Then came the silence.
Rudra stood above him, chest heaving, a red mist behind his eyes.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from release.
His knuckles were raw, split open in places, bleeding down to the wrist. And still, despite everything, his legs gave out.
He crumpled onto his knees, sweat dripping from his chin.
He stared at the beaten and broken excuse for a father as he laid in a pool of blood.
And he couldn't help but feel this bubbling sense of agony.
Rudra punched towards him again before stopping just before it landed.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" He screamed, slamming his hands down on the ground.
Tears burned at the edges of his eyes.
He hadn't even realized he was crying.
So many years of silence. Of pretending it didn't affect him. Of laughing off his past like it was a story that happened to someone else.
Of pretending he didn't hate himself for being weak back then.
