But kindness here wasn't just kindness.
Kindness here was blood in the water.
And I could feel the sharks circling.
The smirks on their faces, and the silence waiting for me to slip — one crack, one soft word, and they'd have their proof – I'm just all bark.
Letting no emotion leak through, I locked my heart up as my gaze froze over.
"Your turn will never come. Now get off my lap and sit on that chair. Adults are talking"
He blinked once. Twice. Before the smile shattered.
Tears welled in his eyes, quick and hot, sliding down his cheeks as he slipped away.
The silence that followed was heavy, bitter – sweet, and poisonous.
And pointless too.
I leaned back slow, savouring it's sweet and bitter taste - both a reward and punishment as my lips curled into a grin that felt wrong as it spread even to me.
Cruel, and hoping to appear satisfied.
"Now," I said, each word soft, deliberate, "what's for dinner… in my house?"
The aunt's lips pressed thin while that brat's smirk faltered.
The boy shuffled to the chair beside me, head hanging low, shoulders trembling.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him sit.
Watched his hands wipe at his cheeks.
Watched his silence.
My chest ached — but not with regret. It had to be done.
And so… another piece of innocence was lost and along with a huge chunk from the boy crying silently beside me.
No, come to think of it… it was regret, after all.
Funny, how there's always just a little bit of innocence still left to lose.
And tonight, It wasn't just me who bled.
Unlike how I choose to carve pieces out of myself, year after year, fight after fight, until all that was left was this.
He didn't.
God! Every day is a pissing contest in this house.
The shock had barely worn off, as the door to the dining room swung opened.
Uncle strolled in.
Expensive pajamas. Gold-rimmed glasses balanced on his nose.
Hair slicked back like he thought himself some kind of tycoon.
Quiet steps - always quiet.
His silence used to scare me more than his wife's shrieking.
But even he couldn't miss what hung heavy in the air.
His eyes flicked once to his daughter, whose lips were pulled tight.
Then to his wife, fuming.
Then to me, grinning.
And finally, to the boy sitting beside me, shoulders shaking, and face wet.
That made him stop for half a breath.
The surprise cracked even through his silence.
His eyes asked the question.
"He's getting a little too clingy." and I answered it flat.
The boy's head dropped as if the words themselves had weight
Uncle's hand hovered over the boy's head, almost afraid, before settling once on his shoulder.
A squeeze - brief and heavy, as if that gesture alone might patch him together.
"This has gone too far," Uncle muttered, sliding into the chair at the head of the table like it belonged to him. "Even for you. You know how much he looks up to you."
I leaned back, and let my grin widen. "Well, that's his first mistake."
"See, Dad?" my cousin sister shrieked, slamming her palm onto the table, eyes wet with rage. "He won't even let kids be! He's a toxic piece of shit!"
The words echoed, bouncing off the glass and velvet.
I watched them — the wife and daughter spitting daggers at me, their fury boiling.
It was almost beautiful in its predictability.
While I let my smile sit cold on my face, with shoulders straight.
And then Uncle sighed heavy and resigned. "What would it take?" he asked, not to me, not to them, maybe not to anyone. Just to the suffocating air.
My eyes locked to his, colder now. "For these two entitled bitches to stop acting like they own my shit."
His jaw flexed, glasses sliding down his nose. "So what do you want me to do, huh? You don't respect anyone in this house. You don't stop to think about all the sacrifices we've— they've— made for you. How many times did they face your foul mouth even in front of guests? In front of friends? You act like a rabid dog all day, snapping, biting—"
"And if I hadn't?" My voice cut sharper than his. I leaned forward, my grin gone. "If I hadn't, I'd still be that scared little orphan your wife locked in his room for two days straight. All because he spilled some juice on that precious Persian carpet she bought with MY father's money."
His teeth gritting, a vein bulging at his temple. "So what do you want then? Strip your aunt and sister of their clothes? Their jewelry? Make them live like maids in your house, scraping for rags while you play king?" His voice cracked louder. "That's what you want, boy? Then fine! I'll turn my head, and make them bow to you like servants. And when you're done, I'll put my fist into your face."
I let the silence hang. Then nodded, calm as a grave. "Fine by me. You'll find my face well within reach."
He half-rose, chair screeching. "You little—"
"I'm turning twenty-one next month." My words dropped like lead, slicing the room apart.
His breath caught.
His wife blinked.
His daughter froze mid-snarl.
"You've got exactly 2 months to get out. The day I turn twenty one, and what's mine becomes mine for good… that same day you'll get your one-month eviction notice."
I continued, voice steady ,laying each syllable deliberate. "And you'll return every credit you leeched off for your luxuries."
The boy beside me whimpered, "We can't live here?"
The aunt's mouth opened.
The daughter clenched her fists white.
Uncle sat back with a thump.
But I didn't take my eyes off him. My uncle - the man who thought silence was power.
I leaned forward, calm glee bleeding through, letting him see every ounce of it in my eyes.
My hand stretched toward the small brass bell by his plate.
The one he rang every night.
The one that called for dinner to begin.
My fingers closed around it and-
The sound cut clean through the suffocating air.
For the first time in eight years, it wasn't his hand that rang it.
The servants entered, setting up plates before everyone.
Plates hit the table with steaming food, filling the room with an aroma none of us had earned.
The servants slipped out quick with their heads down — smart enough not to linger.
Uncle didn't speak.
He hardly ever did.
He sat like a statue at the head of the table with the fork between his finger, chewing nothing.
Only his eyes moved, behind those slick glasses – processing and planning.
Two months.
Two words, probably doing salsa inside his head.
The aunt wasn't quiet though.
Of course, she wasn't.
"You can't do this," she spat, stabbing her fork into the meat on her plate. "We took you in. We raised you."
While I simply cut into the meat, before shoving a bite into my mouth, and chewed loud.
Her daughter leaned forward, voice trembling with rage.
"You're throwing us out like trash. How can you be so—so fucking heartless? So shameless!"
Another bite for a reply.
"Answer me!" the girl snapped, palm slamming the table.
The aunt's voice climbed higher, shrill and desperate.
"We left our home for you. We left everything behind to move here, to take care of you, and this is what you give back? This?"
The fork in her hand shook as tears welled, fake or not, I didn't care.
While I kept eating.
Bite after bite, as if their words were just flies buzzing in the background.
The boy beside me wasn't eating.
His eyes darting between us like he just walked into a play where he didn't know his lines.
He was still too young to understand, too innocent to see the game.
And the aunt seized on it. "Look at him! Look at what you're doing to your little brother. Can't you see how you're breaking him?"
My jaw tightened, but I forced down another spoonful, eyes never leaving my plate.
The cousin's voice cracked. "Say something, you smug bastard! Just say something!"
Still, I kept eating.
The sound of munching louder than their voices in my head.
That's when Uncle finally spoke, voice low and tired.
"Enough. Sit down."
They both fell quiet for a heartbeat, shocked that he'd said anything.
Then the aunt broke again.
"You can't just ignore us, Vincent. You don't know what we've sacrificed for you. The shame we've endured because of you. The things we had to put up with—your mouth, your temper, your disrespect—"
The daughter cut in, voice sharp, eyes blazing, "You think money makes you better than us? You think because your parents left you with all this, you get to treat us like dirt? You're pathetic. Pathetic!"
Her hand hit the table again, plates rattled. "You'd be nothing without us."
I swallowed the last bite on my plate. Setting the fork down with a scrape.
Then the aunt leaned in, eyes wild like a cornered beast, "What will your grandparents say? What will the rest of the family think?"
Slowly, my head lifted, meeting her gaze – I let an amused smile spread across my face.
"Why would I give a flying fuck what those arrogant, selfish assholes think?"
What followed was their stunned silence.
Pure and clean.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin, while pushing the chair back, and stood.
Their glares trying hard to burn holes into me.
The boy sniffled at my side, but I didn't look back.
I walked out.
Back in my room, I plopped onto the bed the moment it was in range.
And that fake grin slid off my face.
My strength drained out with it.
And a sort of sadistic relief that followed hit sharp… almost dizzy.
And before I could stop it, a laugh tore out of me.
Ugly to the core, shaking and real.
It tasted like victory, and bile alike.
But still… I won.
For once, I'd really won.
Two months.
Just two more months and I'd be free.
And with that thought, exhaustion swallowed me whole. Six hours of clan war, an evening of family war—my body gave up before my mind could.