She listened intently, her eyes not leaving my face.
“Growing up, I was what you’d call a sick child. Nausea, low sugar levels, and light-headedness. They were all normal for me. My dad…he hated it. I guess it would have been better if our mom were in the picture. But she was not. And our dad trained us the hard way. All of us. My training was just different. He called me weak. Said I was a waste and I shouldn’t have been born.”
I heard her suck in a breath, but she remained silent as I went on.
“As I grew older, he was bent on forcing me to be strong. Whenever I was sick, which was most of the time, he’d stop the workers from calling in the nurse. He’d lock me in my room and ask me to fight the sickness, like it was a fucking person. He’d have the workers bring me water and food once a day for a few days. Then, when he was sure I’d gotten over it, he’d give me back my freedom. At first, it used to weigh me down. The pain I felt would make me scream and beg, asking him to let me have some medicine. I’d stay awake all night, wishing any of my brothers were around. But that period didn’t last long.”
“I realized that begging him wouldn’t make him change his mind. So I stopped begging. I decided to fight the pain as if I were seeing it. I started to practice my punching skills on the wardrobe and the walls. I didn’t stop until my hands were bleeding, and the pain I felt in my body started to feel smaller than my rage.”
She took my hand, her soft fingers grazing over my scarred knuckles.
“One time, I beat up the worker he sent to bring me food. I punched him until he was covered in his own blood. Whenmy dad came a while later, he was fucking shocked. At that moment, he was probably scared of me. And that gave me a kind of satisfaction I decided not to let go of. Since that day, my fists became my words. There was nothing I couldn’t handle as long as I could throw hands. Even when he died, and he slowly became history, I starved myself and lived the rough life just in case he could still see me. I locked myself out of everyone’s life and obliterated my feelings.”
I turned to face her. “That’s why I go to Russia. He raised me there. I learned to fight my weakness there.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, bringing my hand to her face, blinking back tears.
“Don’t cry,” I told her. “I hate seeing tears in your eyes. I made you cry once. I don’t want to do it again.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.”
“It’s history,” I dismissed, chuckling.
“Konstantin, you don’t have to carry that burden anymore. You can live the life you want to live, outside your father’s shadow.”
“Food is getting cold,” I muttered, and she giggled.
“I love the sound of your laughter.”
She simply rolled her eyes in response.
“What do you intend to do after lunch?” she inquired.
“Some work in my office. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I was wondering if you’d like to watch a movie. With me.”
“Then ask me,” I remarked.
She squinted her eyes like she was trying to gauge my seriousness. Then she asked, “Do you want to see a movie with me?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Okay, then,” she answered, smiling as she got up.
I stood and followed her, pulling her into the two-seater couch facing the television. I took the remote control from the table and handed it to her.
“So, what’s your thing?” she inquired.
“What’s yours?”
“Thriller. Sci-fi. Romantic comedy. I think that’s about it.”
“Hm. Let’s do one of those, then,” I suggested, relaxing into the chair and pulling her back with me with my hand around her shoulder.
“I won’t even bother asking which title you prefer,” she remarked, flicking through different movie thumbnails.
“Sorry for disappointing you.”
