Chapter Text
“That’ll be 39.59.”
You’re at your local 24 hour convenience store at 2 in the morning buying what seems to be the product of what happens when you let your impulsive thoughts get to you which included: Cheap hair dye, a can of soda, a bag of chips and a pack of cigarettes.
You haven’t smoked in months. It was Kyle who convinced you to stop actually. He took away all the reasons for you to start smoking again. Now–that he is the reason for your stress, you don’t know what else to do.
“Hello?”
You’re suddenly brought back to reality when the man behind the counter catches your attention with a confused look on his face. “Sorry, sorry.” You reply, profusely apologizing to him as you rummage through your bag for some loose change. Suddenly,the bells above the door sound and both you and the cashier turn to the door to see a figure whose face is covered by shelves. It’s uncommon that there is more than one customer in the store at this hour.
You go back to looking for change when you feel the air get cold behind you– The person is right behind you. The hair on your arms stands as your whole body tenses up. Their presence is familiar. Your head turns with caution when suddenly, the person suddenly grabs your shoulder.
Shit.
You know each other well. The man looks at the cashier and he frantically starts putting your items in a plastic bag. The man puts his hand on your shoulder.
You’re fucked.
“Ey, malysh,” .
You can hear disappointment in his voice – “Your father sent me to get you.” almost like he’s scared for you. Terrified, you nod, leaving your things on the counter and the cashier concerned and confused.
You only have one memory in this car and the moment you sit down, you’re suddenly living it once more.
You were only a child when this happened. It was after school, you had gotten into a fight with another student. He accused your father of being the “most evil man on the planet.” and you – you sweet naive little child, thought he was wrong. Your father was insulted when he heard about this. Not by the child, but by you. He was insulted that you would put a stain on his name. (rather added to the already existing stains.) he called you a disgrace when you got home that night, hurt you the same way you hurt your classmate. When asked by his friends who were in the other room, he said that it was his way of teaching you empathy. Said that it taught you to put yourself in another person's shoe. After that day, you didn’t see your father the same way.
You’re snapped back to reality when you hear the gates of your childhood home open. What you did this time was so much worse. You were sure your punishment would be far more painful than what you did when you were a child. You snitched on your fucking father, of course he’d be angry. What makes it all worse is that your mother won’t be here to clean your bruises up. Won’t be here to comfort you and lull you to sleep. And neither will Kyle. Kyle who held you during the nights you couldn’t sleep. Kyle who wiped your tears when you had bad days. You’re alone this time.
The car comes to a halt and the man on the driver's seat rolls his window down to light a cig. “I wish you luck, moy malenkiy .” Part of you hoped that he was a spy too but of course he wouldn’t be. How stupid you are to even hope. The moment you step out of the car, you are greeted by the sight of your father leaning against the door frame.
“Privet, my sweet.”
You can never read your fathers emotions. You do not know if he is angry or disappointed or just genuinely happy to see you.
You’re a mouse.
Your feet slowly make their way up the stairs. Each step, your trepidation grows as your fathers eyes follow you.
“Scared?” His voice is laced with something horrible, you know it.
You reach the final step, standing directly in front of him.
“..yes.”
His hand gently lands on your shoulder.
“Well,I didn’t raise you to be a coward. “
He guides you to the inside of your house. It’s all horrible. The paintings, the carpets, the stairs.
Especially the fucking stairs. You hate it here.
“You must know why I’ve brought you here, right?”
“..no.”
He stops to look at the window, it’s snowing outside.
Your heartbeat grows faster, your breath is stuck in your throat, there are drops of red on the snow.
“Someone talked.” his expression grows dark. “To interpol, specifically.”
Your breath is shaky. “..Who?” you stutter.
Your father breathes deeply and pauses.
“Roland. Fucking traitor.” he finally says. “Cowered over the slightest of torture, told them everything he knew.”
Your panic dies down.
“What did you do to him?”
You both see the gardener covering up the trail of blood outside in the snow as your father puts his arm on your shoulder.
“I took care of it, of course. I despise snitches.”
he looks at you.
“You know what already, don’;t you?”
Your eyes stare at your shoes.
“Y-yes.” coming out in a stutter.
There's another silence, It terrifies you more.
“Why'd you bring me here though?” you ask.
His arm leaves your shoulders as he starts walking to his office.
“I called you here to tell you to be more cautious of people.”
You pass by the painting of your mother.
“More and more people have been betraying us.”
You look at her, she can’t help you now.
“Why is that?” you ask.
“Interpol is closing in on us. They think they can get away with their sins if they repent.”
“Can they?”
“Don’t be silly, of course not.”
You reach his office, finally. The wallpaper is well kept, his shelves are filled with books and important files, it is dark and smells woody. There is a chandelier and in the back wall, a large window, overlooking the massive garden behind the house.
Though it looks warm, it feels cold and empty. There are no good memories that were made in this room, there is no tribute to your mother or a picture of you on his desk.
“May I go?”
He looks at you, for quite a while actually.. And finally:
“Yes, you may.”
As your hands feel for the doorknob while you face him, he tells you his last words.
“I think I made myself clear today.”
“Yes father.”