Survivor - [n. romanoff]

Let's Blow This Joint

    After dinner was over we pushed the benches back once more to make our way to our dormitory in silence. The younger girls marched off to theirs with glum faces. The braver ones attempted to whisper to their friends. They were scolded severely by one of the instructors, another thing you learn here at the academy, do not speak unless spoken to. We were in a perfect line, silently making our way to the dormitory as usual. I couldn't help but think that we were like robots, following orders and speaking with programmed phrases. I was in the middle of the single file when we were stopped. Ivan was standing there with something in his hands, my vision obscured by the shadows of the other girls in the dimly lit hallway. 

    "Romanova, may I speak with you for a moment?" Ivan said.

    It sounded like a request, but I knew what would happen if I disobeyed. I silently made my way to Ivan, my footfalls barely heard.

    "Girls, continue." 

    He said it like this was one of our ballet routines. Just a slight pause then we continue our movements as though we never stopped. This is a living hell, I shuddered inwardly. They began to move once more, footsteps in sync, left right left right. Exactly like a dance, a dance of death about to meet its coda. 

    "Your suit," Ivan said, turning to me, "following the ceremony you will be allowed a period of rest lasting two hours. You will then be meeting me in my chambers for the celebration. I suggest bringing your suit with you as well as I am not sure you will have time to return to the dormitory to change." He said with a smirk.

    I was hoping to be gone by tomorrow, but this thought alone made my stomach turn. I don't even want to think about what would happen if I was caught. From my imagination and experience, whatever Ivan was planning tomorrow would be ten times worse if I was caught, not to mention Anatoly and the Madame. I wasn't religious but I quickly sent a prayer up to any god, deity, or spirit in the heavens.

    I nodded my reply maintaining a blank face. Luckily, Ivan didn't notice my silent answer, otherwise I was sure I would have received a sharp slap. Instead, he was eyeing my breasts only adding to my discomfort. He handed me a folded black tactical suit and gave me permission to return to the dorm. As I was walking past him I felt the slap meant for my face on my butt.

    "Good evening, Romanova," He said smirking.

    I felt compelled to freeze, to root myself to my spot to process the filthy touch. But of course, I kept going. A good little Red Room girl. I thought back to what Madame B told us when we first started our lessons over a decade ago.

    "You are weapons, lethal to the touch. You are wielded by the Red Room, and later by the organization who gave you a home, the KGB. You are the protectors of Mother Russia," She had said.

    I guess we were only weapons with a lethal touch to outsiders. Here we were objects, what Madame had said are used by the swine that is man. Even as protectors of the mother country we were still nothing. I thought of this as I walked down the hallway, subconsciously making my way to lay on my bed, my arms positioned above my head, ready to be cuffed. It was then I decided that no one, not even the girls speaking in whispers about me, should have to be treated like this. I had always lived at the academy, I was born and now bred here. But this isn't right. We shouldn't be treated like this. I, as the favorite was already too far gone, but the others, the young ones still had a chance to start over. I was nothing, today had proved that. They were something, and deserved a chance at normalcy.

    The guard came in and cuffed us to our beds. When he had chained everyone he turned off the light and walked out, slamming the door shut. I knew that in order for my plan to work I would have to wait until most everyone was asleep. I laid there, reciting my plan over and over again in my head. I had hidden a rusty nail I found wedged between the floorboards underneath my pillow so I could pick the lock on my cuffs. But inevitably, my thoughts returned to Ivan and Madame B's conversation outside her office. I wasn't stupid. If I looked like the woman, Natalia, that Ivan mentioned, then that could only mean the one thing I dreaded. She is my mother.