"It really is a shame that such a pretty face is about to get so fucked up." I say as I run my finger down his jawline.
"Even more so that it was wasted on an asshole like you." I add.
"Feel free to sit on it anytime you want, Tesoro." He replies.
...
- Chapter song: Family Line, Conan Gray - I feel like this song literally fits this chapter so well
Don't forget to vote and comment <3
TW: PTSD, Child abuse
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"Keep fucking crying and I will whip you harder." He yells in my face. Tears are streaming down my face but I make no sound.
It's not good enough for him though.
I can feel my sweat mixed with my blood drip down my back. My breathing is heavy, almost panting, as I try to breathe through the pain.
My father whips my bare back again. I whimper.
"You are fifteen. You're too old to be crying. How are you supposed to run a mafia if you still cry when you get hurt?" He shouts.
"I'm sorry." I whisper out.
He whips me again.
"Never apologise. The leader of the Russian mafia never says sorry. Those words are to never leave your fucking mouth again."
"Okay." I rasp.
Another whip. I look back, expecting to see my father but am shocked when I see my brother with a sinister smile on his face standing beside him.
I close my eyes and pray for it to be over soon.
I jolt awake with a gasp and sit up. I try to swallow as much oxygen as possible, breathing rapidly.
"Fuck." I drag my left hand down the side of my face.
I turn to grab the glass of water next to my bed only to find it's empty. I check the time and it reads 2:38am.
It's been months since I last had a dream of him but this is the first time where Aleksander was in it too. I get up and leave the bedroom. All the lights are off so it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.
I walk downstairs and into the kitchen where I see a figure sitting at the island, illuminated by the singular light coming from the stovetop.
"What are you doing up so late?" I ask him.
"Considering I slept for four hours earlier, I can't sleep now." He replies without looking at me.
"You?" He then adds.
"Nightmares."
He looks up at my answer. "Nightmares?"
I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge before leaning over the island across from him.
"Why is that so hard to believe?" I ask.
"You just don't seem like the type." Enzo says.
"They aren't regular nightmares. They're more like flashbacks." I explain.
