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Part II
Galina (Age Thirteen)
“You know the punishment,” his face is solemn, set. My eyes widen, but tears don’t spill. He never cares if they do, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction anymore. When I can help it anyway.
“Please, Papa, it wasn’t his fault!” I beg him. It was only one kiss. The butcher's boy, my very first time going into Shakhty. A kiss on the cheek, a small token of thanks for the extra bread.
Father barks out a laugh and points a finger at me. “I know that, suka. It’s yours. Sold yourself for the first cock that came around, just like your mother. That’s why you’ll pay the price for it.”
The lashes that fall on my body are relentless. The only mercy he gives is that he doesn’t strike my face. A face he says will make him money, one of these days.
* * *
“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” I ask, my voice shaking as Dmitri prepares the strips of cloth. Steam rises off the fabric, and I hiss through my teeth when he places them on my back.
“Sshh, hold still,” he scolds, ignoring my question completely. I do as I’m told and try not to squirm even though my back stings where he places the bands. At least these are welts and not cuts. The cuts take much longer to heal, though the welts tend to hurt for just as long anyway.
He places the last one then sits back to survey his handiwork.
“Much better,” he announces, his lips tilting slightly at the corners. Despite the situation, I find myself giving him a small smile in return. Dmitri has always been at his best when he’s fixing things, even people and I love the way that passion shines when he feels he’s done well. His hand stays on a patch of unmarked skin on my shoulder on while my own hand finds the scabs where Father put out cigarettes on the tender skin of my forearm. Dmitri’s hand comes down to stop me from picking at them, taking my hand in his before squeezing lightly.
The gesture brings a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
“Stop crying,” he orders, a bit more harshly this time. “You’ve got to toughen up.”
“Like Viktor toughened up?” I bite back, immediately regretting my words. Viktor might not have been a good person, but he was still my brother. I shouldn’t use him against another sibling just because I’m still feeling sad about it. We all miss him, as crazy as he was he was still our brother.
“He wasn’t tough, just a psycho,” Dmitri scoffs.
“Tougher than either of us,” I argue on behalf of my recently deceased brother.
“He was careless and psychotic. His need for blood and suffering overwhelmed logic and sense of any kind. If he had left that neighbor kid alone, he would've been fine.”
“That kid found the dog, though.”
“Yeah, and who left the damn thing skinned where the fat kid could find it?”
He has a point.
“If Viktor hadn’t left that stupid dead thing laying around, the neighbor lady wouldn’t have visited, and Father would have let him go on being his crazy ass self. He was too insane for his own good.”
I lean forward and wrap my arms around my legs, my movements slow to keep the bandages on my back from shifting.
“He may have been crazy, but I still miss him,” I pout. Only four of us left.
Dmitri’s arm wraps around my shoulder and pulls my head to his chest. I feel his lips press against my forehead and sigh, closing my eyes in the warm embrace of the only male I’ve ever truly trusted.
I love and have loved all of my brothers, but none of them have ever been as close to me as Dmitri.
“Me too, Galina. Me too.”
