⚠️ Content warning: violence, cruelty
Evening came. It was dark in the basement—Viktor hadn’t switched the light on from upstairs. Anya sat on the couch, curled in on herself. The silence pressed in on her.
Then the bulb flared. The lock clicked. The door opened. Viktor came down without a word. In one hand he held a heavy wooden cane. In the other—a small pet carrier, from which came a muffled, frightened meow.
He set the carrier on the table. Anya froze. Her heart missed a beat.
“Viktor? What is that?” Her voice shook.
“You know, I went back to that park today,” he said. His voice was terrifyingly calm, almost dead. “The one where you cried over that filthy creature. I thought your pity was sincere. I thought there was light in you—something I could protect.”
He took a step toward her. His face stayed in shadow.
“But I was wrong. There’s no light in you. Only lies.”
She sprang up when she saw him open the carrier.
“No… Viktor, please, don’t! She has nothing to do with this!”
Stolen story; please report.
He grabbed a small, gray, mangy cat by the scruff—the same one from the park. The animal hissed and twisted, sensing danger.
“You killed her the moment you chose to betray me, Anya. Back then, in the hallway, when you yanked the door handle. And now I have to show you what betrayal leads to.”
She lunged at him, trying to grab his hands.
“Hit me! Please! Hit me—leave her alone! It’s my fault—it’s me!”
He shoved her away. Anya fell.
“Hitting you is useless. You feel no guilt—only fear for yourself.”
Viktor hurled the animal onto the concrete floor. The cat let out a cry and tried to scramble under the couch, but he blocked its path.
He raised the cane—
A high, piercing shriek rang out. Anya clapped her hands over her ears and screamed too, her eyes squeezed shut.
“This… is for your lies,” he said. “This… is for ruining my lunch. This is for disappointing me!”
A few seconds later, she heard a rasping sound, and then there was silence. Anya sat on the floor, shaking hysterically. She was afraid to open her eyes.
Breathing heavily, he bent down and put the limp body back into the carrier.
“I wanted us to be a family. I wanted to bring you joy. But you only understand the language of loss.”
“You’re a monster… you’re just a sick monster…” she whispered, keeping her eyes shut.
“No. I’m your teacher,” he said coldly. “Tonight you’ll stay in the dark. There will be no dinner. Think about the cost of your mistakes when you break my rules. And remember: next time, it could be someone you really care about. Your mother still believes you’re in the capital, right?”
He left, carrying the pet carrier. The door slammed. The lock clicked.
Anya sat there in absolute darkness. The air smelled of dust and dampness. She understood: this was not the game she had imagined. This wasn’t some forced dinner date. This was a war for survival.