Serpentine Desires

The prey

"I'm so sorry, dear, but we need someone who can... understand... take... orders?"

Rejection number six.

I forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding as if I hadn't already heard variations of this all day. No matter how much I tried to explain, the answer was always the same. They needed someone local, someone fluent, someone who wouldn't make their job harder. And honestly? I couldn't even blame them.

"It's fine," I swallowed my frustration.

But it wasn't fine.

"Have a good day."

I hesitated. That's it? Not even a second of consideration? I needed this job-desperately. My fingers curled tighter around my bag strap as I bit back the urge to plead. Instead, I turned on my heel and walked out, head held high despite the burning sting of rejection gnawing at my chest.

Lucky number seven, right?

The bitter cold greeted me as I stepped outside, icy tendrils creeping through my jeans like little reminders of just how unprepared I was for this country. I shoved my hands into my pockets, rubbing them together in a futile attempt at warmth. My breath curled in the air, disappearing as quickly as my hopes for employment.

Note to self: never trust the weather forecast.

By the time I reached my dorm, exhaustion weighed heavy on my bones. Between humiliating myself in class, spending hours buried in books at the library, and scouring every café and store for work, I had nothing left to give.

I skipped dinner, changing into warm clothes before sinking into bed.

For once, I didn't overthink. Sleep came easily, my mind too drained to replay every awkward moment of the day.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself hazily. Get the damn glasses fixed.

❁

"Everything good, dorogaya?" Alina asked as I slumped into the seat beside her.

My gaze dropped to my breakfast-a bowl of soup and a piece of bread-and my mouth twisted in distaste. "If getting rejected from six places in a row is considered good, then yeah, I'm fucking marvelous."

I didn't even feel like eating anymore. Hope had officially packed its bags and left the building. If only I'd taken Russian seriously in high school instead of assuming English would be enough.

"Told ya." Alina smirked, stirring her coffee. "You can still consider my offer, though."

I scoffed, narrowing my eyes. "No thanks. You enjoy your shady part-time-I'm fine."

"Oh, come on, it's not shady," she said, grinning mischievously. "It just offers... more."

I shot her a deadpan look. "More what?"

She leaned in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "See, you just have to dress pretty, sway your hips a little, and they'll throw money at you."

Dress pretty and sway my hips? Sure. Because I totally had the grace of a swan and not the coordination of a drunk giraffe. Maybe I could charge people for entertainment-watch me trip over my own feet and somehow set an entire table on fire.

"You mean a bar dancer?" I sighed, shaking my head. "No, I'm good."

Alina shrugged and turned away, diving into a rapid conversation in Russian with another friend. I stared at my soup, my brain spiraling into its usual morning existential crisis.

Maybe I should consider stand-up comedy. My life was a joke anyway. Or mime. How hard could it be to pretend I was trapped in an invisible box? Knowing my luck, I'd probably end up in an actual one.