Verse - 15. Chapter 15

Luka scowled, meeting Mrs. Lager’s gaze firmly. His breakfast lay on the table, half-eaten; he’d stopped when he realized where the conversation was going. Grumbling and shouting was coming from the backyard, where Eric was leading the four other teens in exercise.

It sounded harsh, though not nearly as frightful as the woman’s resolute gaze.

The boy sighed, leaning slightly onto the table. He’d considered this, though had hoped they’d give him a few days; he could’ve planned an escape by then.

Unfortunately, Soren’s parents had beaten him to it, and he was now simply delaying.

“It would really help us understand the situation,” Mrs. Lager said, her words as steady as her eyes. She was a tough woman, quite unlike Soren. The two facts were probably related. “And consequently, let us to help you.”

Luka nodded curtly, his fingers playing with his fork, rolling the boiled egg around his plate. “I know,” he sighed at last. He set the fork down, replacing it with the cup of coffee. It was still warm, and fairly delicious. For coffee, anyway.

“Then…”

Luka bit his lower lip, still considering. If he talked, then all would be out in the open. The past he worked so hard to forget, to escape. Talking would help though—or so he was commonly told—and it certainly made sense.

It was simply difficult to talk.

Nonetheless, he nodded again, slower this time.

Mrs. Lager returned it, leaning back slightly in her seat. She was worried as well. The Lagers weren’t ones to shy away from an uncomfortable situation, nor abandon a person in need—and the boy across her was certainly in need.

“My father,” Luka began at last, “Gregory Oniroyov.”

Oniroyov; a well-known surname in the region. There was much historical competition between it and the Bonde Family that headed the country.

“Yes?” Mrs. Lager inquired, following the boy’s sudden silence.

“He… he wasn’t always like that. As violent as he was recently, I mean.”

The woman nodded understandingly. Situations changed, though she wasn’t sure what could drive a man to hate his own son enough to kill the boy’s mother.

“I had two brothers,” Luka continued.

Had, Mrs. Lager noted to herself.

“They’re both dead. My older brother, Alexis, was… killed. They had another child a few years after that, to fill the void I guess, but, he died too. Just like that, out of nowhere.”

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Mrs. Lager immediately frowned, her entire face darkening as soon as the message got across. A terrible truth—and one that no doubt helped break parents. Coupled with the fact that their first-born died as well; well, she could see the issues forming.

“It’s still inexcusable,” she mumbled. “Your father’s conduct.”

Luka smirked, nodding slightly. “Indeed.”

“How did Alexis die?”

The color drained from Luka’s face instantly, sending the woman to her feet and arching over the table. She almost shouted for her husband, before Luka shook his head and gestured for her to sit back down.

She did, after going to the fridge and serving the boy a glass of cooled water. He didn’t drink though, instead placing it beside his coffee.

Luka cleared his throat, suddenly eager to avoid the woman’s eyes. “My brother wasn’t the most… upstanding citizen,” he said cautiously.

“I don’t understand…”

A frown split Luka’s lips, and he finally reached for that drink. He sighed afterwards, setting the glass lightly on the wooden table. He noticed the table sheet then; it was white linen, decorated with a yellow sun in the center, surrounded with angels; he hadn’t expected such a religion-oriented decoration in the Lager’s. “My brother,” he said again, glancing upwards to meet the woman’s eyes, “he… touched me.”

Those words alone sent Mrs. Lager reeling, blinking her eyes wildly in overwhelming shock. The room almost seemed to spin, darkening with the atmosphere of the boy’s words. It was Luka’s turn to look worried, as he himself raced to his feet.

The woman returned his response, shaking her head and smiling as she motioned for him to sit. He did, his brows furrowed in a scowl.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Lager whispered. “That was a terrible response on my part.”

Luka shrugged, playing with his coffee mug. “It’s a terrible thing.”

“Yes, and I apologize you had to go through it.”

The boy nodded, smiling weakly. “I don’t think my dad’s inclined to agree.”

“He… tolerated it?”

Luka laughed, slumping into his seat. “He caught us one day. He’d come home early, excited that he and Alexis were going hunting over the weekend. He went all the way to my brother’s room, where he found us… at it.”

The woman suddenly shook her head, “No, you don’t need to talk about this.”

The boy shrugged again, bringing the coffee to his lips. He didn’t even like coffee. “He moved us the next week, pulled me out of school, scolded both of us—had the fucking audacity to blame me.” His teeth flashed, as his lips broke into a scowl. “The fucker!” he stressed. “How the fuck could it be my fault?!”

A shiver ran up both their backs nearly simultaneously. Mrs. Lager was at a loss of words, instead providing support by reaching across the table and squeezing the boy’s jittering hands.

“I was eight fucking years old. I barely even knew what Alexis was doing.”

Mrs. Lager nodded, her eyes glistering slightly. It was worse than she’d thought.

“He isolated me after that,” Luka went on. “Hired me tutors, watching them too, to keep me from fucking corrupting more men.” He growled, shaking slightly with every word. “He separated me and Alexis, mostly locking my room, making it clear I wasn’t to open it for anyone but him.”

The boy smirked, laughing again. “My brother never gave up though. At first, he was a little remorseful, avoiding me for a few days. But, after a couple weeks at our new house, whatever fucking demon possessed him couldn’t wait. He found ways to sneak into my room… almost every fucking night.”

Luka shuddered again, the woman’s small gestures not being enough to reassure him. “Two years. For two fucking years he did that—I couldn’t tell my dad, he’d beat the shit out of me. I couldn’t tell my mom either; my dad made that clear—he threatened to kill me, and her.” He chuckled again, leaning back against the chair. “And, surprise, she’s fucking dead.”

He giggled, realigning himself enough to drink more coffee. It was becoming more and more attractive. “One night… I just, I Just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I told Alexis to stop; that I didn’t like what he was doing anymore… didn’t, ever since Dad caught us, and deemed it sinful. But, he didn’t listen… And backed me towards my bed…” Luka’s body calmed itself as he remembered that night.

He still recalled how cold it’d been, in the depths of winter, and with a broken heater. There was a TV on in the background—likely in Alexis’s room, in his efforts to mask his activities. He’d entered Luka’s room through the window, sneaking out from his own, and carefully crawling across the small decorative bar that divided the first floor from the second.

It worked too, aided by that fact that it was usually late, and their parents were fast asleep.

Alexis had steadily moved him towards the bed, speaking softly, of love, affection. How he liked Luka and their parents could go screw themselves. Luka had made up his mind during their last run-in, that enough was enough. His brother wouldn’t take advantage of him again.

Of course, he’d made the pact before too. This time however, his resolution had grown. Enough for him to reach beneath his bed and grab the kitchen knife he’d snuck up to his room.

That had stopped Alexis for a couple seconds, before the boy laughed, saying that Luka wouldn’t do it. He’d stepped forward slowly, until he finally grabbed Luka.

It’d only taken one slight fondle, for Luka to lose himself.

The next morning, when his parents rushed into the room, they found Luka sitting silently in the corner, his cheeks reddened with salt and the faint stream of tears.

The floor was crimson, the metallic smell abhorrent. Alexis lay still, in the center.

Luka cried again, his tears slipping out of his eyes steadily. He’d long stopped bawling, instead allowing his tears to simply flow silently.

“I stabbed him six times,” he mumbled, barely audible, barely coherent.

That was enough. Mrs. Lager stood, rushed around the table, and tightly embraced the boy in a hug. As did Noel, leaving his hiding place behind the hallway.