Chapter 31

_______________________

I was sitting at the kitchen table, crayons spread out in front of me as I scribbled on a piece of paper, feeling the thrill of creating something from nothing. It was one of those rare moments of peace in our house—the kind you knew wouldn’t last. Mom was at the stove, humming a tune like everything was fine, the smell of her stew filling the air.

Then the front door slammed open. That calm? Gone. Instantly. My old man was back, and from the way his feet dragged and thudded, I knew he was wasted. Again.

I kept my head down, praying he wouldn’t notice me, but I wasn’t that lucky. He staggered into the kitchen, his eyes already scanning for something to fucking lash out at. His gaze locked onto me, hunched over my drawing.

“The fuck are you doing, boy?” he snarled, his voice a thunderclap in the otherwise silent room.

I looked up, my hand trembling around the crayon.

“I’m just drawing…”

“You think you’re a fucking artist now?”

I barely had time to react before he was on me. He knocked the crayons from the table, sent them flying across the room. I felt a hard grip on my shoulder, yanking me to my feet. I tried to stammer out an explanation, but he wasn’t listening. Nothing new.

“Drawing is for pussies,” he roared, grabbing the drawing and tearing it in half. “Real men don’t waste their time with that bullshit. You wanna be a man or a little bitch?”

My mom turned from the stove and rushed over, trying to defend me.

“Leave him alone, Frank,” she pleaded, stepping between us. “He’s just a kid!”

My father backhanded her across the face and she stumbled, hitting the counter hard.

“Stay the fuck out of this, woman,” he yelled, before turning his fury back on me.

“Don’t hit her!” I screamed, the words tearing from my throat.

Bad move. That only made him angrier. I was just a kid, and he was a monster. He grabbed me by the shirt, lifting me off the ground.

“You talking back to me, boy?”

His hand was already raised, and I flinched, knowing what was coming. The first blow caught me in the gut, crushing my ribs.

I gasped for air, but he wasn’t done. He threw me to the floor, kicking me in the ribs. Pain exploded like fireworks behind my eyelids, but I tried to crawl away, desperate to escape, knowing I didn’t stand a chance.

“You think you can defy me?” he sneered, kicking me hard. “You’re nothing but a weak, useless piece of shit. Just like your mother.”

I could barely breathe, the pain turning everything to static. My mom tried to crawl towards me, but he kicked her away, and she fell, sobbing.

“Stop! Please!” she screamed, but it only spurred him on.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, bitch!” he shouted, his hand lashing out and striking her across the face.

He hit her again, harder this time, and I saw her crumble to the floor. I tried to get up, to help her, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The pain was too much, my ribs felt like they were on fire.

“You’re gonna learn to be a man, goddammit,” he spat, his words a cruel mockery of everything I held dear. “No son of mine’s gonna be a fucking fairy.”

I felt the sharp sting of his blows as they rained down upon me, each one driving home the truth that I was nothing to him. Just a punching bag. Fucking worthless.

I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, but it was useless. The hits kept coming, each one more vicious than the last. And through it all, I could hear my mom’s sobs, begging him to stop, but it was like shouting into the void.

Eventually, he seemed to get bored, or maybe he just ran out of steam. The blows slowed, then stopped. He staggered back, breathing heavily, like the goddamn animal he was. I laid there, my whole body throbbing in agony, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Remember this, boy,” he hissed, a look of disgust on his face. “Men don’t fucking draw.”

My mom was still on the ground too, clutching her side where he’d shoved her. The kitchen was a mess—my crayons scattered everywhere, my drawing torn to shreds.

He stood over us, breathing like a fucking bull, his eyes cold and empty.

“Clean this shit up,” he grunted at her. “And get dinner on the table. I’m fucking starving.”

He turned and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving me and my mom in a broken heap on the floor. She crawled over to me, her face bruised and swollen, and pulled me into her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, her voice trembling with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

But no amount of her guilt could drown out the pain. And honestly, the worst part wasn’t even the pain—it was the fucking shame. Shame of being too weak to protect her. Shame of letting that monster, the one who called himself my father, make me feel like less of a man. Every fucking day.

The shame of knowing that no matter how much I tried to be strong, it was never enough. Never fucking enough.

My mother’s soft, soothing tone morphed with my father’s rough, commanding one, creating a strange blend that was ringing in my ears. The sound built, growing louder and louder until it was all I could hear.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Men don’t fucking draw.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

“Men don’t fucking draw.”

My eyes snapped open and I woke up gasping for air as if I’d been drowning. I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair, feeling the dampness at my temples and my fingers trembling with residual adrenaline.

Outside, the world was silent, but inside my head, it was a riot.

Goddamn it, it never fucking ended.

I rubbed my face, trying to scrub away the remnants of the nightmare, but those memories—they stuck. They clung to me like a hangover you can’t shake.

Men didn’t fucking draw.

The images of that fucking kitchen, my old man’s rage, my mom’s tears had a way of worming their way into my head, even after all these years—it was all still too fucking vivid, too goddamn real.

After that night, I never drew again. I tossed my crayons in the trash, hoping against hope that maybe if I stopped drawing, my old man would fucking stop too. But surprise, surprise, nothing ever fucking worked.

No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, the bastard just kept coming. Drawing or not, he always found a reason to take out his anger on me and mom.

She’d tried to protect me, to shield me from his wrath, but in the end, she couldn’t take it anymore. Shortly after, she packed her shit and walked out the door, leaving me alone with that monster. I watched her go, too numb and broken to even ask her to stay. Before she left, she'd promised me she'd come back, swore she'd get out and find a way to pull me out too. Said she needed to get away first so she could actually fight him, that she'd come back for me once she was safe. I wanted to believe her. I clung to it, hoping it meant I wouldn't be stuck with him forever.

But with her gone, the beatings? They got worse. Unchecked. No more buffer. No more protection. Every fucking day turned into a survival game. It was me against him, and most days, I barely kept my head above water.

So, I buried myself in the only thing I had left: my anger. I learned to hide my pain, hoping that if I ignored it long enough, it would just fucking disappear. There was no room for weakness, no time for self-pity. I had to be strong, had to endure. Because there was no one else left to protect me.

I dragged my ass out of bed, pulled on my gear, lacing up my boots, strapping on my vest—going through the motions like a goddamn robot. Today was a training day, and I needed the distraction. I needed something to stop my brain from tearing itself apart.

When I got to the training area, the setup was pretty fucking obvious—twelve barrels, each filled to the brim with water. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what we were in for today. Raven stood tall, barking orders like she was running a fucking boot camp.

“Today’s exercise is all about breath control and underwater endurance,” she yelled, cracking her knuckles and stepping closer to the barrels. “We’ll be practicing static apnea—holding your breath underwater for as long as possible. Push your limits. Find out what you’re made of.”

I felt the tension in the air, the nervous energy radiating off the medical staff. Good. They needed to be uncomfortable. Comfort bred weakness, and in our line of work, weakness got you killed.

Raven spotted me and, of course, wasted no time calling me out. “Since the Lieutenant decided to grace us with his presence,” she said with a smirk, “how about he gives us a little demonstration?”

I gritted my teeth, not particularly keen on being the center of attention. I hadn’t come here to put on a fucking show. I might have wanted to tell her to fuck off, but I wasn’t about to back down from a challenge.

Raven gestured for me to step forward and I gave her a nod, rolling up my sleeves and stepping up to one of the barrels.

I took a deep breath, locking eyes with her for a moment before plunging my head into the water. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world around me as I focused on holding my breath. It was just me and the water now.

One minute passed, then two. My lungs burned like hell, my body screaming for air as I fought to defy my body’s natural instincts.

Three minutes. The pressure was unbearable now, a vice squeezing tighter and tighter around my chest. But I didn’t give in.

My mind flashed back to the shitshow I called training as a kid, the kind where my old man’s hands clamped around my throat like fucking iron, until I thought my lungs would burst. I learned real quick how to hold my breath, slow my heart, conserve every last bit of oxygen just so I wouldn’t black out in his grip.

And if I could survive that motherfucker, I could survive anything.

It all came down to diaphragmatic breathing—none of that shallow, useless shit. You gotta dig deep, use your gut muscles, and focus.

In, out. In, out.

Real fucking controlled. I visualized the air hitting my lungs, expanding my ribcage with each breath, and I willed my body to relax, and forced myself to stay calm. No panic. Just surviving.

At the four-minute mark, my vision started to tunnel, black spots creeping in, but fuck that—I wasn’t about to give up. I held on for a few more seconds, pushing myself, just to prove I still had it.

At four minutes and twenty seconds, I finally came up, gasping like a motherfucker while the rest of the group cheered like they’d just witnessed some miracle. Bunch of amateurs.

Raven’s smirk was positively infuriating as she sauntered over, clearly enjoying the little show I put on.

“Damn, Rogue,” she began, her voice carrying over the sound of splashing water. “Impressive. Most folks would’ve tapped out way before the four-minute mark.”

I ignored her bullshit praise, focusing instead on the pounding of my heart and the burn in my lungs. I hadn’t done it for her approval—I’d done it to prove to myself that I could still push myself beyond my limits.

Raven went on, explaining the techniques I’d used—slowing my heart rate, staying relaxed, focusing my mind—but my mind had already checked out, scanning the crowd until my eyes landed on Red.

Fuck, she looked terrified. I knew what that look was about. Water freaked her out, big time. It wasn’t hard to miss—the way she tensed up, her eyes darting around like she was already drowning in her mind.

She caught my gaze, and I gave her a nod, like, You got this. You’re stronger than your bullshit fears. Hell, we all had our demons. Hers just happened to be water. I could relate to that shit. I’d been through worse.

I took a step back, blending into the background as Raven continued her spiel.

“Alright, everyone, get ready!”

The crowd shifted, nervous energy rippling through them. My eyes flicked back to Red. She was struggling, but I knew she’d pull through. We all had to face our shit eventually, and today was her day to eat it.

The training kicked off with a splash, quite literally. It was pathetic watching them flounder, barely lasting a few seconds before shooting back up to the surface, gasping like they’d just been through hell. Most of them had no fucking clue what they were in for. But Raven? She didn’t give a single shit. She paced along the barrels, yelling at them like a goddamn drill instructor from hell.

“You think the talis are gonna wait for you to catch your breath?!” she bellowed at a particularly scrawny guy who looked like he might pass out at any moment.

Good. They needed this. They needed to toughen the fuck up if they were going to be any use in real combat situations.

My gaze swept over the training area, landing on Red again, and fuck, she was in rough shape. Her hands were gripping the edge of the barrel so tight like it was the only thing keeping her from fucking drowning. This wasn’t just nerves—she was falling apart.

“Pony tail!” I heard Raven unleashing her fury on Red. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Dive in!”

Red was losing it, hyperventilating like she was about to pass out. But after a second, she sucked in a deep breath and shoved her head under the water.

I watched her struggling, holding her breath, knowing this was already way past her breaking point. The seconds ticked by, feeling like fucking hours.

When she finally tried to come up for air, Raven was right there, shoving her head back down like some kind of sadistic freak. Before I even had time to think, I moved. Instinct kicked in.

I stormed over, grabbed Raven, and shoved her away from Red with a force that surprised even me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled, pushing her hard enough to make her stumble back.

Red surfaced, gasping and coughing, water pouring off her face like she’d almost drowned. She was struggling to catch her breath, still panicking, and I moved next to her, placing a hand on her back, trying to steady her without being too obvious. Her eyes were wild, but she was breathing. Barely, but breathing.

Thank God.

Raven straightened up, glaring at me like she wanted to kill me. But I didn’t give a shit. My focus was on Red, who was still bent over, coughing up water like she’d just come back from the dead.

“I’m training her to survive, Lieutenant,” she spoke with indignation. “Sometimes survival means pushing past your limits, even if it hurts.”

I shot a murderous glare at her. “Pushed, not drowned, you maniac!” I roared back, still fuming.

“She needs to learn—” she started, but I cut her off.

“Learn what? How to get drowned by a psycho drill sergeant?” I snarled, stepping closer to her. “You could have killed her!”

The whole place went quiet. Medics and trainees alike stared at the scene, wide-eyed. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.

Red was still coughing and I turned my attention back to her, my anger not fading but shifting focus.

“You okay?” I asked, forcing myself to soften my question.

She nodded weakly, though she was still struggling to catch her breath. “Yeah, I’m... I’m fine,” she croaked between coughs.

Yeah, right. Fine my ass. But she was tough. Tougher than most gave her credit for.

“Training’s over,” I announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, and I didn’t give a single fuck about Raven’s authority. “Anyone got a problem with that, they can take it up with me.”

I squared up to her, ready to throw down if she dared to disobey my orders. “And if you pull that shit again,” I warned her, my voice deadly calm, “we’re gonna have a serious fucking problem.”

Red’s safety was non-negotiable.

Raven sneered, her gaze scrutinizing me like she was trying to figure out what the hell my deal was, but she didn’t say shit. There was a flicker of something—suspicion, maybe—before she schooled her features into a mask of indifference.

“Yes, sir,” she surrendered, looking like she wanted to say something more, something biting. “But don’t undermine me again, Lieutenant.”

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” I snapped back, my eyes never leaving hers.

She wanted to argue, but one look at my face must have told her it was a bad fucking idea. She just nodded stiffly, her mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

I glared at her one last time before turning my attention back to Red, offering my hand to help her up.

“Let’s get you out of here,” I told her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

We managed to take three steps—just three fucking steps—when the shouting started.

“We need all medics over here, now!”

There was no rest for the wicked, it seemed.