Thorns by Yulia Volynets

People who meet Inna rarely forget her.

She is sharp-tongued, cold-eyed and never missing an opportunity to say a brutal word, she cuts through social niceties like a knife through silk. Most people just think she's mean, arrogant and unpleasant. And they are not entirely wrong. But they don't know her personal history. They don't know that once upon a time, not so long ago, she used to smile in the morning, hum softly as she brushed her hair, and bring home stray kittens with shaking hands and wide eyes. They do not know that she once believed that the world was good - or at least could be. 

When Inna was fifteen, she had a best friend named Lera. They were inseparable. Late-night phone calls, secrets told in whispers, plans for the future drawn in pencil in the form of hearts in the margins of her notebook. Inna even told her about things she could not tell anyone else - about her mother's tantrums, her father's drunkenness, the cold silence that filled their small apartment. Lera listened. Lera understood.

Until one day she stopped. Until the whole school found out about what Inna had told about her family. Until whispers began in the corridors - "drunken father’" and "crazy mother". Until the day she saw the look of quiet guilt in Lera's eyes and realised who had betrayed her. That day something cracked. Inna stopped smiling. She stopped trusting. She learned to bite before she could be bitten, to cut before she could be cut. If they wanted to hurt her, they would have to wade through the thorns first.  

Now, years later, she walks around with steel in her spine and fire on her tongue. But sometimes, late at night, when no one is around, she still sleeps curled up like a child, clutching an old photograph of her and Lera, faded and torn at the edges. And sometimes she still dreams of quiet laughter and warmth that does not burn.

She is not naturally evil. She is good, still good - but only deep down, buried under the ruins. She does not get angry for no reason. She is angry because she remembers what it was like to be defenceless, and she swears she will never be that girl again. But maybe, just perhaps, there is someone out there who won't be scared by the thorns. Someone who will stay long enough to find the girl underneath.