Life 1

A grunt escaped as Ken forced his eyes open to the voice he hated the most.

"What are you staring at?" Robert snapped, his belly stretched tight under a white shirt far too small to contain it.

"Uncle…I —"

Before he could finish, a hard kick landed in his stomach, driving him to his knees.

"Where's my money?" Robert shouted. "They owe us ten grand!" 

Ken clenched his teeth and lifted his head.

"They said they needed it for hospital bills—" 

Slap!

Another blow landed directly to the cheek. 

"Did I tell them to wait when they begged me to save their little brat? No. So don't come crying to me. I want my money. And you, dumbass, kept cutting them slack. This isn't a charity, it's business. Get that through your thick skull."

Ken stopped trying to explain. Nothing he said ever made a difference.

"Pathetic. No surprise your worthless parents threw you away," Robert spat, his dirty saliva landing inches away.

"Remember this. I was the only one kind enough to raise an abandoned kid like you. I own you. So do your damn job." Robert sneered before turning and walking away.

Ken's hands tightened, nails pressing into his palms. His body screamed to move, to hit back, to kill his abuser once and for all. 

But that kind of freedom came with a price. And Robert made sure he couldn't afford it.

'Calm down…' Slowly, his breathing evened out.

The pain was still there, but he was used to it by now. His tolerance was high, though it wasn't something to brag about because it came from years of abuse.

'I need to wash my mouth,' 

Dragging his feet, he headed to the cramped bathroom.

'I look like shit,' he muttered bitterly at his own reflection.

The mirror presented a worn-out face. Dark circles clung to his eyes, reminders of too many sleepless nights.

Ironically, the shadows under his eyes matched his jet-black hair and iris, traits he inherited from his mother.

Thinking of them didn't bring any warmth. It only made him feel sick. 

They weren't good people. Just a bunch of debt-ridden gamblers who wasted their own inheritance on reckless bets and temporary pleasures. 

Most nights, his father came home drunk, disoriented and violent from illegal substances.

His mother on the other hand returned with different men, each paying for her service.

They did it so openly that he grew up being called the son of a whore and a good for nothing. 

Back then, even after everything, he still loved them because they were the only family he had.

At a young age, he learned how to cook, clean, and handle all the chores around the house so he could pleased them. 

But no matter how hard he tried, their affection never came.

It only got worse. When he was ten, they left him behind, promising they would come back with the payment.

Of course, they never came back.

Opening the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face, then gargled and spat out a mouthful of blood. 

"Brother Ken…" 

A soft voice echoed from behind. 

In the mirror's reflection, he saw a girl with soft-looking skin and pink lips. 

Her blonde hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping to fall in soft waves around her face and brush against the pale fabric of her thin white tank top.

The light fabric did little to hide the pink undergarment beneath.

Any other guy would have been drawn to the view, caught by the gentle curve of her neck or the way the light played on her skin. They might have felt their heart quicken or their thoughts drift somewhere dangerous.

But he didn't. At least, he made an effort not to look at her that way, even though it was really hard.

"Did Uncle beat you again?" she asked softly, her gaze flickering to the bruises barely hidden beneath his sleeve.

"I'm used to it. And don't just walk into my room. I don't want him getting the wrong idea." 

She was the daughter of Robert's third wife. Nathalie. 

Even though they were technically family, Robert had no problem hurting anyone under his roof, wife and step daughter included. 

"I don't care. I love you." She slipped her arms around him from behind, pulling him close.

"Stop it, Nathalie." He lowered his head, refusing to meet her eyes. "I care about you… just not like that."

"Why?" she asked, her voice cracking as tears soaked the back of his white shirt.

"You promised me. You said you loved me and that we'd get married one day!" 

He didn't answer right away. 

It was a childish promise made when they were both broken and desperate.

"Look… this isn't going to work. If he finds out, he'll kill me. And what about you? Are you really going to throw everything away for someone like me?" 

She didn't belong in this messy life. She still had a future.

"Yes. I don't care about them. You're the one I want. Let's leave this place. I'm coming with you." 

Her words made his heart pound, not from love but from fear.

He had seen what Robert did to traitors. 

One man tried to flee with a stash of cash; Robert caught him by the docks, gutted him like an animal, then dumped the body into the ocean.

The worst part wasn't the screaming. It was being forced to watch.

Robert grabbed the back of Ken's neck and forced him closer until blood splashed onto his face. He tried to look away, but the grip only tightened, pinning him in place like a chained dog.

'Step out of line, and this'll be you… and Nathalie.' 

The image and words stuck in his mind, the reason he was scared and why he never fought back, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Leave me alone," he snapped, hoping it would be enough to make her stop.

"No, I won't let go! Not until you say it. That you love me too. Just like before!" 

Unfortunately, she was too stubborn to listen.

"I told you. That was when we were kids. Don't make this harder than it already is."