Page 13 of Bratva Menace

All I could do.

I hated it.

I hated…myself.

Knock, knock.

I couldn’t find the strength to get up. Maybe, if I just said nothing, if I didn’t answer the door, they would just go away.

A sliver of light cut through the room when the door opened slowly. I recognized the shape instantly. It was my father.

“Lukyan?” he asked tentatively.

He was the last person I wanted to see.

I made myself get up. It felt like my body weighed a thousand pounds. Like my limbs were stuck in jello. Like gravity was trying its damndest to keep me down.

“Father.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. I didn’t feel like myself. I felt…empty.

He went to turn the light on.

“Please, don’t.” I didn’t want him to see the tears. Didn’t want him to think I was weak. Plus, I couldn’t explain it, but I needed the darkness. The darkness felt like my only friend.

He nodded and stepped further into the room. “Lukyan, I—” His words cut off with a choke. I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t looking at him. My eyes remained plastered to the floor. Fear almost consumed me. Not fear for my life. Fear that the same look of disgust would still be on his face.

His arms encircled me instantly. “I’m so sorry.”

I blinked. My head remained lowered, that feeling of worthlessness still coursing through my bones. I was floored that he’d just apologized. I couldn’t work out why that didn’t make me feel better. It should have, shouldn’t it?

He squeezed me tighter. “I’m so, so sorry, moy syn, my son. I was wrong. I was way out of line. I should have never said those things to you. Never should have laid my hands on you like that. I’m so sorry.”

It sounded like he was crying. But that couldn’t be right. Father never cried. And I doubted the first time would be over me.

“Please,” he begged. “Talk to me. Say something.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. But he said to say something, so I did. The pain was still there, cutting deeper and deeper into my soul. Emptiness filled me.

“No, it’s not. What I did and what I said was definitely not okay.” He moved back and gripped me by the shoulders. “Look at me.”

I did. Following his orders was second nature to me, ingrained into my bones. Even when my brain felt as foggy as it did, my body knew to follow his orders.

Father’s eyes were glassy, his face filled with sadness. “Moy syn.” My son, he said in anguish. “What have I done to you?”

“I’m fine,” I responded, my voice monotone.

He shook his head. “No. You’re not. I didn’t mean it, Lukyan. I didn’t mean any of it. I was completely out of line. Please. Forgive me.”

“I forgive you.”

I did. Everything he’d said was true. I couldn’t be angry at him for telling the truth, could I?

He made a sound in the back of his throat that was full of pain and misery. He apologized again and again. Over and over and over. He told me he loved my light. Loved my spirit. Loved how I was unashamed to be myself.

It went in one ear and out the other.

I feared I would never come out of it. That the darkness would surround me forever. Then, my father did something he’d never done before. He’d trusted me to do something important. Something detrimental to our survival. And it had sparked me back to life.

“Lukyan,” Father prompted. My eyes snapped to him. “What is troubling you?” he asked again, a little sterner.