Being Saved

Bonus Chapter || Six Years Ago

A/N: This part of the story takes place when Katerina is still living in Russia, so to make things easier to read (and write) I plan to leave the text simply in English as opposed to changing all spoken content to Russian with the help of Google Translate along with providing the English translation.

Trigger Warnings:
Violence
Abuse of a Minor

—

Katerina's POV

Six Years Ago

"Daddy?"

"Daddy, what are you doing?" I called, watching the man stumble into the house. A grunt left his lips as he staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against the back of the couch. His shoulders tensed as he turned to face me.

I fidgeted in my spot as his gaze shifted to my small form as I stood before him, clutching my teddy against my chest.

I curled my toes as the coldness of the linoleum seeped into my skin, only now noticing that my fuzzy socks slipped off my feet, no doubt tangled in my sheets.

Wishing I had grabbed my blanket before slipping out of bed on this cold winter night, a pout settled on my lips. I wish we had heat. My school does; why don't we?

I watched Daddy stumble to his feet, a transparent bottle in hand, staggering towards me with a rigid set to his jaw, the muscles tensing as he gritted his teeth together, his bloodshot eyes held me in place.

"What did you call me?" he snarled, taking long strides towards me. He swung his arms around as he swayed, pointing an accusing bottle at me, the movement unsteady as he staggered in a storm toward me, causing the amber liquid to splash against the soon-to-be sticky floor. I just mopped in here.

I staggered back, hearing his harsh tone, a whimper leaving my lips as I fled toward the stairs.

He stumbled towards me, a sharp glint in his eyes as he clasped his large hand around my arm. Fear gripped me as I felt Daddy's nails dig into my skin, leaving half-moons in my flesh before he shoved me; my back bumped into the bookshelf lined with an array of empty green and brown bottles, a few fell to the ground as they shattered around my bare feet.

"Now look what you've done, you useless bitch," he slurred. "All you ever do is make messes that I have to clean up," he shouted.

"Not anymore," he declared, pointing his amber-filled bottle at me once again, "I'm done; I'll no longer put up with your whining." He stepped forward, glass crunching beneath his boots; I pushed myself further into the shelves, feeling them dig into my lower back and shoulders.

"Daddy- "

"Stop calling me that!" he bellowed, striking his palm across my cheek. I fell to my knees, a whimper leaving my lips and tears staining my cheeks as I felt the glass piercing my skin. I slowly pushed myself up, the palms of my hands stinging in an unfamiliar way as I knelt on the floor.

"I am not your daddy, and I never will be," he spat. "You are not my child; I don't care about you," he smiled suddenly, "I never have, and I never will."