This would be easier than Theodore thought, such a naïve girl.
Her eyes lit up when talking to him, blabbing about something he wasn't paying attention to.
This would be dreadful, but the results were worth it. He'd get a good laugh, and maybe some youtube views.
"Заткнись ты глупая девушка" He was already tired of her.
"What does that mean?" She asks.
Fighting the urge not to roll his eyes he placed his hand on her shoulder "It means I have to go, I'll talk to you later okay?"
Cynthia nodded and watched him drive from his BMW. She was slow to pack up, resulting in missing the bus. Cynthia would have to walk to the shelter which was 8 minutes by car, so about 30 on foot.
She enjoyed the scenery on her way back, avoided eye contact with incoming joggers. She never had the time to do this. She thought about her life so far, the obstacles she had to face in order to get here.
From Goma to Boston, it all happened so fast she couldn't process it all. The adoption papers were completed in a matter of days. The Johnsons were rich, rich enough to bribe their way out of prison for child abuse.
Although young, she remembered the horrible things they did to her. If the house wasn't cleaned in less than an two hours, she would get a hard beating and/or be locked in a coat closet for up to 3 days.
Cynthia was given very small portions of food, leaving her malnourished. Baths were given twice every week. Mary and Paul Jhonson allowed her to attended grade school, annoyed at the language barrier amongst them.
She had also learned English through magazines and the newspapers Paul left lying around. Cynthia was picked up the white man's language quite fast compared to other school subjects. Her accent was still thick, but she spoke clearly unless when she was nervous.
Micheal was on her mind as she crossed the road, She had witnessed her brother die from a disease that could be cured by proper western medicine, medicine they didn't have access or the money for. Malaria had devastated sub-saharan Africa. Although many survived, others, poor like her, were left dead.
Tears build up as she thinks of small moments of her and her brother. When he hugged her as they fled both rebels from bordering Rwanda and the ones of their own land.
Bloodshed marked those faint villages, they were straving, working in mines that barley provided 1 USD, just so an apple tv or the computer I'm writing on could be made.
///////
#CongoisBleeding🇨🇩
Recognize your privilege.
YOU ARE READING
The Russian's Tricks(Short Story)
RomanceTwo immigrants from polar opposite countries. One from poverty and one born into wealth. She's gone through trauma he could never imagine. They are both broken is some way. Yet she's kind and he only cares about his own feelings. When he hurts her...
