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I
The first time Natasha does it, she’s been in Ohio for one week.
It’s instinct, as natural as breathing (though sometimes even that’s hard) or blinking (though she tries not to) or smiling (though maybe not for her).
She feels full — of ghosts, of apprehension for her inevitable homecoming back there, of facts about who she is and isn’t but has to pretend to be — so she drains herself.
Her nerves are wound tight so she loosens them — just like handcuffs in the morning.
She digs her fingernail into her wrist, breaks skin.
She severs the nerve, and her head feels clear.
She feels free.
***
It’s nothing more than an equation — a way to remember. To teach herself the way she’s been taught to.
Then:
A flubbed spelling equals a ruler on her knuckle.
A missed ballet step equals a lash on her back.
A slow morning run equals a hunger in her stomach.
Now:
A slip of her accent equals a pinch to her leg.
A near-slip of calling her Melina instead of mom in front of strangers equals a bite to her tongue.
A near-slip of calling her mom instead of Melina in her head equals a punch to her temple.
It’s only math.
She’s only ever been a problem to be solved.
***
The pain frees her and grounds her just the same, she discovers — helps her focus in the moment. The thoughts, the memories, are always threatening to pull her underwater, so she has no choice but to strap on a life jacket of sharp edges.
She promises she’ll never let herself get soft. She promises that every time she forgets exactly what this is, she’ll write it in her skin so her body has no choice but to remember.
She keeps her promise again and again.
***
She breaks her promise three months in when she uses art class to make Yelena a birthday card.
And six months in when she lets Alexei take her fishing.
And nine months in when she gets the highest grade in the class on her math test and gives it to Melina to hang on the fridge.
And suddenly, it’s been half a year, and the promise has faded just like her scars — so dull it’s easy to ignore. So light it’s barely visible at all.
***
Pain was her only playmate, and it’s jealous of her new sister and chest of toys.
She’s purposely kept her days so full it can’t find time to meet her when the sun’s up, so it visits her at night, whispering in her ear.
Remember, I’ve been with you through it all. Remember, I’m the only feeling you can control. Remember, I’m the only thing that’s real.
Melina and Alexei, they say they love her, but there’s no love in lies.
Only the truth can set you free.
The pain is the only thing that’s honest.
The pain loves her. She makes herself love it back.
***
Her life is one big nightmare packaged as the American dream. She’s traded in the Red Room for a white picket fence — she has to splatter some crimson on the planks every once in a while, remind herself where home really is.
***
The pain only makes her stronger, and she needs all the strength she can get.
II
She gets caught one year in.
The remedy for a particularly vivid dream is a particularly sharp cut — a syringe containing a dose of reality.
She claws her way inside herself, ears ringing, body vibrating with a rogue heartbeat thump thump thump thump thump.
She sees red, just a little at first, beading on the skin. But then, it’s everywhere. Uncontrollable and gushing as her leger. It’s under her nails and on the sheets and dripping onto the carpet and oh shit she might be able to wash the blankets in secret but how is she going to clean this carpet without anyone realizing and now—
And now Yelena is screaming bloody (literal) murder (not literal this time, at least not yet) and Melina and Alexei are running into the room and wondering what is going on what’s wrong what happened, Natasha?
She says she must have moved around in her sleep, hit her arm on the corner of the nightstand. Alexei says he’ll go to the hardware store, buy rubber to put on the edges in case it happens again. The offer is so kind and oblivious that she doesn’t say a straightjacket would be more appropriate. Say that maybe they had a point with the handcuffs.
Melina sees the world in science — in physics and calculations and shapes. A square peg doesn’t fit into a round hole. The straight corner of the dresser doesn’t fit the crescent moon marks on her wrist. Natasha doesn’t fit into this life.
Melina props her on the bathroom sink, mouth a thin and knowing line.
To work through pain others inflict is admirable, but to inflict it on yourself is weak. Natasha thinks she might strike her — force her to be honorable.
But instead, she says: “You aren’t to do this anymore. Not ever again.”
It’s the same tone she used when Yelena touched the hot stove. When Yelena chased a ball into the street. When Yelena unbuckled and leaned out the car window to get a better view of the neighbor’s dog. Stern yet frightened.
Natasha never supposed it’d be directed at her. Plenty of people have been scared of her, but nobody’s ever been scared for her.
“Do you understand?”
Melina waits until Natasha meets her eyes — nods yes and says aloud that she does — before she pours alcohol on a cloth, dabs at her skin. It stings, grounding her in the moment — a moment she’d rather be far away from.
After the bandages are set, Melina takes her hands, rubbing soothing circles on the top, and Natasha feels another kind of pain — an achy kind that settles deep into her stomach. Comfort. Safety. Longing. It feels like a small flame that could turn into a big fire, greedy and all-consuming, if she lets it. Burn down every wall she’s carefully constructed. Walls she’ll need again to survive someday.
“Next time you feel like you want to do it, you come and you get me.”
Natasha makes a promise she has no intention of keeping.
***
She keeps it anyway.
Five days later.
Maybe because the feeling of Melina’s hands cupping hers hasn’t left her mind, more visceral than any wound. Maybe because she wants to prove to herself that she can’t trust anyone — break her own heart, experiment with a self-induced mental pain, too, since the physical is harder to hide. Maybe because she’s just curious to see what the house looks like after dark. What it feels like not to be chained to your bed.
It feels like an intrusion, to hover in the doorway and watch them sleep.
Alexei is snoring, loud, and Melina is breathing slow breaths, quiet.
She’s shaking as she tiptoes in — goes to awaken a sleeping bear and spider. Because this feels too intimate, too like something a real daughter would do, too much like going somewhere you won’t be able to return from.
Next time you feel like you want to do it, you come and you get me.
She touches Melina’s wrist, breaks the last of the space between their skin.
She severs her nerves and wakes her, and when Melina opens her eyes, Natasha knows she sees her clearly.
She feels free.
***
She keeps her promise again and again. And Melina keeps hers.
Melina clicks the TV on, and she watches late-night cartoons to calm her instead of program her.
Melina puts a kettle on, and her mouth starts tasting of chamomile and honey instead of blood.
Melina drapes a blanket on, and she hugs her mama instead of her bruised knees.
***
Now:
A fall on the playground equals Yelena’s hand helping her up.
A strikeout at softball equals Alexei’s palm patting her shoulder. (She’ll get ‘em next time. She hopes there’s a next time.)
A nightmare equals Melina holding her on the couch.
It’s only a dream.
It’s only a problem Melina can help her solve.
***
The pain only makes her stronger, but she likes not always having to be strong.
III
20 years later, she stands in front of the man who took everything and knows that to heal she has to shatter herself first.
Melina’s taught her the combination — how to make the pheromonal lock unlatch.
The key is inside her, and if it means cutting herself open to get it, so be it. She’s done it before. She promises she won’t do it again.
She intends to keep her promise.
(Eventually, she’ll break it. Trade her body for a soul — for all their souls. Maybe dying by her own hand has always been her destiny. But she doesn’t know any of this yet.)
So one last time.
She slams her head on the desk, breaks skin.
She severs the nerve, and her head feels clear.
She is free.
***
The pain only makes her stronger, but so does the joy.