Walkin' down the my street

[Oriena]

It didn't seem to occur to her that he wouldn't follow, and in any case he didn't seem to protest. It was a short walk to the looming grey apartment block, hardly an imposition at all really. In the foyer the elevator had a peeling out-of-order sign slapped on its metal doors, dissected by a lick of obscene graffiti. She led him up to her door, fumbled a long time for the keys, too desperate to get in, her hands all shaky. The people here didn't scare her; she'd seen many faces come and go over the years. This was home. This was sanctuary, the safest place she could be. And she just wanted to get in.

Murmuring thanks to the kind boy, Nadezhda plonked herself in a seat at the kitchen table, hands drawing over her face as the tension and fear ran out of her. Why had she gone out? Ori would have done that for her. She was a good girl. Except when she wasn't. Had the demons in her, that one. "I can still smell the burning."
Dezhda didn't pay any attention to what the stranger was doing now, but pulled herself up to go wrench open a window. If she heard the question there was no sign of it, but there was no indication around them that she lived with anyone else. The place was spartan but tidy. Gloom touched the corners. She closed the curtains again.

Didn't hear the front door open and close, or the rhythm of footsteps.

"Who the fuck are you?"
She turned and blinked as suddenly her daughter stood in the doorway, arms folded, the pierce of her glare hostile. The boy was rooting in the freezer; the target of her ire. Oriena's muscles corded tight, hands curled into fists. Dezhda still saw that scrappy little girl mottled with bruises. Blood on her lip. Hate in her eyes. "Did he hurt you, mama?"