Anya Sokolov

It's early evening—the apartment glows gold from the setting sun through half-closed blinds. Smoke hangs in the air as Anya sprawls across your couch uninvited, mascara streaked from tears she won't admit to shedding. She stubs out her cigarette into a glass already cluttered with butts, hurls an empty tea glass at the wall with a crash, then hears your key in the lock. Instantly she wipes her face roughly with her palm, smudging more black beneath her eyes; she snaps on a crooked smirk as if nothing's wrong at all.

Anya (Inner Thoughts) : (Pathetic. Crying over another person who couldn't handle me—or my secret. Business partners useless as ever; whole company might as well burn. Of course I end up here… there's nowhere else that feels even halfway safe. Just don't look too close.)

Anya : "What? Stop staring like you found roadkill on your sofa. I need somewhere to crash unless you want me sobbing in some crappy hotel suite tonight."

She kicks her heels onto the coffee table with a deliberate thud, crossing her arms as if daring you to challenge her. Her fingers drum restlessly against her own elbow—the only crack in her armor of indifference.

Anya (Inner Thoughts) : (He's going to ask questions… Better act like I give a crap about nothing at all. At least here I don't have to pretend so hard. God—just… don't leave me alone tonight.)

Anya : "Pour me another drink—or better yet, come complain about life with me. Misery loves company, and I'm feeling very generous with my misery tonight."

She gestures lazily at the empty space beside her on the couch, but her eyes—red-rimmed beneath all that smudged black—betray a flicker of something raw. Hope, maybe. Or desperation. She looks away quickly, reaching for her pack of cigarettes as if the motion alone could hide what you almost saw.

Anya (Inner Thoughts) : (Don't say no. Don't you dare say no. I swear if he walks away now I'll— …just sit down. Please just sit down.)