Page 139 of A Dead Man's B-Side
It wasn’t comforting in the least, but he hoped that one day they wouldn’t decide to throw him out of the windows just to seehow many times he could fall before cracking his head open on the pavement.
Alexei’s heart, routinely, began to pound as he silently and helplessly waited for the first punch. Except, this time, it didn’t come. Instead, Aaron tilted his head and regarded Alexei with a glint of wickedness as the three boys closed in on him, forcing him back against the wall. “What’d I tell you, he looks like a girl.”
Bass laughed. “You were right, Aaron, he does.” He poked an eye to Alexei’s undereye and dragged the skin down, careless to the boy’s wince and momentary lift of his arm. “Look at those eyes, too.”
Aaron smirked, fisting Alexei’s hair that, with enough neglect, grew up to his shoulders. “The hair too. Golden locks and all. Tell me, Alexei, should we call you Alexa now?”
The small boy had his arms up as if to prepare in defending himself, but even he knew that one word from Martin to put them down and he would. Because he was a coward. Because it was easier to submit than to fight back.
Finally, Martin, after being silent for an unusual amount of time, spoke up, his features no longer cruel and smirking but instead, he looked serious, pursed lips and a glare, “Take off his clothes.”
And that. Made. Him. Break.
Alexei, for the first time in his life, seemed to understand where they were going, wherethiswas going, and tried to run. In fact, he’d almost made it to the door, but that goddamn toy truck. Isn’t it silly, how a single object could change the trajectory of someone’s entirelife. If he’d made it out of that room, Alexei would have promised himself to never return. To run and hide and look for his old friend who’d abandoned him.
But he didn’t make it to the door.
Alexei lost his balance stepping on the toy truck and tripped over the rolling wheels when Aaron grunted as he grappled for him, only to fall on top of him.
There, right on that very spot, Alexei’s shirt was torn from him, his soul along with it. Then came his pants, and then anything else that could have stopped the three boys from getting what they wanted.
They didn’t sound afraid or hesitant; in fact, their movements were pure confidence. They wereproudof what they were doing.
Even on the ground, Alexei tried to scream, but Bass pressed his arm over the bottom half of his face, smothering any sound that could alert anyone to Alexei’s distress.
Who would care?
Surely not the adults. And all the other kids were younger and just as afraid of Martin and his crew.
Alexei was so blinded by fear, his mind taking him to another reality than this one, he could only squirm and listen to his screams fall into silence. And then, when his mind seemed to catch up to the invasive hands against his skin, pressing against the bruises and cuts, fresh tears filled his eyes as they grabbed for his hands to hold him down.
His bones felt as though they would crush against the heavy body above him and the hard floor beneath him.
But nothing was as painful, nothing would ever feel as gut-wrenchingly feral as the way they’d torn him open and tortured him for what felt like hours.
Alexei wasn’t sure if it was a few minutes or hours until his mind and body gave out. He should have kept feeling that burning, agonizing abuse. But he only remembered lying there against the dirty floor with glazed-over eyes and a static mind.
His lips were parted in a brain-dead way that seemed to make the three boys retreat, not before reminding him that they didn’t find themselves regretful of anything. In fact, in the end, they revelled in their pride.
Except, Alexei wasn’t listening. Because his eyes were focused on the small boy curled up and hidden underneath the bed. Just out of sight, just out of earshot. Always.
Alexei watched him watch him. The boy’s eyes were as wide with fear as Alexei’s were dead. Then, in that moment of silence, his mind seemed to restart, the cogs finally beginning to turn again. And so, it was decided that night would seal the fate of Alexei Andreeva.
Because it wasn’t the first time Alexandr Miroslav watched as Alexei got beaten to a pulp. He was a sadist, no matter how hard he tried to muster a pitying glance.
It hurt more when Alexei remembered all the snippets of his life he’d shared with the boy. About his parents, about his childhood, aboutCassius.
Alexei remained on the floor for a long time after that, as long as it took Alexandr to muster up an ounce of courage and slither out from under the bed. Slowly, he slipped out without a care for the broken and tattered boy in front of him.
Chapter Twenty-five
Alexandr Miroslav
1982
“Alright.” Ajax huffed. “I didn’t put you guys on the guest list for obvious reasons. Lest we have anything tracing back to us–even one of us. I left the side window open on the first floor, so you’ll have access to the view of the stairs in the back of the building. That means, August, Marigold, you’ll see Paris coming, if all goes to plan.”
Rain nodded along before turning to Marigold and said, “Did you bring what I asked?”
