Chapter 3: Kiku's POV

I chewed anxiously on my lower lip as I hurried along the street, looking around carefully to make sure no one was around. I knew that almost everyone had heard about what had happened that morning, and that Francis and Ivan would probably be looking for a chance to finish what they had started.

I couldn't help but flush in embarrassment as I remembered how Heracles had saved me. I hadn't known someone had moved into town, much less that they were from Greece, so when I had looked up and seen an unfamiliar face I had immediately prepared for it to get worse. The new ones were always the worse because they were hurting me to prove that they were like everyone else. But when my gaze had met him and I had had a chance to search out his intentions in his almost too-green eyes, I had seen something I had almost forgotten existed in my life.

Kindness.

Most of the time, people looked at me with hatred or disgust, or twisted enjoyment when they were harassing me. Even Ludwig and Feli only held pity for me, fondness at the very most. But Heracles… somehow, Heracles was different.

My thoughts were interrupted by the wrought iron gate that was the entrance to the place I needed to be. I pushed it open, the silence in the air seeming to thicken as I closed it carefully behind me. I took my time as I walked past the rows and rows of stones. Some were older, chipped with age and worn with time, while others were new and freshly cut, their lines still sharp against the air. It was the newer ones I lowered my eyes from, because I couldn't help but hurt for them. So many people. So many. Names, faces, families, lives, all of it gone in an instant, only to be remembered by those who would join them beneath the ground in ten, twenty, thirty years.

The grave I was looking for was in the back. I had had it put there so it would be harder to find—harder to vandalize. He didn't deserve to be as disrespected and looked down on in death as he had been in life, especially not when he had died the way he did.

I kneeled in front of the stone slab standing out of the ground that was the only proof that the last person who had truly cared about me had ever existed. I reached out my hand, hating the way my fingers still shook as I traced the letters carved into the cold granite. I hated how the name still seemed to drive knives into my heart. I hated how the two dates that marked his seventeen years of life still made my throat close. I hated how the words beneath that, the words I had chosen, still made me choke on tears.

Yao Wang

October 1, 1990—December 25, 2007

Zuídàdí gēgē hé péngyŏu zuì shànliáng

Yao. My adopted brother from China, older than me by nine years. He and I had been almost closer than twins, and I had trusted him with everything. He had always protected me, from him and from the people at school.

But one day I had come home from a day of first grade and found him dead on the bathroom floor. Well, not quite dead, but… I didn't want to think about that. Being an eight-year-old, I hadn't really known what had happened, but I did know that my brother was gone and never coming back. It had hurt worse because it was the night of Yao's funeral that he turned his attention to me. I only realized later that Yao had been taking the abuse, the taunts, to shield me from the hateful place the world was.

I shook my head as if I could dislodge those thoughts from my mind. Since the funeral, I had visited Yao's grave on important days—first days of school, holidays, birthdays—or when I just needed to talk and talk and talk until I had gotten whatever was stressing me out or confusing me out in the open so I could sort through it with more method to the madness. That was one of those days. I took a shay breath and lowered my hand, clasping it with the other in my lap.

"Hey, Yao. The first day of school just ended. I'm a freshman now, did you know that?"

To anyone else, I would've sounded insane. I was talking to the piece of rock standing over the bones of my dead bother, after all, rambling about anything from my teachers to how horrible the weather had been lately—that was the first day it hadn't rained in almost a month.

Eventually, though, I did have to face it. I had to say something about what had happened with a certain green-eyed Greek, or I'd never say a word.

"So… this morning, I ran into Francis and Ivan again." I sighed softly and shifted, pulling my knees up and hugging them to my chest. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Ivan just kicked me a couple times, nothing major. But… the strangest thing happened. They didn't do much, because someone… stopped them. Someone stood up for me, and he didn't even know me." I started to smile as I remembered his casual comebacks and subtle insults that had had Ivan and Francis reeling. "It was actually kind of funny, Yao. They were… well, shocked. The thing is, when they left and he turned around to actually talk to me, he wasn't loud, he didn't lecture me on how I should stand up for myself, he wasn't rude at all. He was very… quiet, I guess. He reminded me a bit of a cat, because he kept falling asleep in class. But… it was so crazy. When he touched me—just on the shoulder, to try to comfort me—it was almost like he shocked me. Not like anyone else. Not like the people at school, definitely not like… like him. It was… It was kind of nice, actually." I groaned and buried my face in my hands, shaking my head. "What am I saying, Yao? Once he knows a bit more about me, he'll be just like everyone else. Even if he doesn't turn out like that, he's probably completely forgotten about this morning already. Still…" I sighed again. "He was kind, Yao. Not kind out of pity, like Ludwig or Feli, just… kind. It's hard to explain."

I fell silent, lost in my thoughts for a moment. I kept replaying those few minutes over and over in my head, trying to figure out why I wanted to treasure the memory for the rest of my life. Maybe because, even if it was just a moment, it felt almost like someone cared. For a moment, I had felt almost safe. Safety was something I hadn't had the luxury of since Yao died.

"I miss you, Yao. I need to go now, though, or I'll be late." I stood up as I spoke, brushing myself off.

I hesitated for a moment before walking away. I almost wanted to stay longer, to talk about how he had been treating me worse and worse lately. Before summer had started, I had been forced to sleep with him once, maybe twice a week if I was really unlucky. Now, was at least three times a week, bare minimum. I was scared, to be honest. The look of pure lust and possessiveness in his eyes every time he looked at me was terrifying.

I got back to the house in less than two minutes. I was glad the cemetery was so close to my house; my curfew was five o'clock and if I was late I'd be in a lot of pain when I did get home.

As I stepped through the door, I felt a sharp impact across my face, pain blossoming in my cheek. I fell to the floor, landing painfully on my side. I curled in on myself, hiding my head from the onslaught of kicks that came next. When it stopped, he grabbed me roughly by the collar of my shirt, yanking me up so that his eyes were level with mine. He was taller than me, so the tips of my feel just barely brushed the ground. The smell of alcohol on him was making me gag.

"You little bitch," he growled. "You're late,"

My eyes widened and I looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. It was only 4:52. It wasn't five yet. I wasn't late. I couldn't be.

He smirked, obviously knowing where I was looking. "Your curfew is four thirty now."

Shit. I wanted to protest that he hadn't told me, that I hadn't known, so it wasn't a valid excuse to do anything to me. But I knew it would only make him angrier, and that I would end up in worse pain. So, instead of blurting out my emotions, I sunk into my mind, forcing my thoughts to wander to anything but the situation. Sometimes, doing that helped me deal with all the pain he inflicted on me.

Luckily for me, he seemed to be in a decent mood that night, probably due to the influence of alcohol. He dropped me, uncaring as I crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud. "Since I forgot to tell you this morning, I'll be nice and not punish you tonight. But if you're ever so much as a second late ever again, I'll make sure it hurts. Understood, little bitch?"

I nodded, forcing back the tears of pain prickling at the back of my eyes. "Yes, Father,"

He nodded and sent one last kick into my ribs as he walked past me to the refrigerator, presumably to get yet more alcohol. I was honestly surprised he was able to keep a job, with as much as he drank. "Good. Then go do your homework. I expect dinner at six thirty, at the latest."

I scampered upstairs to my bedroom, hating hos obedient to his will I was. As I sat with my back against the door, I couldn't hold back anymore. I curled in on myself, burying my face in my arms as I let the tears slide down my cheeks. I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle my sobs, not wanting him to hear. If I made any noise that drew his attention, I'd only get hurt. I hated how weak I was. I hated how easy it was for him to bring me to tears.

I hated how the first thought in my head was the question of how Heracles would react if he knew.