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"Damn it, Ivan, this isn't just shock," I snap, whirling on him. "I betrayed him. Made him feel like a fool for looking up to me all these years."
I resume my relentless pacing, emotions churning violently within me.
"He's not going to just 'come around.' Not this time." I let out a mirthless chuckle. "I'll be lucky if he even spits in my direction."
From his room, Aleksandr's voice suddenly rings out. "Hey! Are you deaf? Close my damn curtains and get the hell out!"
I flinch at his acidic tone. Without a word, I walk over and tug the curtains closed, shutting out the last remaining light in the room.
"Let's go," I mutter to Ivan. I can't bear to be in this darkness a moment longer.
Outside, I pause on the front step and glance back at the house that was our home for years. Aleksandr's silhouette is briefly visible through the curtain as he moves about inside.
My heart aches knowing that the warmth we once shared within those walls is likely gone forever now. I've damaged something precious and irreplaceable.
Ivan gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze as we get into the car. But his reassurances do little to ease the hollow ache inside me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DIMITRI
12 years ago
I hear the shattering of ceramic followed by Aleksandr's startled cry. My protective instincts kick in and I sprint to the kitchen, assessing the situation quickly.
Aleksandr stands by the counter, face streaked with tears, shards of our father's favorite mug scattered at his feet. I gently pull him aside, away from the broken pottery.
"Shhh, don't cry," I soothe him, brushing his tears away. "It was an accident."
Aleksandr's lower lip trembles. "But it was Dad's special mug." His voice hitches on a sob.
I squeeze his shoulder reassuringly as I start carefully gathering the larger pieces. "Don't worry, I'll take care of this."
Just then, heavy footsteps approach and Father's voice bellows from the hallway, "What was that?"
My heart jumps into my throat but I keep my tone even. "My fault, Sir, I knocked your mug over by accident."
Father fills the doorway, his face clouding with anger as he surveys the damage. When his glare settles on me, I brace myself.
The slap seems to come out of nowhere, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes across my cheek as Aleksandr dissolves into frightened sobs.
Father points a rigid finger toward the study. "Go. Now." His tone brokers no argument.
I bow my head submissively, ignoring the sting in my cheek. "Yes Sir."
As I leave, I meet Aleksandr's terrified gaze and try to give him a reassuring look. I can endure this for his sake.
In the study, I kneel on the hardwood floor with my hands behind my back, just as Father taught us. The hours crawl by in silence. Thirst and hunger set in as bruises blossom across my knees.
When the door finally creaks open, relief floods through me. But it’s only Ivan, his young face etched with concern.
“Dimitri,” he says urgently. “We have to get you help.”
I shake my head, remaining in position. I know the punishment isn’t over yet. Ivan doesn’t understand – I broke the rules. Now I have to face the consequences.
I kneel motionless on the hardwood floor, ignoring the burning pain in my knees and the gnawing hunger in my stomach. How long has it been now – one day? Two? Time loses meaning in this empty room.
My thoughts drift to Aleksandr as I wait. I hope he’s been staying out of Father’s way. At only six years old, he doesn’t understand. He still sees the man who reads him adventure stories at bedtime, not the merciless tyrant who rules our home through fear and violence. I protect Aleksandr from that side of Father as best I can. He deserves a childhood free of bruises and broken bones.
