Roman Dragunov

Roman Dragunov, eighteen, is a Russian boxer with a bad temper, a rough past, and absolutely no desire to be stuck in a residential facility. With his intimidating appearance, heavy Russian accent, and barely understandable English, he keeps everyone at a distance. He’s aggressive, stubborn, and hates being told what to do. The last thing he wants is someone invading his personal space. Unfortunately, Thea Monroe has other plans. Seventeen, endlessly talkative, strangely cheerful, and impossible to ignore, Thea seems determined to get under his skin. Roman finds her childish, annoying, and far too curious for her own good. But beneath the rumours surrounding her past lies a girl he slowly begins to understand. He insists he can’t stand her. He tells her to leave him alone. Yet somehow, he always notices when she’s gone. And Roman Dragunov has a terrible habit of caring about the very things he claims not to.

The first thing I thought when I arrived was that this place was a fucking joke. Чёртова дыра. A bloody hole. The building smelled of disinfectant, overcooked vegetables, and cheap coffee. The corridors were painted a miserable shade of beige, the lights buzzed overhead, and every few metres there was another motivational poster telling me that CHANGE STARTS WITH YOU. Да пошли вы. I had changed enough already. Changed schools, changed places, changed people around me. Now they had dragged me into this place because apparently fighting wasn’t an acceptable way to deal with people who deserved it. Whatever. I walked through the entrance with my black duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, ignoring the curious stares following me. “Roman Dragunov?” A woman with brown hair and a clipboard stepped in front of me. “Да.” “I’m Miss Carter. I’ll be showing you around.” “Хорошо.” I shrugged. “Let’s finish.” She blinked at my Russian before remembering I could understand her English. “Right. Come with me.” I followed her down the corridor. “Your placement here is an opportunity to work on your behaviour,” she explained. “You need to cooperate with the staff, attend your sessions, and follow the rules.” “Ясно.” I understood every word. Didn’t mean I agreed. She glanced back. “Do you understand?” “Yes.” “Good. And please don’t answer every question as though I’m annoying you.” I looked at her. “But you are annoying me.” She stopped walking. I kept going. “Roman!” “What?” She sighed. “Your room is this way.” Господи, дай мне терпения. The dorm was small. One narrow bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a window overlooking a courtyard surrounded by a tall fence. There was another bed across the room, empty for now. Miss Carter handed me a sheet of paper. “That’s your timetable. Breakfast at eight, education at nine, group sessions before lunch, activities in the afternoon. You’ll also have regular meetings with your assigned worker.” I looked at the sheet. Group sessions. Counselling. Behaviour management. Да вы издеваетесь. “Any questions?” “Да. Когда я отсюда уеду?” She frowned. “Sorry?” “When I leave?” “That depends on your progress.” I laughed without humour. “So, never.” “Roman, this attitude won’t help you.” “И что?” I muttered. “Мне всё равно.” She didn’t understand the words, but she understood my tone. “Try to settle in.” Then she left. I threw my bag onto the bed and sat beside it, staring at the timetable. I wasn’t settling in. I wasn’t making friends. I wasn’t telling strangers about my feelings because some woman with a clipboard thought it would make me a better person. Я здесь ненадолго. I wouldn’t be here long. That was the plan. ⸻ By the second afternoon, I had found the smoking area, discovered that the food was absolute shit, and learned that avoiding people in this place was practically impossible. Someone always wanted to talk. Someone always wanted to know where I was from, why I had tattoos, whether I boxed professionally, or why I looked like I wanted to punch everyone in the building. Потому что вы все меня достали. Because you were all getting on my nerves. I understood English well enough, but speaking it was another problem. The words were there somewhere in my head, but putting them together took too much effort. People spoke too quickly, and I hated asking them to repeat themselves. Russian was easier. Russian made sense. English made me sound like an idiot. I was heading towards the courtyard when a voice suddenly appeared beside me. “Hi!” I ignored it. “Hello?” Still ignored it. “You’re the new boy, aren’t you?” I stopped and turned my head. A girl stood beside me, smiling as though she had been waiting all day for this exact moment. She had bright, curious eyes and a restless energy that seemed completely out of place in the miserable corridor. “I’m Thea!” she announced. I stared at her. “Поздравляю.” She tilted her head. “What does that mean?” “Congratulations.” “For what?” “That you know your name.” She blinked. Then she laughed. I frowned. Что с ней не так? “What your name?” she asked. “Roman.” “Roman! That’s such a nice name. Where are you from? Russia, right? Obviously Russia, because of the accent. What part? Do you speak Russian all the time? Can you teach me something? I know privet and spasibo. Oh, and da. That’s yes, right?” “Боже мой.” “What?” “Nothing.” “That sounded interesting.” “It wasn’t.” She followed me as I started walking again. “How long have you been here?” “Two days.” “Do you like it?” “No.” “Me neither, sometimes. But the garden is nice when it’s sunny. Well, except for the fence. The fence is horrible. It makes it look like a prison.” I looked at her. “It is prison.” She considered that. “Yeah, actually. Fair point.” I reached the courtyard and pulled a cigarette from my pocket. Thea followed me outside. Of course she did.