Chapter 25

Dmitri

I’m at a loss for words. I can honestly say that’s never happened to me before. Daelyn just gave me two truths and a lie, and I know exactly what the lie is. She told me the other night that she hates desserts.

She’s a bad person. She was sent to ruin me.

Daelyn succeeded in her mission because this cannot get any worse. And when I find out who’s hurt her, I’m going to kill them.

Instead of walking out the door, I’m closing the space between us and crouching down so she sits taller than me. I want her to feel like she’s got some power here, and I’ll shrink myself to seem smaller if it’ll help.

No words are said. She won’t even look at me. It gives me a chance to really examine Daelyn and work shit out in my head. The little veins around her eyes are broken. Either she’s cried or screamed too hard. There’s also a blood vessel in her right eye that’s busted, bleeding red towards her iris. Could have been caused by lack of oxygen or strenuous activity. Vomiting too hard can sometimes do that. Or asphyxiation. Which definitely relates to the handprint around her throat.

I close my eyes and count to ten. The fury flooding my system will not get an outlet here, so I need to control it for Daelyn’s sake. The last thing I want to do is go off the rails and destroy her room in a fit of rage, because it’ll only terrify her more. She’s been through enough as it is.

There’s a bandage on her finger and another on her arm.

I can’t believe I was so lust-crazy for her when I came inside that I hadn’t noticed those things. Even as I wrapped a belt around her wrists and fucked her from behind. Dark room be damned, I can’t blame the lighting for this unforgivable mistake. I was too focused on getting my dick wet to notice her well-being before taking what I craved. That I’ve become a mindless monster is reason enough to walk away and never see this woman again.

Except that’s not happening. From this night forward, I’m keeping her with me. If Daelyn won’t tell me the name of the walking dead man who hurt her, I’ll drag it out of her another way, because for her to get those marks means she went against orders somehow. They’ve used cruelty and pain to force her back in line. They tried to hurt and scare her.

I’m a bad person. I do bad things . She said those things the other day with guilt pouring from each word.

And she’s protecting the monster that’s sent her to ruin me.

I can’t be mad about it, because I’ve protected enough monsters too and I know how sharp that double-edged sword feels…

“Dmitri, come eat,” Mom orders from the other side of the door.

I can’t move from toilet. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I didn’t hear her come home. How long have I even been sitting in this bathroom?

The news I got today has me operating in a fog. One I need to get out of before my next fight. Swiping my tears away, I stand up and roll my shoulders back.

And cry all over again.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Rage controls me, and I throw my fist out, busting the vanity mirror over the sink. My knuckles sting. I use the pain to focus.

Splashing cold water on my face, I get my act together and finally open the door. Only when I see my mother standing in front of the freezer with a bottle of vodka in her hand, I lose my shit all over again.

“The fuck are you doing?” I never talk to my mom like this. But I’m mad. I’m mad and sad and scared. Miss Ashley is going to die of cancer. The only mom I’ve ever had. The sweetest woman in the whole wide world is refusing treatment and is going to die.

Why couldn’t it have been Anya instead?

My gaze drags down to her round belly.

That’s why.

Because God is cruel and gives rewards to devils while punishing angels.

“Dmitri,” Mom chides, putting the bottle behind her back like I can’t see it. “Why are you crying?”

“Why is there vodka in your hand, Mom?” My chin trembles because I have too many feelings slamming into me at once. I don’t know how to control them. “Answer me!”

“Because I was moving it out of my way to reach the ice tray.” Her hand rests protectively over her belly, but the other still holds the bottle behind her back. “Why are you crying?” she asks again.

Maybe I’m delusional, but it sounds like she genuinely cares. And I need someone to talk to about this, so I fall for it. “Miss Ashley is going to die of cancer.”

Her eyebrows pinch. “Who?”

“My friend’s mom.”

In all this time, I’ve never told either of my parents my best friend’s names. They’ve never come over when my parents were home, and I’ve never ever talked about Miss Ashley. Why share the only ounce of happiness I have in my dark world with two parents who don’t give a shit about me?

It’s clear that not even my dad cares anymore. He spends more time arguing with my mother than he does fighting in the ring. He doesn’t come to any of my fights. He doesn’t come home for dinner half the time anymore either.

“Oh well, why would you cry about that? She’s not your mother.”

My vision hazes red. “What?”

“You always were a crybaby,” she huffs. “No matter how much I’ve tried to harden you, you’re just like your father. Too soft. Too weak.”

I’m on her in a blink, getting in her face so fast she doesn’t have time to back up. “Fuck. You.” Hot tears flood my vision. “ Fuck you! ”

“You do not disrespect me like that!” Mom lifts the bottle of vodka and cracks me over the head with it. “You do not cry over another woman!” She hits me with it again and I fall onto the floor, blood pouring from my head. “ I am your mother!” She screams like a deranged banshee. “I am your fucking mother, not her !”

I want to get her off me, but I’m too scared I’ll hurt the baby if I push her back.

Screaming and crying, the heels of my combat boots scrape the carpet as I try to slide away while she sits on top of me, scratching and clawing, beating on me.

“ Anya! ”

We both freeze and look over to see my dad standing at the front door.

He storms over and tears her off me. She screams and kicks when he hauls her over to the couch. “What is wrong with you?”

She doesn’t say a word.

Next, Dad turns to me. “Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell happened in here?”

He must be truly blind and stupid if he can’t figure this out. Anger has me grinding my molars. “Look with your goddamn eyes for once.”

Tearing off my shirt, I show him what he’s failed to acknowledge for far too long.

And the worst part is…

My dad’s eyes go wide and all the color drains from his face because he really never saw the signs that I’ve been abused for the better part of ten motherfucking years.

I turn around so he can get a good look at my destroyed back. All the cuts she’s made with knives. All the burn marks. All the scars bruises can’t hide to remind me exactly who and what my mother is.

Mom has never hit me above the neck or below the belt until today. She always aims at the places I can easily cover with clothes.

“You did this to him?” Dad’s voice is dead calm. “Anya. Did you do this to my son?”

Mom shrugs with no remorse. “He’s mine as much as he is yours.”

Dad swipes his mouth with a shaky hand.

Our gazes meet and I hope he sees all the hate I have for him. All the resentment. All the pain. I hope it hurts to know he’s failed me.

And even as I stand raw, exposed, and bleeding from a split skull, I only feel sadness for someone I’m not even related to. Miss Ashley. It’s so surreal, I can’t grasp why I’m focusing on her when I can’t do anything to make her better. Then again, I can’t do anything to make my home life better either. I’m stuck in this Hell until I’m eighteen and can move out.

Then I’ll never look back…

“Come on.” I pull Daelyn up off the bed. “Pack a bag and come with me.”

“What? No, I…”

“You what? Want to destroy my life? Do it. I’d love to see you try.” I pull out the blade from my back pocket and flip it open. “Go ahead,” I say, handing it to her.

She pales and won’t take my knife. “Dmitri, no.”

“Why not?” I must be certifiable at this point. “Here. I’ll help.” I hold the tip of my knife to my heart, piercing the skin easily. “Just push it.”

I won’t beg her to twist it, too. One can only hope for so much.

“Stop!” she cries. “I’m not going to do this!”

“Why not, Daelyn?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you!” she screams at me. “And I can’t tell you anything more because I don’t want anyone to fucking die , okay?”

She starts hyperventilating and backing away from me, only she can’t get far because the bed is in the way.

Jesus. What am I doing?

Closing the knife, I shove it into her hand and curl her fingers around it. “Then keep it and shove it into the one that’s got power over you.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that easy.”

“I assure you it is. I’ll do it for you if you just give me his name.”

“It’s more complicated than you think.”

“I can’t help if you won’t tell me more.”

“I can’t!” she yells.

How did my life blow up like this?

Running a hand over my face, I’m still naked and obsessing over a woman who’s just admitted she’s here to “ruin” me, and my first line of defense was to let her drive a knife through my heart.

I would have let her kill me. Sounds crazy, but I would have.

I’ve played with death for a long time, and it’s time to end the game. I’m sick of feeling the way I do. I’m tired of being lonely. I loathe my body. I’m terrified of what I’ll do, even accidentally, to someone if I lose control. I’m done trying to find some semblance of joy where there is none. I want this to be over. I want to not feel anything anymore.

I want to tap out.

I need to surrender.

The realization that I’ve finally lost my will to fight has my knees buckling.