(a/n: been horrible about keeping to a schedule, so sorry about that! I'm actually going to have a posting schedule linked at the end of the chapter that I'll hopefully stick to. Also, this chapter is very near and dear to my heart. It is not a light chapter, but not the heaviest. not fully edited as of posting)
tw: self harm
Saturday, December 20th, 1975
Lafayette, Indiana
Some moments were so cast in a yellow glow of joy that poverty could be wholly ignored. That the stuffed, tiny rooms and cold water and broken pipes could be pushed to the back of one's mind until they once again became a pressing matter. Dimitra experienced such too often, but there were no complaints on her part. Or on anyone's part. Dimitra had become so accustomed to the experience but she still knew that the house was overpacked and rusty, the only thing they could afford on such a small budget.
It was two stories tall, sure, but nothing in the house screamed luxury. Few things even screamed middle class, which they were too far from for her liking. All of their clothes were bought from dingy secondhand shops or hemmed and adjusted by Judith with a crappy sewing machine that managed to continue to work.
Dimitra wasn't ungrateful, though. It still managed to be an upgrade from her past, but that was a low bar to pass. If there was even a bar to pass at all. It sucked but she wouldn't trade it for what once was. Not under any circumstance.
Even as Maxim's bed frame creaked and bent as she shifted even the slightest amount. Even as the floor groaned a bit too loud under Maxim as he sat down, a bowl of crispy, black-tipped bacon in hand. Even as Dima rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, wincing slightly when the bed frame shifted.
"It sounds like you might need to fix up the bed frames soon," Maxim commented around a piece of bacon.
Dimitra hummed her agreement as she snatched a piece of bacon from Maxim's hand, stuffing it quickly into her mouth before he could grab it back.
"I don't know when I'll be able to, but I need to," Dima said.
"What d'ya mean?" Dimitra asked, turning to look at him.
"They're lengthening my shifts at the store. Ain't gonna be home much anymore," he said, and even Dimitra caught the blue-toned tinge to his voice, ever so rough. "Only on the weekdays, though. They ain't gonna make me work too long on weekends."
Maxim hummed. "Seems backward."
"It kinda is but I'll take what money I can get."
Dimitra shifted on the bed and frowned, her fingers picking absentmindedly at the lint that had gathered on her shorts. She'd mentally added another tick to her mental list of times that she felt guilty. Too many times had she slumped down in her room after a ride back from school or after Dima had said goodbye and gone off to work. All because she was too young to truly work. Dima could only drag her along to work the ranch, but even then it was a somewhat rare occurrence now that Mr. Dowell's grandkids had moved to town. She couldn't drive, and she'd be damned if Dima let her walk to a job by herself. She wasn't necessarily prepped for the workforce, anyways. Body or mind. Her knees were set on fire after barely any physical activity and her brain couldn't comprehend her environment just yet. It was so foreign, so odd, and she had to fight every day to fit in even the smallest amount.
YOU ARE READING
the girl in red
RomanceDimitra Kuznetsova had never fit in, even in her hometown of Chita, Russia. She didn't think much would change when she was forced to move to the small town of Lafayette, Indiana. Yet, as often, she was surprised. There was a whole group of kids lik...
