“Come here, kid. Tonight you learn,” Valen says, voice flat, demanding.
I feel it all again, that dread and hesitation. Younger me doesn’t move. How old am I? Maybe nine, Maybe ten. I can’t even tell. I could be younger.
Valen turns, his glare burning through me, and his hand flies out, striking the side of my face with a loud crack. I step forward without thinking, chest tight, everything squeezing in on itself.
He grabs younger-me’s arm before I can pull away and yanks me toward the woman, positioning me between her legs like it’s nothing.
“Now do it. Like I fucking told you. Like I taught you.”
My stomach knots and I feel tears threatening, not from pain but from the weight of it all as I watch younger-me freeze.
Valen lifts the edge of her long black dress, exposing her like an object, like a gift, and yanks her further down the desk. She just stares, wide-eyed, looking straight at younger-me, lips trembling, terrified.
When I don’t move again, Valen’s hand smashes into the side of my head.
“Do it!” he yells, and the sound rips through the space like a gunshot, echoing through me.
Everything that happens next rocks something deep inside me.
Seeing myself as a kid being forced into this, that fucking young. Doing this to a woman much older.
My throat tightens, my chest caves inward, and my eyes sting as I watch it unfold, powerless to stop any of it.
Young me is crying, and she’s screaming, but Valen doesn’t care. He strikes her hard across the face, then yells at me to keep going.
I blur as I move closer, eyes locked on the kid’s face, my face, twisted with horror.
She starts shouting something through the tears, something strange and sharp, like a chant in another language, like she’s trying to curse me or warn me or maybe save herself.
“Shut her up!” Valen roars, voice cutting through everything like a blade. He hits me again, snapping my head to the side, rage pouring off him in waves. “Wrap your hands around her throat while you do it and squeeze tight. It helps.”
A tear rolls down my painted cheek as I watch myself do it. My teeth are gritted tight, arms straining, shaking as I choke her. It feels like it goes on forever before she finally goes limp.
But even then, I’m made to keep going. Even when she’s dead.
Until I’m finished. Until Valen’s fucking satisfied with the outcome.
When that moment comes, younger-me’s hands finally fall away from her throat. Deep purple bruises are embedded in her skin. Her eyes are still open, glassy and lifeless, staring up at nothing.
Hollowed out. Gone. And the boy, me, just stands there, frozen, vibrating. Tears are running down his face, terrified by what he’s just done.
And that’s the moment I realize, this must have been when I truly lost myself.
Without thinking, my tattooed hand lifts toward him, instinct taking over. I want to touch his face, tell him it’s okay, that none of this was his fault. But my hand passes through him like air.
Like a ghost trying to comfort another ghost.
“You did good, kid,” Valen says behind younger-me, voice calm, like any of this was normal.
I feel sick, bile rising in the back of my throat as I turn my harsh glare on him.
“You killed the woman responsible for your parents’ deaths. I’m proud of you.”
My brows pinch, confused, trying to make sense of what the fuck he’s talking about, until suddenly, a small child’s cry echoes in the distance. I lift my head, and they do too, all of us turning toward the sound, to the door.
Without warning, Valen grabs younger-me by the shoulder and yanks him away, dragging him toward the exit.
I follow close behind, matching their hurried steps, the cries growing louder and sharper.