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I mentally hit myself for hurting her feelings but take a step back nonetheless.
“I was five when my father started discipling me.” I mumble under my breath. I need to do this. For us. “I was ten when I ran away and was trafficked to the UK.”
Her lips part but no voice leaves her and I continue to speak mechanically as if I’m retelling a horror movie I saw last night.
“They were going to sell me, maybe turn me into a killing machine or rape me, probably both.” A quiet, hollow chuckle slips out, trying to mask the tightness making home in the middle of my chest. “They used to drug me, beat me and starve me because I was rebellious and wanted to be free.
“I, somehow escaped and met Roman and Alec. When I thought I was finally free, my father started paying me visits weekly and decided to discipline me for two years. You’ve seen the scars.” I let out another low awkward chuckle.
She stands there like a statue; she could’ve passed for one if not for the faint breeze stirring a few strands of hair away from her face.
“They were so ugly. I wanted to hide them from everyone, and I fucking hated tattoos. Bratva men were covered in them, and I wanted to be nothing like those gangsters.
“I wanted to be nothing like my father, but the scars were far uglier. And I ended up painting my back in ink.” My voice stays perfectly even, betraying nothing of what I actually feel.
“You are nothing like your father, Sergei.” She tells me shakily. “That was the first thing I noticed about you.
You got nothing from your father.”
“I—”
“Sergei, you’re not him. You’re not cruel. You’re not—”
“Then why do you hide yourself from me?”
“I’m not hiding now—”
“Don’t.” I stop her cold. “Don’t deny it, malyshka.”
“I-I…” she struggles to speak, gulping and turning her head away, forcing emotions into words. “Sergei—”
“What are you scared of?” I ask. “What do you need, Elara. Tell me.”
“I don’t want you to pry. I’m sorry but I’m not ready t—”
“We can play the cat and mouse game or we can sit and talk this shit out like adults.” My finger points towards the empty couch and her gaze trails after my movements.
A sob racking through her body, before she turns to face me. Her eyes glossy, body trembling with…rage?
Fear?
“It’s not shit.” She screeches; the painful cry is the loudest, fractured and most heartbreaking sound that ever landed on my ears.
“I’m sorry, I wish I could say I’d trade my childhood with yours but mine is just as bad if not worse. I wish I could kill your father for you, I wish I could burn the fucking world but I also wish I would burn in the same fucking fire.” She falls on the floor in a heap of tears and I’m too stunned to comprehend.
“Sergei, I’m trying to live for you.” She sobs, every gasped breath she takes feels like she’s stealing air from my lungs, my heart wrenches with the broken sound that leaves her.
“I-I cut myself.”
And my world turns upside down.
THIRTY-TWO
Elara
When I first saw the blood gushing out of my wound; I was too busy focusing on watching it drip from my finger to notice that the rampant storm of the frightening past in my head has long faded.
The entire world dulled and my mind was vacant for the first time in a long time.
