This term describes a depressive state where the person experiencing the downward spiral is getting more and more depressed, perhaps due to causes unknown.
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Anastasiya's parents were skilled in the art of having an opinion. An opinion which differed from each other, that is.
Their so-called fights (sometimes you couldn't even call it that, seeing as their fights escalated depending on what day it was) were exhausting, and that's what most people who witnessed it would say. Behind their back, of course.
Hearing the words "loud", "unwelcome", and "Novikov" muttered in the same sentence were not uncommon these days. Anastasiya would know. The maids weren't exactly so subtle when it came to the gossiping that went around. Fair enough; they had a point.
Most of the time, you'd hear the sound of Carla Novikova yelling at Aleksey Novikov for being so incompetent. Or something of the like. And you'd hear Aleksey call her all sorts of terms that came to mind. It was heavy, to say it mildly.
They hadn't always been this way, that was for sure. Whenever Carla or Aleksey spoke of their relationship, they'd often mention they were high school sweethearts.
The stories would melt Anastasiya's heart, even though all the details weren't even shared. Sometimes the storyline of their tales felt a bit blurry, but Anastasiya worked past that and felt like her parents could be as perfect as they used to be. They had to be. She knew this . . . quarrel they had going on for the past two years was a phase. They'd get over it.
It wasn't like they'd divorce. They were mature enough to know when to stop. They had one daughter. It was important.
Denise, her best friend, said she was wrong. Deluded, basically, but Anastasiya wouldn't believe that. Her friend said they weren't mature enough or else they wouldn't be fighting in the first place. Anastasiya felt like it was her own fault for letting this escalate so far. For not taking action or interfering sooner. Denise said she was stupid for thinking like this.
Anastasiya sighed, shaking her head. No need to worry about it now. She was at school. Focusing on her studies should be priority number one right now. She was graduating in a few months, anyway.
"Did you know the founder of Lexington is retiring?" she heard a familiar voice ask, interrupting her thoughts. "I think his son is going to take over Lexington Preparatory."
Anastasiya turned to face Denise Reid, removing the one earphone she had in her ear. She'd been listening to her shuffled Spotify playlist and mentally saying goodbye to Springsteen's voice as the song came towards an end. She nodded thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah. Heart attack, right?"
Denise hummed. "Yeah . . . he's old. It kinda makes sense. The son inherited the Lexington company, so I suppose getting the academy is a given, too."
