ELI
It was still cold. Russia always felt cold, like the wind carried more than just snow like it whispered about everything I wasn't. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and kept walking, my boots crunching against the half melted slush of old snow and cigarette butts. It had been two weeks since school started, but every step into that building still felt like walking into a room full of mirrors that reflected everything I hated about myself.
I kept my head low as I passed the front steps, hoping no one would see me or maybe hoping they would. I hadn't decided which was worse.
"Pretty boy!" someone called, the Russian accent sharp like a slap.
I kept walking.
"Hey! Little doll, come spin for us!"
They always laughed when they said things like that. They didn't know it sometimes made my chest twist in weird ways….not entirely bad, not entirely good. But I wouldn't let them see that.
I slid into my seat near the window, the same one I took every morning. It was far from the front, close to the edge, where I could pretend the world was somewhere else. My hoodie was too big, my jeans too tight. A strange contrast, just like me.
Classes passed in a blur. I took notes, answered a few questions when I had to, ignored the looks, the smirks, the whispers behind hands. I was used to it. I had been used to it even back in Korea. But here, it was different. The teasing wasn't just about looking feminine….it was about being foreign, soft, and somehow… unplaceable.
At lunch, I sat at the edge of the cafeteria. I always did. My tray of bland meatballs and rice sat untouched for a while. I picked at it absentmindedly, watching the snow fall outside the window. Everything was so pale here white, grey, steel, ice. It made me miss home, even if I didn't really like it there either.
When I finally walked home, my bag was heavier than usual, though I wasn't sure if it was the books or just the day.
Dad was home before me. I heard voices inside when I reached the apartment door, low and rumbling. Not angry. Familiar.
"…and I told him the merger wouldn't work, but the bastard insisted on pushing through. Can you believe that?"
I paused with my hand on the knob.
Dad's voice. Then laughter. Another voice answered, deeper, smooth. Russian. I didn't recognize it right away, but I knew I'd heard it before.
I pushed the door open, quietly.
Their laughter stopped for a second when I entered. Dad glanced over from the kitchen where he was pouring whiskey into two glasses. Across from him, leaning lazily against the counter like he owned the place, was Damir…Dad's old friend. His usual dark clothes, effortless poise, and unreadable expression made the kitchen feel smaller.
"Back from school?" Dad asked, glancing at the clock.
I gave a small nod. "Yeah."
Damir gave a faint smirk. "Rough day?"
I shrugged, dropping my bag by the wall and heading to my room. "Just a normal one."
He didn't press further.
I walked past them into my room without saying anything else. I didn't really care. Another one of Dad's business friends. That's all.
That night, their voices kept me up. They drank. Talked. Laughed. It wasn't the noise that bothered me….it was the fact that Dad never laughed like that anymore. Not since Mom.
Over the next few weeks, Damir showed up more often. Sometimes he brought wine. Other times, he brought strange gifts…an expensive pen for Dad, a box of imported tea, rare books. Always something.
One day, he showed up with a bag in his hand and handed it to me without a word.
I opened it in my room. Inside was a designer hoodie, oversized, soft, the kind of thing you only saw in fashion shows. I blinked at the price tag. My heart stuttered.
Why?
The next morning, I wore it anyway. Not because of him. Just because it was warm.
At school, the teasing continued. Only now it came with added venom.
"Where'd you get the rich girl drip, huh?" one boy sneered, tugging at the hem of my sleeve.
"Your sugar daddy buy you that?"
"Must've spread real wide for it."
I said nothing. I never did. But my stomach twisted.
Later that day, I found a silver watch in a little box sitting on the kitchen table. No note. No explanation. Just the watch, gleaming under the light.
Damir.
I didn't wear it. But I didn't return it either.
He kept visiting. Kept laughing with Dad. And every time I walked into the room, his eyes followed me…if he was concerned how a feminine boy was coping in Russia….well just fine Mr Damir, I thought sarcastically to myself.
That night, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. The hoodie he gave me hung on the back of my chair. The watch was still in its box, untouched. My phone buzzed from a text. It was from a classmate…another stupid meme about how I looked like someone's "anime girlfriend."
I turned off the screen and rolled over, burying my face in the pillow.
They were all wrong.
I wasn't anyone's girlfriend.