Stars. It’s all I see. Blackness with a swirling kaleidoscope of yellow, green, and red. I take a deep breath. The stars settle and the darkness withdraws to the edges of my vision. The room is just as it was before, but now there’s drops of blood on the kitchen floor as I push myself away from it. My face hurts. My stomach, too.

Vasilis stands over me. All I see of him at first are his polished shoes, his slacks, and his bruising, bloody fists.

“Has nothing sunk in?” he asks with malice when I look up at his face. It’s a mask of displeasure writ in hard lines and deep shadows. “What have you been doing these past weeks?”

“Get away from him!” Cy growls behind me. I didn’t know he was there. He walks forward to stand in front of me, Raven watching from a distance as she does.

I can’t decide what she thinks of all this. She’s harder to read than Cy, and it unnerves me. She might find all of this amusing or she might think we’re insane. I don’t know. Maybe both.

With a will I didn’t know I had, I shove myself onto my knees. My vision sways. Was Vasilis kicking me? I don’t remember. It feels like he was hitting me, and it looks like he was punching and kicking, but I just. don’t. remember.

…

When I wake, I’m in my own bed. Raven is in a chair across the room, reading. She does that a lot–reading. I don’t know where she finds the books, and I haven’t been brave enough to ask.

“Cy will be back in a minute,” she says without looking up. Her inflection is flat, like she doesn’t care, though I know well enough from eavesdropping that she does.

My left eye is bruised shut, and it feels almost numb from the swelling. Almost numb. It still hurts. My jaw hurts, too, and my ribs. I nod in response to Raven and groan from the movement.

She looks up from her book and smiles sympathetically at me. A strange look steals her smile, and she cocks her head.

“Has he always been like this?” she asks. “His last letter was pretty civil, but few of his other letters were.” She pauses to hear my answer, but I remain quiet and try not to focus on the pain. When she realizes I’m not going to respond, she continues. “He’s a hard man to read.” Raven turns back to her book. “I can see why Cy ran away.”

I wish the entirety of my face didn’t hurt. I wish I could take in a breath long enough to form a coherent thought. I wish my jaw didn’t feel fused together like a nightmare that won’t let you scream. I wish Raven hadn’t come at all.

Cyril walks into the room and looks from me, staring at Raven and wanting to say many things, to Raven, reading her book and oblivious to the emotional pain she just added to my physical pain.

“What did you say?” he asks Raven. She looks up from her book, surprised to see him or surprised that he would interrupt, I can’t tell.

“I said your father is a hard man to read and that I can see why you ran away.” Her voice still holds little inflection. Maybe she’s always like this?

“Raven.” Cy says, scolding, and she shrugs, closes her book, and walks out of the room without another look or word to either of us.

Cy apologizes to me, probably for her behavior, but I’m not certain. At this point, I’m uncertain of anything. Even Cy is a mystery to me, and he’s the one person I thought I could count on to be the same.

I was naive to believe that.

“How’s the jaw?” he asks after Raven is gone. Cy stands across the room with his feet spread and his arms crossed–as well as they can be with his cast. Unreadable as he wasn’t when he arrived a few weeks ago. Why the change? Is he unintentionally mimicking Vasilis or is he hiding something?

“You shouldn’t push him,” Cy says quietly. What? “You know he’s easily angered. Always has been, but I’ve noticed an increase in violent tendencies since I left.” He raises his broken arm as evidence. A wry smile curls his lips.

“I don–” I start to say, but it hurts. And my voice is hoarse. Even clearing my throat is painful. I need water.

Cy pulls a folding chair from a corner I didn’t see and pours me a glass of water from a decanter I didn’t see on the bedside table to my left, where I wouldn’t think to look and where I now have a wider blind spot because of my bruised eye.

He could be standing right there, and I’d never know.

Vigilance, I tell myself. This may be his house, but he can’t be everywhere. Be aware.

Cyril watches me closely, like I might divulge a terrible secret or fall over from the effort. I suppose I’m in a position to do either of those things, but I’m not inclined toward pain.

I’ve never been afraid of someone like this. Vasilis has never lashed out before. Well, not like this. He’s slapped me a time or two, but never more. Why waste energy on multiple hits when one gets the point across?

So what did I do that made him reconsider efficiency?

I don’t know, and that terrifies me more than the pain.

* * * * *

Thanks for reading! Subscribe below to receive emails when the next post is up.

fiction prose Writings abuse amwritingfiction fear fiction first person perspective flash fiction kieran mcmann kristin kristin boes mcmann mihal mystery pain procrastination deviation procrastinationdeviation prokristination prose remembrance remembrances serial serial post serial stories serial story series series post shattered short fiction short short fiction short short story short story shortfiction shortstory stories story story blog story series storyteller storytelling vasilis mihal vulnerable