Something curious overtakes Yulian’s body language. Something that didn’t happen when Yaroslav slapped him.
A tightening of shoulders, a slight lift of lips, almost as if in a snarl.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him angry. He’s always clowning around, so I thought he lacked the capacity to be angry.
“Don’t touch her.” His voice is deep and raw, as if his vocal cords are ripped.
“Then stop being a fucking disgrace. You’re my heir. Act like it, and stop glaring.”
“I’m just looking.”
Yaroslav drives his fist into Yulian’s face.
Thwack.
It’s stronger than the slap, and it sends Yulian flying against the wall. The moment he hits the ground, Yaroslav kicks him in the stomach.
“Fucking useless piece of shit. All you do is piss me off. Talentless, stupid, irrelevant motherfucker. Kirill sends a perfect son, and I have this fucking moron who only knows how to get injured.”
“You’re the one injuring me, though,” Yulian grunts, sounding out of breath even as he tries to protect his stomach with his hands. His lip has busted open, and blood drips on the wood, forming a small pool.
“Shut.” Kick. “The.” Kick. “Fuck.” Kick. “Up.”
Yulian curls into himself, and I reach for the knob.
Fire tears through me like a volcano cracking from the core. Truth is, my muscles have been tight since the first time he slapped Yulian.
I don’t give a fuck if I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t even understandwhyI’m this worked up. I seem toend up in this state every time Yulian is around, but it’s worse now.
My father never hit me, so this concept of beating children is foreign—so foreign, it makes my blood boil.
Or maybe it’s the name-calling.
Or the way Yaroslav spits out hurtful words without an ounce of respect for his son.
No wonder Yulian seems messed up.
Maybe that’s why I feel the urge to act—guilt. For judging him before knowing he’s been his father’s punching bag. Realizing maybe he talks too much because every time he opens his mouth at home, he gets hit for it.
Before I can step in, Yaroslav kicks him one last time and then steps back.
“This is my final warning, you worthless piece of shit. Mess this camp up and you’ll never see Alina again.”
He turns and leaves. Yulian struggles to sit upright, wincing as he runs his tongue over his cut lip, licking the blood away.
I take a step, then stop.
Because what the fuck would I say?
I’m sorry your father is an abusive piece of shitwould make things worse, not better.
Someone like Yulian wouldn’t want pity. I wouldn’t either if I were him.
He stands, staring down at his feet, expressionless.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
