Chapter 16

Dmitri

I turn to Daelyn, controlling my tone and play dumb. “What’s what?”

Although I assume it’s the scars on my back she’s referring to, I’m not about to proceed as if that’s the case without knowing for certain.

My girl stutters her words out when she says, “I… I’m s-sorry. That was really rude of me.”

“No, it wasn’t. If you have a question, ask it. If you’re concerned, voice it. I can’t help if I don’t know the context, though.”

She sighs and casts her big doe eyes up at me. “You said your mother hurt you.”

She’s definitely referring to what she sees on my back. “Yes.”

“Did she do… that?” Daelyn shakes her head quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask such a personal question. You don’t have to answer.”

I know I don’t, but I will anyway. “Not all of it, no. But most.” Calmly sliding my pants down, I step out of them and stand before Daelyn naked. I’ve never had a problem with my body. I don’t even mind my scars. What I do have an issue with is when someone looks at me with fucking pity. It makes my skin crawl.

“It’s okay, Firefly. I’m over it. Have been for a really long time.”

So much for being honest…

“Dmitri, get in here, now!” Mom yells from the living room.

I close my algebra textbook and get off the floor. I have no clue what’s got her mad this time, but her tone already has me bracing for the worst. “Yes, Mom?”

“Did you tell someone that I neglect you?”

I freeze at the entrance of our living room, my heartbeat kicking up fast enough to make me dizzy. “ No , Mom.”

Her eyes harden as she holds the iron down on my dad’s shirt. “No?”

“No, I swear.”

“You would lie to people? Make me out to be a terrible mother? Get me in trouble? What kind of son lies about something so cruel?”

I take a step back, my instincts screaming for me to run. But I can’t. I have no place to go, and running to Ryker’s is only a temporary solution to my long-term problem. I’d have to come home eventually, and she’ll be waiting for me when I do.

“You’re a bad boy, Dmitri.”

My fear spikes and bile rises in my throat.

“Come over here.”

My legs wobble. At almost fifteen years old, I’ve been reduced to a terrified mouse trapped in a cage with a predator every time I’m home. If anyone suspects I’ve been neglected, it’s my fault. I have no clue how this could have happened, but it must have been one of my teachers at school because my friends keep my secrets. Except, I don’t speak to any of my teachers and none of them even seem to notice me. I keep my head down, mouth shut, and do my work. Even though I’m on the honor roll, I’m still labeled as a problem kid because of all the fights I get into outside of school. And I only skip classes on days I’m too sore to sit in a chair.

What if one of my teachers or some nosy parent suspects abuse and has reported it?

Oh my God . My stomach drops out of my ass. Dad will find out about everything. I’ll get taken away. My parent’s marriage will be a wreck. It’ll all be my fault.

CPS. Divorce. Punishment. I have no clue what to expect to hit first, but once it does, my life will be over. I’ll lose my friends. I’ll lose everything.

“ Do not make me repeat myself ,” she seethes in Russian.

As the last bit of weakness escapes me in a trembling breath, I shut down and step forward to face the consequences.

I’m not real. I can’t feel.

I’m not real. I can’t feel.

I’m-not-real-I-can’t-feel.

“Take off your shirt.”

With trembling hands, I pull my ratty t-shirt off and work hard to keep my expression blank and breaths even. If I show fear, she’ll make it worse. If I show courage, she’ll still make it worse. There’s no winning this game with her.

I’m not real. I can’t feel.

Mom looks at my torso with cold, dead eyes that are the same color as my own. It’s an artic blast nothing can survive. I’m sure she’s admiring the bruises and cuts she put there. But some of the fresher ones are from a fist fight I got into last weekend. Will she ask about them, or assume those are her handiwork too? I’m not sure which is worse.

“Turn around.”

Blood drains from my head as I do what I’m told.

It’s four o’clock. Dad will be home in three hours. Whatever she does, I’ll get over it by then. I have no choice.

The smell of alcohol seeping from her pores grows stronger as she draws near.

Not seeing what she’s about to do terrifies me. It’s also probably for the best. I’d rather not know. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shrink inward and tense my entire body like I can somehow morph into a concrete wall.

I never fight her off because even though she’s hit me hundreds of times, I can’t find the will to hit her back. She’s a girl. A girl monster, but a girl. A woman.

My mom .

For some fucked up reason, I protect her by keeping this secret between us, waiting for the day she’ll stop and apologize.

Others don’t know how good they have it. And I’ve been spending more and more time at Ryker’s house because there I’m safe and fed and have fun. I’m loved. Miss Ashley treats me like her own kid. She even keeps my favorite snack at the house just for me.

Why can’t Miss Ashley be my mom? Why did it have to be Anya?

These are the questions that swirl around my head, giving me something to focus on as I wait for the fist that will undoubtedly land on my kidney, or the back of my head, or wherever there’s a fresh piece of flesh that doesn’t have a mark yet.

“You’re a bad boy.”

Something presses against my back on the lower left side. The thud swiftly turns into searing, blinding, unholy pain that has me screaming until my voice cracks and quickly gives out.

I fall to the floor, gasping for air. My vision goes white. Saliva pools in my mouth, dribbling onto the carpet as I stay on my hands and knees, blinking back hot tears and trying not to puke.

“Do not go to school looking like you do. Be better. Cleaner. I will not have anyone saying I neglect you, and you’re certainly old enough to wash your hair and put on clean clothes.”

“Yes, Mom.” I crawl away, biting back my whimpers.

Be better. Cleaner. Wash my hair. Put on clean clothes.

Be better.

Cleaner.

Wash my hair.

Put on clean clothes.

My legs and arms are rubber noodles as I drag myself back to my bedroom. The instant I shut the door, I throw up into a trash can. It takes time for me to pull myself together. The burn from her iron is so agonizing, nothing I can do will relieve the pain. I can’t run from it. I can’t touch it. And if I go into the bathroom to run cold water over it, I might just take a straight razor off the sink and use it on myself so I can be done with this life called Hell.

So, I embrace it.

I let the pain sink into my motherfucking bones and fortify me. Every blow, every scar, every ounce of agony I’ve endured strengthens me. Soon, resilience will make me unbreakable.

Sucking in deep breaths, I stare at my nearly empty dresser. I’ve had a growth spurt lately and most of my clothes don’t fit anymore. I haven’t washed my hair in three days because we ran out of shampoo and my mom won’t let me use hers because she says it’s too expensive to waste. My dad’s head is shaved most of the time, so I have no clue what he uses on his head, but I’m guessing bar soap. I’ve tried it but my long hair gets too dry and tangled and conditioner doesn’t exist for anyone but my mom in this house.

I’ll steal some shampoo at the store later today.

I should have done so last week, but hadn’t cared enough. I didn’t think anyone would say something about my hygiene. It’s not like I smell. I’m just in crap clothes and my hair is getting too long. It’s past my shoulders now.

Refusing to look at the damage to my back, I rummage through my drawers to find a better shirt to slip on. The instant the cotton touches fresh burn, I gag and sway, those white dots dancing in my vision all over again.

I need to get out of here. Now.

I need help.

I need…

To be better. Cleaner. Wash my hair. Put on clean clothes.

Stepping out of my room, I wipe the sweat beading on my upper lip and ask, “Can I go to my friend’s house? I did all my math homework.”

She doesn’t look up from her ironing. “Yes, of course.”

Because she wants me out before my dad gets home. There have been a few times when her abuse has been bad enough that I need time to heal or we risk Dad finding out, which neither of us wants. She’s made it so very clear that if he did, he’ll kill her. If he kills her, he’ll go to jail.

And then where will I be?

Sometimes I think we’d all be better off if that’s what happens. I get angry at my dad for never noticing the things she does to me. Ever hear the expression, love is blind? Well, that’s my dad. Mom seems to have some kind of spell on him, and she turns the sweetness all the way up when he’s around. And lets it all vanish when he’s not.

But I love my dad. I don’t want to make things worse for him. He works hard and loves me and that’s got to be enough. He’s the only good thing I have in my life.

Well, him and my only friends. Ryker and Knox know about my mom, but they’ve sworn to never tell. So has my friend Vault. Miss Ashley can’t find out either, because she’ll pity me and then I’ll hate her for it. Besides, Ryker’s dad was abusive and honestly so is Knox’s, so crying to them about it is like preaching to the choir. We’ve all got tragedy in our lives. At least Ryker and his mom got away from their monster.

Me and Knox likely never will.

And Vault? Well, he’s got his own fucking problems, which just goes to show no one has a happy life in reality.

I think I’ll go to the gym on Monday, if my back isn’t too sore from this, and ask for boxing lessons. I’ll barter to get them. Maybe offer to clean the gym every day to earn it. I could ask my dad to teach me to fight, but if Mom finds out, there would be hell to pay, so that’s a no-go.

But I have to do something . I can’t keep getting beat like this. If my mom can reduce me to a crybaby crawling away on his hands and knees, who will be next? There’s always someone bigger and worse out there.

Time to be the biggest, baddest monster in town.

Thank God I’ve got a high pain tolerance. At least my mom gave me something good to work with…

“Come here,” Daelyn says softly.

My heart thuds heavily as I step into the tub with her. All my words catch in my throat, and I have this horrible ringing in my ears. After the past few weeks, my world has imploded and I think I’m using Daelyn as a coping mechanism, which isn’t fair.

I’m still going to do it, though.

No one’s perfect, especially not me.