Earth, Russia, Saratov Oblast, Saratov. 3rd of December, 2010.
Two children, a girl and a boy, were sitting in the living room of a small house.
An old cartoon movie was playing on the screen of an old TV.
“Слово «Ром» и слово «смерть»... для вас означает - одно и то же! ” a man with a big smile said while laughing, holding a bottle and a skull on each hand.
The girl, Natasha Nikolayevna Novak, giggled at the silly way the character relayed the information.
The boy, Vladimir Nikolayevich Novak, glanced at her and copied the giggle.
Natasha gave her brother a look, smiling. “Did you understand?” she asked.
Vladimir looked at the TV, then back at her... and shook his head.
The older sister nodded in understanding, then grabbed the remote and paused the VHS player. “If you drink too much alcohol your health will deteriorate like that character. He was so weak that a single stick was enough to send him to bed after hitting his head.”
The younger brother nodded and returned his focus to the screen.
Natasha's smile turned complicated, but pointed the remote at the VHS and pressed play, resuming the movie.
Vladimir had never, in his four years of life, said a word. He laughed when others laughed, and cried when others cried. People initially thought he was mute, but it soon turned into concerns of him being of special needs.
The little girl, despite being 10 years old, was deeply worried for her brother. She knew the boy was smart and had no trouble understanding things if one took the time to explain properly. Still, people called her stupid whenever she had trouble understanding math in school. Most adults had no time to explain things properly, and the little girl didn't have much hopes when it came to her little brother's future and how people would treat him with how she saw the way people treated boys in her class whenever they scored low on tests.
The two siblings continued watching the movie. Every time Natasha laughed, Vladimir would too. Every time she asked if he understood, he would shake his head and she would explain.
Life, however, would take a turn that night.
The door to their house opened, and a tall woman came into the living room shortly after. She undid the buttons of a jacket and left it on the couch the two siblings were sitting on, revealing a nurse's uniform with a plaque on her chest that read 'Rodchenkova Zoya Iosifovna'.
It was obvious at a glance that she was the mother of the two. Green eyes, blonde hair, and a straight nose were passed down to the two.
“Hello, Mother,” greeted little Natasha while staring at the screen.
The woman sat down next to her children. “What are you watching?” she demanded in a dry tone while lighting a cigarette.
The TV showed a group of real life men dressed as pirates and singing.
“Treasure Island,” little Natasha replied in a quiet voice, engrossed in the movie. “Grandma loved it.”
Zoya's eyebrow twitched at the answer. She took a drag of the tobacco cylinder and let it out in front of her. “Grandma is dead,” the loving mother told her children. “Turn that off,” she ordered and held out a hand.
Little Natasha's smile turned into a sad frown, and handed the remote to her mother.
The TV switched to a news channel, and the anchor talked about a man named Medvedev.
The woman scoffed. “Putin did a better job,” she complained. “This country is going to shit.”
Not knowing what to do, and afraid of making her mother angry, little Natasha stayed on the couch. She took her brother's hand and held it firmly.
“Are the dishes done?” the mother asked, looking at the screen. She put the smoke on her lips and inhaled.
Little Natasha nodded. “They are,” she replied quietly.
The mother sighed in satisfaction, releasing a cloud of smoke into the room. “Is the bathroom clean?” she asked next.
The 10 year old nodded again. “I cleaned it after I got home from school,” she answered.
The mother chuckled. “So even someone as stupid as you can be useful around the house,” she commented and once again polluted the room with smoke. “Vladimir,” she called, still looking at the screen. She had a deep scowl on her face. “Decided to talk?” she sarcastically questioned.
The four year old shook his head.
“Of course,” Zoya muttered, disappointment evident on her voice. “Stupid child.”
The door to their house opened and a man came into the living room shortly after.
He looked at his family, then at the TV. The VHS player was still on, but the screen showed the news. The living room was full of smoke from Zoya's cigarette, too.
“Papa!” Natasha cheered and stood up, then ran to her father and hugged his waist. “Mother won't let us watch cartoons!” she tattled.
Nikolai Illyich Novak looked at the woman staring at the TV.
She had an uncaring expression, and made comments on the political situation of the country.
“What are you doing, woman?” Nikolai demanded, walking into the living room and blocking the screen. “Smoking next to the children again? And now you switch to the news when they were watching a movie? What is wrong with you?”
“I work all day,” Zoya began with an irritated tone, looking at Nikolai. “Then come home to stupid children. Now the man that is too poor to marry me is asking questions?” she spat with venom, then scoffed, “You think too highly of yourself, Nikolai. Face reality. You are not the man you think you are.”
The family's father scowled, and his fists tightened in anger. “Natasha, Vladimir,” he called his children in a gentle tone. “Go to your room,” he instructed.
Little Natasha took a deep breath, then let go of her father's legs. She walked back to the couch to get his brother.
Zoya raised a hand and brought it down on Natasha's head for making her day more difficult than it already was. “Insolent!” she shouted.
Natasha covered her head, too scared and shocked to get out of the way.
Nikolai was faster, however, stopping the mother's strike with a hand.
A burning sensation assaulted his skin.
Zoya wasn't planning on slapping the ten year old, but wanted to press the still lit cigarette on her face.
“CRAZY BITCH!” Nikolai screamed, then grabbed the woman by the shoulders.
Natasha rushed to her brother and grabbed him by the hand, then dragged him to their room and closed the door.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” the mother demanded in a loud voice. “THEY WON'T UNDERSTAND UNLESS YOU USE VIOLENCE!”
Natasha hugged Vladimir and covered his ears.
“THEN MAYBE I SHOULD USE SOME ON YOU, CRAZY BITCH!” retorted the father in an equally loud voice. “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO HIT MY CHILDREN!”
“THEY'RE MY CHILDREN, NIKOLAI!” the mother spat back. “AND YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT I MEAN!”
There was a moment of silence.
Hot, wet tears streamed down little Natasha's face.
Her parents had never fought like this before. When her grandma was still alive, everything was fine. They were a happy family. Zoya was gentle, loving, and warm. Nikolai was the quiet man he always was, but made sure to spend time with the family and play with the siblings.
She didn't understand. Things were too sudden, violent, and loud for a ten year old. The adults never explained. They fought and screamed at each other instead.
“What happened to you?” Nikolai asked in a severe tone. “You... were never like this. What has gotten into you, woman?”
“I can't live like this,” Zoya hissed. “My children have no future! All Natasha ever does is doodle away! Vladimir can't even speak! You don't earn enough money! Our quality of life is on the floor!”
Natasha took little Vladimir to their bed and tucked him in while the parents argued in the living room. She made sure to cover his ears and do her best to hide her tears.
“We'll get through this!” Nikolai told the woman, repeating himself who knows how many times since his mother passed away.
“And how are we going to do that?” the family's mother demanded, voice angry and tired. “Money stopped coming in after Irina died! Open your eyes! We had to sell the car, the piano, moved into this shit hole, and now I have to work two shifts just to cover basic expenses!”
“It's all about money with you,” the father sighed in defeat. “Now you take it out on the children. Do you not see how wrong that is?”
Zoya clicked her tongue. “Is the son of a criminal telling me how to raise my children? Didn't your father hit you? Look at you! You're doing fine despite not earning enough money!”
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“We'll find a cheaper place,” Nikolai suggested, ignoring the insults sent his way. “I'll find a third job. Natasha can sell her art! She's good at it, Zoyechka.”
The woman scoffed. “A cheaper place?” she demanded, raising her voice. “WHERE? THIS HOUSE IS ALREADY CHEAP AS IT IS, NIKOLAI! AND WE'RE RUNNING OUT OF MONEY!”
“A friend is selling a flat,” he calmly told her. “ I already talked to him about it, and I explained our situation. We'll only have to pay ten thousand rubles a month. We can move next week.”
“...A flat...?” she questioned with skepticism. “It's not a Khrushchoba, is it?”
Nikolai sighed.
“I can't live in a slum!” she snapped. “MY CHILDREN CAN'T LIVE IN A SLUM, YOU HEAR ME? PEOPLE WHO LIVE THERE END UP LIKE YOU! WITH NO FUTURE AND BARELY EARNING ENOUGH MONEY TO SEND THEM TO GOOD SCHOOLS!”
“So they're supposed to end up like you?” he asked, clearly annoyed. “A waste of skin that hits their children?”
“I'm their mother,” she pointed out in a low voice.
“You're a monster,” he corrected her. “A crazy bitch that would put a cigarette on her daughter's face!”
Zoya started laughing. “I see! SMALL NIKOLAI FINALLY FOUND THE BALLS HE LACKED ALL HIS LIFE!”
“I only just realized how deranged you were all along,” he spat.
Silence.
Little Natasha trembled under the covers.
The fights had never been this loud. Her parents had never insulted each other that much.
Tears fell down her face and didn't seem like they'd stop anytime soon.
“I can't take this anymore... I'm leaving,” her mother declared. “And I am taking Natasha with me.”
Hearing that, the little girl hugged her younger brother tighter.
“Try me, bitch,” her father warned. “If you touch my daughter it'll be your corpse leaving through that door.”
The woman scoffed. “Are you threatening me?”
“Find out, then,” he replied, placing a very real threat of death upon the woman he had once loved with all he had.
Nikolai had been raised with the belief that women are to be protected. 'A man should never hit a woman' is what his mother Irina had told him several times. That belief was what kept him from beating Zoya to death when she tried to use violence on their daughter. Were it a man who tried to do so, there would be a dead body in the living room already.
But Irina had died three months ago, taking all of that 'wisdom' with her to the afterlife.
In front of Nikolai stood no woman. He had seen the mother of his children- the woman he had shared most of his life with- become the worst possible creature on the face of the earth. Something not even a lifetime of indoctrination would stop him from murdering.
A child beater.
To Nikolai, that one attempt was enough to remove any humanity the woman possessed. He had been at the receiving end of it during his childhood, after all. He knew the kind of hate children could harbor towards their parents when they experienced it, and he didn't want his children to go through it.
As such, for the first time in his life, he threatened a woman with death. To him, his children were more important than any woman.
Zoya was silent for a while. It was the first time Nikolai acted that way. Even after all the things she did to him, and all the things she had said so far... the man had just taken it and kept quiet. The burn on his hand hadn't prompted him into violence. There were more, far uglier things she had done that didn't get him this worked up.
Both understood something at that moment.
They could not coexist anymore. The family had been irreparably broken. There is no going back from a threat of death.
The little power Zoya had and enjoyed -that being her position as a mother- had vanished in an instant, decided against her will and brought to be by her own actions.
Thus... she packed her things in silence and left. Angry, spiteful, and feeling like the man had done her a terrible wrong. She didn't want to die, after all. Despite all the taunts she sent his way, Nikolai was the son of a criminal. Who knew what would happen to her.
Little Natasha fell asleep holding her brother. Terrified, sad, and endlessly confused.
That was a night she would never forget, even after dying. Even after a million years of torment. A night that would shape her view of the world.
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25th of July, 2013.
Little Natasha was sitting in a doctor's office, trying her best to understand what the man had just told her.
The last years had been rough, and the light that should exist in a child's eyes wasn't entirely there. Instead, the understanding that the world had a cost beyond mortal capability had started to occupy her green eyes.
Life had no meaning.
Objectively speaking, however, it did have a meaning. Grow, reproduce, and die. The perpetuation of life is its goal.
In all the absurd mess that life is, it was up to the individual to give it meaning. Natasha, however, was having a fucking hard time finding one.
“Can you repeat that?” little Natasha requested in her most respectful tone.
Her young heart was being tested by life's absurdities once again.
The doctor cleared his throat, and repeated himself. “Vladimir Novak, your brother, does not present the signs of autism,” he explained slowly, taking his time, and using words she'd easily understand. “We have done exhaustive testings on him to check if that was the case, and all results have come out as negative.” The man removed his glasses and looked little Natasha in the eye. “He has high-functioning psychopathy, instead. We should start lowering the dosage he's been taking so far.”
Why was she being told this information, though?
Nikolai was at work. Specifically, his second job.
After Zoya left, her side of the family cut all ties with the three.
Nikolai's family had all passed away except for his father, who had a sever case of Alzheimer's and was hospitalized somewhere in Siberia.
Natasha had to help raise his little brother.
Babysitter? Specialized schooling? Those were for the privileged.
The consultations costed a lot of money, and there was nobody but her to take and pick her brother to and from the doctor's appointment.
Little Natasha's small fist tightened and her eyes stung.
She didn't understand what the doctor was saying even though he took the time to explain properly. Psychopathy was a new word for her, as much as autism had been.
She didn't have access to the internet due to living barely above poverty, and her friends were few and didn't have to deal with life like she did so they wouldn't have much in the way of advice.
Despite all the efforts she went through to understand and help with her younger brother's condition -reading books at the public library, searching ways to help raise a child with autism despite being only thirteen years old, teaching him how the world worked even though she didn't fully understand it herself, and doing her best to give him memories he'd cherish- life was becoming too costly to live for a thirteen year old.
Natasha's ears started ringing, and the smell of cleaning products coming from the carpet made her a little nauseous.
The doctor took a bowl on his desk and offered her one of the candies in it. “Here, have one,” he told her with a smile. “You've earned it.”
The little girl looked up at the doctor and slowly nodded, then took one of the candies. She put it in her pocket, though. “For later,” she lied. It was for Vladimir.
The man nodded, knowing full well what would happen.
Vladimir, who started speaking at the age of five, had talked a lot about the sister that was always there for him during his appointments with the doctor. Whenever she earned candies and treats, she'd give them to him. She'd have cereal with water for breakfast, leaving the milk for him. She would leave the bigger half of every sausage to him. All the toys belonged to Vladimir, too.
As for Natasha? She drew. A lot. To forget about hunger, sleep, pain, and sadness.
“If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask me,” the doctor offered.
Natasha nodded. “Do you have books I could read about... saico... that thing you said?” she requested, looking away in embarrassment at not remembering the word.
The man smiled and wrote a few lines on a notepad, then gave her the sheet of paper. “You can start with these. They're easy to understand. Make sure your father reads them as well.”
Natasha took the paper and put it in her pocket. “Thank you, doctor,” she said while standing up. “I'll go talk with the nice lady about the next appointment.”
“Take care, little warrior,” the doctor bid her farewell with a smile.
The little girl giggled at the silly man and left the office.
She didn't think of herself as a warrior. She didn't think much of herself, really. Just doing what she could to help around the house.
A few minutes later, and with little Vladimir next to her, she put the slip with the next appointment's date in her pocket.
Both left the clinic and walked home.
On the way, they passed in front of a store two blocks away from their destination.
Natasha's stomach growled, protesting hunger.
She checked her pockets and counted the little money she had.
200 rubles and a few kopecks.
Enough for a few sausages and eggs. Vladimir loved those.
The two siblings went into the store.
While checking the first aisle they encountered, little Natasha's eyes landed on a pack of sanitary pads. She discreetly checked the price.
551 rubles and some kopecks.
The little girl sighed and guided her brother deeper into the store.
They got home a few minutes later, and Natasha went straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
There, she pulled her pants down and removed a sock she had on top of her panties. It had a few specks of blood and a stain around it.
Little Natasha scoffed. “Socks are easy to clean,” she told herself and sniffled. “I can buy a lot of milk with 500 rubles!” she laughed with tears streaming down her face and washed the sock in the sink.
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4th of March, 2015.
Little Natasha was leaving school when a classmate approached her.
“Natasha Nikolayevna!” he jokingly called and caught up to her.
The little fighter turned to face the kid. “Nikita Mikhailovich,” she similarly greeted back after recognizing him.
At that point in time, the vicissitudes of life had completely worn the cheerfulness of a child out of her. Her green eyes that once had the spark of mischievousness and youthful mirth were now cold and bereft of hope for the world. What once was a smile that giggled and laughed without a care as any child should was now a straight line that more often than not carried a light scowl. The eyebrows that used to express wonder and awe were now mostly static, changing positions slightly to only show surprise... whenever anything managed to be out of her low expectations, that is.
The boy blushed. “Would you like to go to McD*nalds with me?” he invited with great bravery.
Natasha took a second to think. “I'm waiting for my brother,” she told him.
Nikita nodded. “He can come with us,” he assured her with a big smile.
“I don't have money,” she replied in honesty.
The boy chuckled and playfully nudged her shoulder. “Not a problem. It's on me.”
Free food? Only a moron would turn that down.
“Sure,” she quickly accepted, taking a red pack of cigarettes out of her backpack and placing one on her lips. “Thank you,” she told him, looking him straight in the eye and lighting the cylinder of death up.
The stress she was under had pushed her into finding ways to kill it. Lo and behold, cigarettes were cheaper than sanitary pads.
Nikita blushed up to the ears, and his smile turned even wider at the positive reply.
Despite all that life threw at her, Natasha wasn't daft. She was just preoccupied with others things.
Her lips curled ever so slightly into the tiniest of smiles. She thought the boy was cute.
From that day on, slowly but surely and little by little, the brave girl learned about love.