive, wasn't she. That was good enough. She was fine. It could've been far worse. She could still feel her heartbeat, even if it was rapid and tore at her chest.
Nikita's tears came suddenly. They streamed down her face without ceasing. Her breath hiccupped and gasped along with her sobs. She was trapped. She was in hell. She fought and she struggled, but it was of no use.
Breathing erratically, Nikita held her head between her knees. Her body shook, and tears streamed down her reddened cheeks, but she couldn't stop. Curled into a tight ball on the floor of her closet, she lost control. She thought she could hide behind the few thin jackets in the small, enclosed space, and collect herself in peace. No one would know what happened. No one would know that her fear boiled to the surface before she could control it. There was nothing she could've done to stop the onslaught, however, but hope it would be over soon. And hope that nobody ever found her.
She wasn't certain how much time had passed. It felt like days, her body trembling and curled in on itself while she worked through the attack. That was what it was- an attack. Terror and rage assaulted her mind relentlessly. The ruthless feelings had her in a stronghold that she couldn't break free of. There was no reprieve, and no battling it. All Nikita could do was ride it out until it finally ended. She started to believe that would never be the case, however. The sobs didn't stop even when she had no more tears left to spend. She was left heaving on the worn hardwood floor.
Able to startle her through her fearful fog, the cracked door to her bedroom creaked opened. Nikita did her best to control her breathing and quiet her sobs. Panic lent a hand in attempting to calm herself. She didn't want to think about what would happen if anyone saw her like that. She might get taken advantage of again. If she was seen as vulnerable and fragile, then there truly wouldn't be an escape for her. The same feeling that came over her whenever she talked back to Gary or defended herself against his verbal attacks had to replace her fear. She needed to be strong. She had to conceal her trembling frame with a stern face.
Except, it was only Caroline. She easily found Nikita in the closet, and she silently sat next to her. Caroline helped her clean the ruined makeup and soothe her unbearable bruising with a worn, damp cloth. She returned Nikita's comfortable yet shabby clothing but didn't ask for the dress back. In fact, Caroline continued to not say a word. She helped Nikita look perfect again, then laid a gentle kiss to her forehead. She never screamed; she never cried. She glanced at her foster daughter with a soft smile on her thin lips and hummed lightly while she comforted her. She was as serene as ever. Nikita was in awe of Caroline.
Above everything, she wanted to be as calm and collected as her. Nikita wanted that peace; it didn't matter how enraged she felt over Caroline's serenity before. She just didn't want to be afraid or in pain any longer. She wanted to smile and be able to sing along to her favorite songs. Instead of asking Caroline how she found any solace, Nikita went looking for it.
She had always been determined to run away. Ever since she was thirteen, Nikita had tried to escape Gary's fist. Her attempts had never stuck while they had lived in Detroit. Either she had made a mistake and couldn't live on her own for long, or the cops or her social worker or a friend of the family would find her. But she was much smarter then; she had learned from her failed experiences. She was also in a new state where no one knew her, would miss her, or had any paperwork on her yet. Gary had forcibly moved Nikita and Caroline out of Michigan. He claimed it was because of a new job. Yet Nikita believed it was because he had become paranoid that people were beginning to suspect abuse at home. He had to escape the allegations.
And Nikita had to escape him.
She waited a few days, gathering money, supplies, and her belongings. She didn't speak to Gary or Caroline the entire time. Neither seemed to care. After the football party, they were perfectly fine ignoring her. Nikita was so, so glad. It made slipping out of the house one night so much easier. Her foster parents hadn't been paying attention to her; it'd be a long time before they ever noticed she was gone. By then, she intended to be buses and cities away.
The city she had decided on staying in wasn't her ideal choice. However, Nikita found a group of other runaways just like her. She could be safe with them. She could hide, earn money, and have shelter. She could also be taken care of. A week after the football party, and a few days after she had escaped for good, a vial of ketamine was presented to her. Her new friends told her it'd keep her warm. It'd also make her forget the bruises. Nikita took a shot of the bottle without thought. Then, she took another. And another. She took enough until she was numb. Until she felt serene bliss. Until her fear and anger were concealed.
