03-19-2019, 05:08 PM
Nina looked up at Bas. She held his gaze for several seconds. You could almost see her mind working through possibilities, necessities, and maybe’s. She sat for a moment, thinking, remembering…
She was amazed she knew him. This was Bas, a local boy Rena had spent months talking about. Younger; true. Cleaner than now. But he didn’t recognize Nina, face to face.
But, when she came to think of it, she realized of course he wouldn’t have recognized her. She only knew it was Bas because Rena had told her so. Rena ran towards the mobbing, clamoring concentration of gangsters in the center of the hangout. Bas was at the heart of it, laughing and chatting, answering the barrage of excited questions as best as he could.
Every now and then, Nina hid herself, looking around, hungry for the sight of Rena’s face. There was a little ache in the back of her heart that some of the faces wouldn’t be there…
The weight of the vitamin bottle in her hand made her remember it was there. She looked at it for a moment, and stuffed it down inside her pack for safety.
She rose, pulling her pack off the concrete and smoothing her short, bob-cut hair away from her heart-shaped face. She could feel the smile on her face. It wouldn’t go. Angel. Angel! She was expecting all sorts of names. That foreigner. Gypsy. Romani scum. It was exactly the same as every day in the Guardian, simple routine. Only this person — Rena’s friend, Nina thought — was different.
Even now, beaten and bruised, Bas called her an angel, as if she could ward him against the entirely luck free doom that awaited all of them.
“Angel?” she admonished. “Is that how your mama taught you to greet a stranger? I am Nina. Call me that if you must call me anything.”
She got down on one knee and rested the weight of the heavy pack on her right shoulder. Recent experience had taught her it hurts like a bastard when she cleaned out wounds...
Morphine. Morphine. She was now digging through her pack. Everything was so neat and precise, everything bottled and folded. Her boss would hate her for the mess she was making. There was no sign of the morphine vial. She up-ended the pack and spilled its contents out onto the ground. Frowning.
She was amazed she knew him. This was Bas, a local boy Rena had spent months talking about. Younger; true. Cleaner than now. But he didn’t recognize Nina, face to face.
But, when she came to think of it, she realized of course he wouldn’t have recognized her. She only knew it was Bas because Rena had told her so. Rena ran towards the mobbing, clamoring concentration of gangsters in the center of the hangout. Bas was at the heart of it, laughing and chatting, answering the barrage of excited questions as best as he could.
Every now and then, Nina hid herself, looking around, hungry for the sight of Rena’s face. There was a little ache in the back of her heart that some of the faces wouldn’t be there…
The weight of the vitamin bottle in her hand made her remember it was there. She looked at it for a moment, and stuffed it down inside her pack for safety.
She rose, pulling her pack off the concrete and smoothing her short, bob-cut hair away from her heart-shaped face. She could feel the smile on her face. It wouldn’t go. Angel. Angel! She was expecting all sorts of names. That foreigner. Gypsy. Romani scum. It was exactly the same as every day in the Guardian, simple routine. Only this person — Rena’s friend, Nina thought — was different.
Even now, beaten and bruised, Bas called her an angel, as if she could ward him against the entirely luck free doom that awaited all of them.
“Angel?” she admonished. “Is that how your mama taught you to greet a stranger? I am Nina. Call me that if you must call me anything.”
She got down on one knee and rested the weight of the heavy pack on her right shoulder. Recent experience had taught her it hurts like a bastard when she cleaned out wounds...
Morphine. Morphine. She was now digging through her pack. Everything was so neat and precise, everything bottled and folded. Her boss would hate her for the mess she was making. There was no sign of the morphine vial. She up-ended the pack and spilled its contents out onto the ground. Frowning.
Nina