Emperor of Destruction [EDITING]

xxxvi.

This chapter contains Sexual Assault, Parental abuse, Mental abuse, Murder and Harsh language.

XXXVI

"There's something seriously wrong with him, Catarina." Dad's voice boomed just as I went to walk past my Parent's room. I stopped, my steps coming to a sudden halt. Who is he talking about? "No son of mine should be so weak. He can't even handle his own in a fight. You know how embarrassing that is to me? He's bringing shame to the Westbrook name." That confirmed my suspensions. He is talking about me.

With my notebook in one hand and a pen in the other,--I push myself against the wall next to the door, leaning on it.

I heard Mom cry. "Stop it, Christian." She said, "Silas is a good boy. He's only eight. He hasn't fully developed yet."

"When I was his age, I had the whole world in my hands."

"When you were his age, you walked into the cruel world headfirst. You didn't have a choice. Silas does." Mom retorted.

Heavy footsteps approached. The bed made a loud sound. I assumed Dad went to sit next to Mom. Her cries soon died down and I pictured Dad soothing her with his hand. He always did that whenever Mom was sad or even angry. My Parents are like the Storm and Sea. Mom calmed the raging inside Dad, while Dad ignited the rage in her. Dad had high hopes for me when I was born. I couldn't blame him for developing an intense hate for me. I would hate me too if I were him. My birth was a blessing to him, but my abilities was a curse.

Dad released a loud and annoyed sigh, "That boy will be the death of me." He said in a low growl. "All my Friend's sons were strong. Have you taken a look at Matthew's kid? Ezekiel is a tall and broad kid who knows how to hold his ground against anyone. Then there's Aleksei's son. Kenzo is practically a bloodhound. Then there's my ungrateful, weak son, unworthy of the Westbrook title. He shames me, Cat."

My hands clenched into fists at my side as I bit down on my bottom lip, resisting the urge to yell at Dad for being a jerk. I know I'm not as great as my friends, but that didn't mean I didn't try. Dad doesn't believe in attempting to do something great until you actually do it.

"Don't say that." Mom demanded in a soft whisper. I imagined more tears fell down her cheeks. I didn't like when she cried. Beautiful women shouldn't cry,--they should' have been giving reason to.

I opened my small notebook, flipping to an empty sheet.

He doesn't like me.

His voice dropped down a volume or two, "I promise I will mold that boy into something great."

Then he rose,--his footsteps heading in my direction.

I ran before the huge door could open.