Twisted Choices

Chapter 7

Trigger Warning: Short domestic abuse starts from ♤ and ends with ♧. Another one that is quite descriptive and triggering will start from ♡ and ends with ☆. Stay safe.

The weather finally decided to be helpful and released a chilly breeze throughout the tiny hill village. Hero took this chance to get out a worn out scarf, muddy gloves and a baggy shirt to hide his injuries. When he noticed how late he was a few days ago with Peter and Markus, he ran.

He ran as fast as he could with his two companions tailing after him. He exchanged a hasty goodbye to Peter and dragged Markus home. He pushed Markus up the stairs as their father entered the lounge from the kitchen, gripping a rather large bottle of whiskey.

Hero bowed politely and apologized for his tardiness, lying that he was caught up in school. His father gave a gruff 'mm' before spreading out on the couch, drinking every few minutes. Hero proceeded with his chores; cleaning up the house, cooking a few steaks for his father's dinner and of course, cleaning up all broken bottle shards all over the house.

He got at least five cuts from them. He also secretly cooked an extra steak, realizing that Markus had not really eaten anything that day. However, as he tapped his father lightly on the shoulder to inform him dinner was ready, his father grabbed Hero's wrist and pulled him from the back on the couch and onto the floor in front of him.

Hero wheezed as his chest collided with the hard wood and slowly sat up, folding his legs underneath him and hung his head, waiting for instruction.

"Make yourself useful and grab a bunch of cigars, will you?!"

The boy nodded and scrambled to his feet, wobbling slightly from the dizziness. He jogged to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers, trying to find a box. He finally found the red box of cigarettes as his father yelled at him to hurry up. He accidentally stubbed his toe on an edge of a chair as he ran to his father. He took in a deep breath and limped to his father, presenting the box of cigarettes in one hand.

♤

His father sneered and snatched the box. He dug around his pocket and fished out a tiny lighter. He lighted a cigar and put it between his teeth as he pulled his son closer with a tug of his collar. Hero tried not to gag at the stench of alcohol as his father spoke, "Listen here, boy. Behave and sit down on the floor, facing me. I need an ashtray."

Hero nodded profusely and as he was free, he kneeled next to his fathers legs, wincing as his father pressed the lit end of his cigarette to his arm for the rest of the night, till he dozed off.

♧

The burns stayed for a long time and Hero was running out of excuses to tell the Yales, Markus and teachers.

So that's why the breeze helped. Autumn is starting and the trees were starting to turn brilliant shades of orange. However, neither the weather nor his injuries would stop him from seeing the wall guards. They actually had accepted him, training him and joking around with him.

One of them, a Russian called Ivan, had especially grown close to Hero. Hero looked forward everyday to exchange experiences and stories. Hero saw Ivan as a father figure, really. His own father had stopped being there for him after his mother had passed. Somewhere, a small part of him understood.

Hero knocked on the door on the wall, shivering under the cold. The door swung open and Ivan was there, his grin falling as he saw the boy's state. Ivan ushered him inside and dragged him up the stairs and to the guard post.