The Emergence Of The Alpha Twins ( UNDER REVISING )

35. Stressed Out

I toss the knife at the target, Father smiling as I grab another, tossing it his way as it grazes his scalp.

"Good job son. You never disappoint me, this is another reason why I'm so happy you are one of us." He claps his hands, making me sick, thinking of my room with Gabby and the twins and Renee. Now I'm back in the house that I hated so much. Back in the practice room where I'd fight with all my siblings.

We would be given rolls. We'd fight one another with knives in hand, and if we were cut or scraped you had to wince silently. Or show no emotion at all, then at some point, it feels like all pain is drained from that wound and it's like nothing. The outer pain is nothing, the inner -that's hidden - is the worst.

Or when we were children, Father would put us in rooms full of antifreeze gas, as we'd have to inhale it. Every second, you wonder as a kid, is this hell? Why is Father doing this to us, why are we suffering. Then as you age, so does your tolerance for no love and no control for yourself. You just go with the flow.

There's no family reunions. Someone dies, no time for mourning you just bury them and that's the end. Someone is sick, that person has to pull through or will be taunted by Father.

When I was eleven I talked to him, and he already had decided I was the weakest. I told him I didn't like killing, I didn't like the antifreeze chambers, I didn't like having no love or affection from family members. And I can remember the words and his face as he looked at me with such disgust. Like I was telling him that I wanted to walk out all the way.

I remember, he stood, grabbing my neck so hard I left that room with his hand mark on my throat:

"You are weak and a disappointment of a son. If you think you can walk in my office, wasting my time telling me this shit. You are mistaken. This family is not about love, you are not loved. Do you think I became what I am today being told ' I love you ' every single day? No, I am raising you worthless beings into powerful people so that you can make me proud. And right now, I don't even want to look you in the eye.

"You will stay here, you will train so fucking hard I will make you train all day. No dinner or lunch or breakfast if you don't fucking throw that knife across that fucking room. You will stay longer in those chambers, so long, that your brown eyes will fade into blue. And no one - I mean no one -will ever fucking love you or say they do. Not unless you get your damn act together.

"Do I make myself clear, son?"

I was crying at that point. I remember nodding, and hating everyone in that house except my mom. Believing that no one loved me, and looking in the mirror for once. Seeing myself drained, seeing my brown eyes a light blue. Like everyone else's, and I always wondered how they had blue eyes and I had brown...now I knew why.

I trained, I trained so much that I could sit in that damn antifreeze chamber and read a whole book. I could win a fight with a knife in hand. I was ruthless and depended on no one but myself. And when my mom died that hatred for everyone heightened, heightened so high that I killed Werewolves out of my anger.

Not because I hated them, but because I was afraid; alone; misunderstood. And I put all that anger, loneliness, lack of understanding into them and their deaths. And put on this mask and fake act.

At some point I started getting attention, love, recognition. And Father said he was...proud of me.

I got hugs, pats on the back, attention, and became well known to the whole world. Father told me he loved me, and if I was eleven, that would've meant the world to me. Now and then, when he said it, I thought to myself. That's it? Aren't I supposed to be happy, saying it back, this is what I was waiting for...