Page 113 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

I have to go to school to get my education to build an empire in order to show all of these people that I deserve a chance.

And since when did working hard become shameful anyway? Almost everyone uses it as a slur against me.

So I stay quiet, never engaging in all the jabs, while fury inside me grows and grows, which results in me breaking things around the house and taking out my frustration during my boxing time.

Not that it helps.

I crave to feel human flesh against my fists, watching for bruises and blood, imagining everyone who ever hurt me.

Spitting in my food.

Spilling juice in my bag so that all my books got ruined.

Tearing my uniform down in the gym.

Making me trip in football practice, which resulted in me breaking my leg and never playing sports again.

Would they be brave once I had them chained somewhere and beat the shit out of them?

I bet these assholes would beg for mercy, and I’d love not giving it to them.

Daddies wouldn’t be able to save them then.

The birds squawking above pulls me out of my hypnotizing thoughts that have such strong control over me they scare me, as their deadly nature speaks about the evilness residing in my soul.

Because I no longer feel guilt while imagining it.

I quickly finish this job and then drag the soil to the greenhouse so it can be used later. I still need to work on some bushes and water a few more trees later on tonight.

Walking to our small, one-level house at the very end of the property, I take out a cigarette from my back pocket and light it up, blowing smoke all around me.

Sighing as the nicotine hits my system, I exhale in relief, welcoming the taste grounding me in the present and not letting me succumb to the madness whispering in my ear to stop holding myself back from indulging in my cravings.

Smoking is a vice, according to some, and I’m not supposed to, but I still do it after a hard workday in the garden, which now happens more frequently, since father dearest can’t keep himself sober enough to stand, let alone work.

Uncle Lucian and Aunt Rebecca don’t make me work. They just want me to focus on school, but I know they won’t fire Roland either because of me. Legally, he is my guardian until I’m eighteen, so they prefer to have him close.

Finishing my cigarette I step into the house, wincing at how it reeks of alcohol, then head to the kitchen, washing my hands before opening the fridge and welcoming the frigid air on my heated skin.

“Where were you?” Roland asks, and I look at him with his dirty beard covering his face, trying to stand up by the couch, gripping the arm. He blinks several times from the blinding sun streaming through our window.

Ignoring his question, I pick up a bottle of water and open it, gulping greedily as the cold liquid slides down my throat.

“You come and go as you please in my house,” he says, coughing. I kick the fridge door shut. “Think you’re old enough to be this brave, boy?”

Rolling my eyes at his ridiculous slurs, I turn on the coffee pot and stroll to my room, needing a shower to wash away all the dirt. Since it’s the weekend, I have to put the final touches on my group project and then go back to the garden to celebrate.

A shot of pain stabs me in the heart, my soul tearing in two as countless memories of my best friend play in my mind one after another.

Santiago.

People might say you can’t build a friendship for life at such a young age, and I’ll tell them they are wrong.

He understood me like no other, and nothing but loneliness fills me ever since he was kidnapped when he was seven.

He would have turned fifteen today.

Eight years.

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