Chapter 5 (Pt. 3) - Viktor
He had no idea how long he was beating the bully. He'd welted him pretty good. His hands trembled with pain from the glass shards that sliced through his hands from Justin's broken glasses. Most of the blood on his knuckles belonged to Justin. Viktor struggled to breathe or even calm down by the time two teachers and a security guard fought to drag him away from the other boy, who now had a busted face. Shards had fallen in Justin's lazy eye, which was already purple, black, and swollen to a large mass on his face. His nose was twisted and bleeding profusely. Three teeth looked to be chipped or otherwise out of place. Blood soaked the floor around Justin's head.
The whispers grew, and screams rebounded in and out of every doorway in the hall. This time, though, Viktor didn't hear any of them. Everything moved in slow motion, every breath, every passing step of the students. He finally stopped fighting the teachers, only able to stare at the horrified expression on Bean's face.
"You got suspended for how long?" His mother's voice was angry, and panicked. "Three weeks. It's fine. I'll still be doing all of my work. I won't have to re-do the year, honest." Viktor explained to his mother, holding a bowl of popcorn. He wasn't too upset, honestly. He had a lot on his mind. "I really screwed him up, mom.. You should've heard the way he was talking about Camilo."
He made his way to the living room, and dropped on the recliner. His eyes trailed over to the sofa, which was pulled out like a bed. The bathroom was only a few steps away, as was the kitchen. That was why they'd helped Amelia move down here.
Helped... as in he and his father had brought down her pillow, blanket, favorite stuffed animals, school books, backpack, and everything else he thought she'd need. He just wanted to help in any way he could. It made everyone feel better just to do something. She only ever made a noise when it was weeping, or grunting for food. Mostly weeping. She was almost catatonic. Almost.
She only moved when she had to go to the bathroom. Even then, all she did was slowly drag herself along, an injured bird who never thought she'd fly, so allowed her feathers to clump and her wings to fall and lay deadened on the ground.
Amelia was in horrible condition. Her beautiful, fair skin was now sickly pale. She seemed to constantly be in cold sweats, so Viktor kept the blanket over her, and tucked her in whenever she returned from using the bathroom. He was scared for her. Terrified that she'd die of heartbreak, or end up starving.
In the past two weeks, she'd already lost five pounds. With how small and thin she already was, she now looked frail. Like a puff of wind would blow her away, ashes disappearing over the hillside, never to be heard from again. She was never hungry. A depression-diet, he supposed. Their parents were sure to get food into her any time they could, though. Ever since they got back home. She never vomited, so it was at least easier to get her fed with the help of two kid-feeding pros.
Her vibrant eyes were now vacant, hazy, and sunken into her skull. Her breaths never quickened. Her eyes never left the screen of the television. Graciously, Viktor had decided to repeatedly play her favorite movies from when she was little. They annoyed the life out of him, personally, but innocence and laughter from kids' movies with no possible death, and always a wonderful ending? What else could he do for her, entertainment-wise? They were pretty much just a collection of poorly-made Barbie movies made for a quick buck. But she used to love them. Viktor found them in a box, and decided that they would be the best thing for her to watch, if anything at all. He'd certainly heard no complaints. His mother was very grateful that he'd offered to help his sister with the never-ending movies.
"Viktor Lebedev, I'm talking to you!" The woman's alert tone ripped him away from his thoughts. She currently sat on the edge of the couch-bed. Though her attention was primarily on her son, she carefully cleared the hair out of her daughter's face, and tucked it behind her pale ear. It was a small, but kind gesture.
"Huh? Sorry, mom. I was just thinking. Amelia's not doing too hot. It kind of... scares me, I guess." His voice was disheartened, and weak. There seemed to be hesitation. The woman didn't know how to respond, or maybe she was trying to be strong, or maybe she didn't want to give the wrong answer that would tip him over the edge again so quickly.
"Baby, your father and I are doing everything we can. You have to work with us, please. We have to arrange a funeral, take care of you two, talk to officers, and grieve all at once. Honey, you let us think about Amelia, okay? We'll take care of her. You need to focus on you. Please, Viktor." She pouted, all harshness gone from her tone.
He could see the remembrance in her eyes. He knew she was hurting, just like he was. "Camilo was my baby boy. My successful, light-of-life, wonderful, happy angel. All three of you are. You wouldn't believe how afraid I was when we were contacted. How upset we both were." The woman sighed, still stroking her daughter's once-pretty hair.
"If it were up to me, I'd run right up to Mr. Lewis and give him a piece of my mind. Nobody ever hurts my babies. Remember that time when you, your sister, and Evelyn were on a playdate at the park, and that one fat kid came up and pushed you in the sand? I called security on his father, who wasn't even watching him! Nobody ever touches my babies. I feel like I failed him, as his mom. I don't want you to think you've failed either him, or Amelia, as their brother." The sincerity in her tone, along with the occasional crack, made Viktor's shoulders fall, and tears well in his eyes again.
Then he remembered something he'd wanted to tell her about. "Mom, I've been crying a lot. It's embarrassing. And stupid." He grumbled, and wiped the back of his hand against his eyes. He knew what she'd say. What all the girls said. To let it all out and all would be perfect. Because none of the girls understood how he'd be seen. How guys would belittle him. How he'd be judged. How he'd be weak, and pathetic. Girls didn't get the liberty of fighting their emotions and holding them back. If they cried, everyone would run over to try and help. If a man cried, nobody knew what to do, himself included! And he would never, ever hear the end of it, from every peer from the present to ten years in the future. Or so it seemed.
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