A/N: Well, well, well, here we are again, at the beginning of a lovely new chapter! (at least I hope it's lovely.) Hope you enjoy! If you do, you always know that that lovely little button that says "review" needs some love—so click it and tell me what you think!

NOTE: Misogynist is a person who is against women. Misogyny is hatred of women.

Joren had told no one in the world but Keladry the story of his father. Mostly people were okay with that—not many people cared enough about the blonde enough to want to know about his past. But at this moment, Raoul, who looked to be on the verge of killing Joren, seemed to care. In fact, he seemed infuriated that Joren hadn't told him that his father had been a mafia leader.

Well. Imagine that.

Kel knew the story, but it wasn't hers to tell. She glanced at Joren, a soft smile on her lips and encouragement in her eyes. He smirked back at her through the tension. It was funny how she always managed to be smiling.

"Do you want everyone in Corus to hear you? I'll tell you the whole story as long as you stop talking so loud."

Kel smiled wider. He always managed to be a jerk, even when in a tight situation.

Raoul turned purple before Joren sighed and continued. "All right, I'll tell. My father was a mafia leader. I guess it wasn't really even a mafia though, more of an organization. It was an organization for misogynists.

"My mother was an amazing woman. Somehow she had been forced into a marriage like a modern-day arranged betrothal, but she made the most of it. She always tried to get me away from my father as much as possible. She met some mothers from down the street and once a week I played with their sons. Their fathers were all normal. Even at a young age, I was envious.

"It's not like I could do anything about it, though. If I ever tried to convince my father that he was wrong, he would hurt me—not like a normal father would discipline, but hard—just like he did to my mother when she did the same. I kept trying, though, until at age thirteen my father dragged me to my first "meeting". There they discussed whom they would kill—and they actually talked about their wives. I remember sitting in the back with some of the other boys and worrying, scared our mothers would be next.

"The meetings continued for months, and each time I'd go I'd get more and more nervous because sometimes they'd even talk about my mother. Then one day something finally happened. My father told them all that my mother was pregnant. The decision was made: if it was a boy, she'd live. If it was a girl, she'd die. I came nearly sobbing home to my mother that night, scared for her life. When I told her she didn't seem surprised. That may have been what scared me most.

"And so after eight more months of waiting, the baby was born—a beautiful girl. Her eyes were blue like mine, except even brighter, sort of shining with innocence—and she smiled brighter than I've seen anyone in my life. She was born with a full head of hair---raven black like my mother's. She was truly the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and smart. She used to find ways to wake me up, so I'd let her out of her crib and take her walking with me. To me she was the most precious thing in the world. She'd open her eyes wide and smile and I'd think that if my father ever did anything to her I'd run away, once and for all.

"The week after my baby sister was born, my mom ran away—and with good reason, too. She barely escaped and my father was furious. One night I walked in and he was standing about her crib, looking crazily at her, a knife in hand. I wasn't afraid for myself—I could defend myself---but I was afraid he'd do something to Jana.

"He turned his head to look at me and I was even more scared. His eyes were glazed over, and his breath was coming short. I could tell he was drunk. That scared me even more because my father had a huge tolerance for alcohol. He must've drunk a lot to be like that. He started to talk, and at first I couldn't understand him, but I managed to make out, "I have a suitable punishment for that woman." I always hated how he referred to my mother. "I'll kill Jana."

"It took all of my willpower not to grab her and run as fast as I could. But I knew he'd catch me, and if he didn't one of his friends would. Anyway, I didn't have any money, nor did I know where my mother was, so we wouldn't have survived.

"The words I forced myself to say made the bile rise in my throat, but I forced it down and continued anyway. "Why kill Jana? She hasn't done anything. Why not find that woman and kill her instead?" My throat was so choked I was surprised he even understood.

"Fine," I remember he said, "Just find that woman." And so I found my mother and told her what he wanted to do. I told her to take Jana and run away further. Since I was the only one who'd be able to find them, it wouldn't matter. My father would never be able to get to them. I'd warn them first if he tried.

"My mother wanted me to come with her, and it was hard to refuse. I had to stay, though. It may have been a stupid thing to do, but I felt like I needed to.

"When I went home my father had been out. He got home an hour later, drunk again. "Where's Jana or that woman?" he slurred.

"I had decided on my lie much before that. "When I got home she was gone. I couldn't find that woman," I told him. "Maybe she stole Jana and ran."

"He was too drunk to do anything about it. He nodded sleepily, like a little baby, and abruptly ran to the bathroom. I heard noises indicating that he had vomited into the toilet. I knew he believed me, but still—when he was hungover and angry, he was someone to avoid.

"Many would've been afraid for their life at this point, but I wasn't. Since my father was always drunk, I could survive any attempts on my life. Also, at fifteen, I was taller than my father, albeit only a little. I was confident.

"With drunken rage and drunken stupidity, life went on. I became my father's caretaker—more like his slave, actually. I came to meetings to be consulted, since my father couldn't be. I never committed a crime, but I watched them until I simply stopped caring. I was just numb all the time, sort of standing there, not really trying to stop them, but not participating. It was all routine, mechanical. I stopped shaving, or brushing my hair. I even stopped taking showers regularly. I was taking care of my father, but not taking care of myself at all.

"That went on for too long. A few days after I turned sixteen, something stopped it. I got the newspaper for my father—another routine---and glanced at the headline. It was a picture of my mother. In shock, I read the article as I walked home. She had been walking home from the grocery store, her arms full of groceries and Jana, when someone pushed her into the street. She was dead instantly. Jana was in the hospital. It had happened in Port Caynn, which was about forty miles from where we lived, in the Grimhold Mountains. ((1))

"I realized that I couldn't let my father see the article. If he did, he'd know where Jana was. He couldn't know. I stuck the paper in a garbage can and told him there had been none left at the machine where I usually bought them. Well, I would've, but he was too drunk to even notice that I didn't bring it to him.

"As most of you know, I was taking classes at the academy for some of this time. My father didn't know where I went. That day I skipped classes and went to the hospital. When I finally found her, it wasn't too pretty."

Joren didn't want to continue. Then he'd start to remember—her eyes, duller than he'd ever seen them and her raven black hair matted with sweat. Lying in that hospital gown with the IV hooked up to her arm, she hadn't looked like anyone he remembered. He'd known it was his sister simply because of the smile she gave him.

He glanced at Kel, who was looking down. He didn't want to see anyone else's reactions at the moment. He, too, looked down, and then continued.

"Too soon after I got there they made me leave. I wanted to bring her home, but they said that before my mother died she had written her will, which stated clearly that Jana was not to go with me if I was still living with my father. She was sent to some distant relative's home when she got out of the hospital.

"When I got home there were doctors in our house. How my father had managed to get them there I had no idea. He lay on his bed, having stubbornly refused to move. As I was quickly told, he'd been shot---multiple times---in the stomach. They were expecting him to die any minute.

"Maybe I should've been sad, or even worried. But I wasn't. I just sat with my father. "At least I've done one thing," he croaked. "Added another male to the world."

"I don't know why that made me so mad. Maybe it was combined with the shock from earlier about the crash, or maybe it was just that he thought that the only good thing a man could do: give another boy to the world. Whatever it was, I was infuriated. I peered into his hard eyes and told him exactly what I thought of him.

"You destroyed the lives of countless women. You nearly killed your own wife and daughter. You took away my life and my freedom." I stood up, and I was ready to leave the room when he said his last words.

"I want to be put in an alley. I don't want them to know I died with doctors around me. And to you, son: DIE."

1. It doesn't say where Stone Mountain is on the maps, so I'm making it in the Grimhold Moutains. I'm just guessing about the number of miles

A/N: Sorry that was so bad. I'm procrastinating and not working as much as I can before school starts tomorrow. Concrit is welcome—even just regular criticism. I know it sucks. Especially the last paragraph. By the way, it wasn't how I originally planned for him to die. I just realized halfway through writing his heart attack that earlier I'd said he died of gunshot wounds. He doesn't want them to know he died with doctors because he wants his friends and fellow mafia members to think he died in a fight, or something more manly than a heart attack. I know, when dying it doesn't matter if you're manly or not, but this guy is a crazed, drunken fool. Give him a break.

Hehe. Or maybe that's just my excuse. (apologetic look) I am sorry it's so bad. I just wanted to post one last thing before school.

Funny how that sounds similar to, "I just wanted to post one last thing before I die."