#bad parent

Ambrose laughed at the face that Kit pulled. “Come on. I can always force you to come if I want, and we’re kind of a time crunch here.”

Kit glared daggers at the man and begrudgingly walked down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, trying to get a peak into the room. Ambrose walked away from the door letting it close before Kit could. Kit lunged forward to catch the heavy metal door, but relaxed immediately when he saw it was in fact a garage.

Kit let out a long low whistle after stepping into the garage. The door shut with a buzzer after him. Ambrose opened a lock box with keys hung up in a numbered order.

He grabbed the keys named ‘01’.

“You’re such a control freak,” Kit snorted. “Do you have OCD or something?”

Ambrose shrugged, taking off through the cars covered by different tarps. The only car that wasn’t covered was the one closest to the garage door. The same car that Ambrose kidnapped Kit in last night.

He hated that Ambrose had a good taste in cars. He hated that Ambrose had this many cars when Kit couldn’t even afford one, nevermind a garage full.

Ambrose grinned at Kit over the roof of the Wraith as he unlocked the door. “If you like, I can give you one of the ones I don’t like.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” he said, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. The cream leather was so comfortable under him as he put his seatbelt on.

“Seriously,” Kit went on, anger curling around him the more comfortable he became with all of Ambrose’s luxury. “Don’t you have any thoughts of your own?! It’s fucking creepy, man. Just ask questions if you want to know my thoughts.”

Ambrose laughed as he opened the garage door with a remote and they rolled out of the house and onto the road again.

“I mean, don’t you have any friends?” Kit demanded hotly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was getting pissed all of a sudden, it’s not like Ambrose invading his mind was a new thing, but now? It pissed him off. “Don’t you know how to talk to people?!”

“Relax, Mallory. You’re the only person I relay their thoughts to. It might shock you, but generally, people love when you know what they’re thinking. It’s why humans seek connection. To feel understood.”

“Okay, Socrates,” Kit grumbled. “It’s just fucking weird. I don’t like it when you do it.”

“All of a sudden.”

“Yes!” Kit snapped, glaring at the villain beside him as the forest zoomed past them. “All of a sudden!”

What had Ambrose seen? What parts of him did he know? Could he see everything or was it selective?

“After you found out I’m Mentor’s son,” Ambrose said pointedly. Kit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the passenger window. They drove in a terse silence for a while, cause Ambrose was a psychopath and didn’t have the radio on.

“We have to talk about it, Kit.”

“Well, you already know my thoughts on it all, so enjoy having a conversation by yourself.”

“Mallory,” Ambrose said with a tired sigh, flicking on the indicator as they pulled to a stop. “I know it must seem like a weird coincidence to you, but I swear I didn’t know you were Mentor’s s—”

Kit’s hands tightened into fists. Son. He was about to say son.

“Prodigy,” he settled on, taking a right and messing with the gears until they were coasting again. The air seemed tighter. “I didn’t know that he meant anything to you. I swear— I just assumed that when you were scared of me turning you into him, that you had heard the horror stories in the academy, or Superhero told you. Not that you… not that you were personally affected.”

Kit’s eyes burned as he stared out the window, the forest growing sparser the closer they got to the city. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

“And if you did?”

Ambrose hesitated.

Kit turned his head to look at him, studying the villain’s reactions.

“And if you knew that he was like a father to me.” Like a father, not an actual one. “If you knew how much it hurt to see a man who plucked me out of nothing be destroyed. Would it have been any different?! Or would you have laughed and rubbed it in like salt in a wound?”

“Kit—”

“Oh, come off it. There’s no one here, Rosey. It’s only me and you,” Kit said, his voice dripping with a horrible hysterical knowing. “You can be your usual sadistic, unfeeling, monstrous self and I can tell nobody about it—”

“Mallory—” Ambrose tried to interject but Kit spoke over him again.

“But you know the funniest part in all this? You already took away the one person who would have given a shit about this! About me, not the Hero. Me. And you made him a monster!” Kit roared, something wet hitting his cheeks and flowing like a stream down his face. “And now, because clearly God hates me, I have to team up with you of all people, to go and stop — the one man who ever treated me like a person — from becoming a monster like you.”

The silence was deafening. In some strange way, it was comforting. No electricity crackles or malfunctioning lights accompanied his breakdown with the power dampeners locked around his wrist.

It was cathartic.

They had just pulled into the main road that brought them to the outskirts of the city, the skyline visible over the horizon when Ambrose spoke.

“He wasn’t a hero to me,” said Ambrose quietly, almost imperceptibly. Kit glanced at him, but his eyes settled on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t fucking tell me you have daddy issues.” When Ambrose didn’t answer Kit let out a strangled laugh. Blinking in bewilderment, Kit raised his brows. “Are you telling me you have daddy issues? Mr Big Bad villain?”

“Oh fuck off, Mallory. At least I had parents.”

The words stung. They cut deeper than Kit would have ever admitted out loud or shown physically, but Kit knew that Ambrose was in his head after the villain winced.

Shifting in his seat, he said: “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off snarky. I just—” Ambrose let out a groan. “You just rub me up the wrong way.”

“Well who’s fucking fault is that, dickhead?!”

“Do you want me to explain, or are you just going to argue with me the entire drive to the hospital?” Ambrose snapped. “I can only do one of those things in our limited time, so choose.”

Kit clenched his teeth, glaring forwards at the car in front of them. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Mentor is my father. As you know, he only rose to prominence within our lifetimes, though you may be too young to remember. Before him, heroes and villains weren’t really a thing. There were a couple dotted here and there, but mostly they were vigilantes. The good guys and the bad guys.”

“Yeah. I remember learning about that in the academy.”

“Right. So after my father rose in public opinion and word of mouth, well the government started stepping in and trying to regulate it. Which they did and the rest is history, but he wasn’t the same heroic good man when he came home.”

Kit swallowed, tightening his fingers into fists. He didn’t want to hear this, he realised. He really wanted Ambrose to shut up and not tell him anymore, but he asked for this, didn’t he? To know the side of Mentor that Ambrose knew?

“He wasn’t abusive,” Ambrose said softly and Kit released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Not physically, anyway. When he discovered that I was born with powers he sought to train me, to make me in his image. A family of Superheroes. My Mom, she didn’t want that for me. She saw the toll it took on him to be the city’s saviour everyday, and that’s when they started fighting.”

Kit sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. He couldn’t imagine Mentor fig— well, no. He could, actually. How many times had Kit walked in on Mentor and Mr Silver arguing? Or Superhero trying to tell Mentor that the next step was a bad idea, that it was too risky.

“I trained hard. When he wanted me to push myself, I pushed myself. When he wanted me to commit 100%, I did 200%. It was never enough for him. None of it was. He wanted a son and a wife who adored him, who worshipped the ground he walked on, and instead he had a family. His ego was a problem.”

Kit cringed at that. Even he knew that Mentor wanted people to adore him, no matter who or why. He wanted to be the city’s saviour, the man on everyone’s tongue and in their thoughts.

Kit let out a breath of a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess… that’s why he adopted me, isn’t it?” Kit asked, his voice hollow. Ambrose didn’t answer, and that was answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? How could he not have seen that to Mentor, Kit was just some charity project he knew would always support him. Worship the ground he walked on, defend him even when Kit knew he was in the wrong.

Ambrose opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, setting his lips into a thin line.

“Mallory…”

“No. It’s okay,” Kit replied, letting out a long breath. “It’s fine, go on.”

Ambrose hesitated, fingers lifting from the steering wheel, before curling around them again. They passed the memorial garden in silence, taking the diversion around the square towards the hospital. They weren’t far away now.

“He started the Hero academy when I was twelve. A school for children with powers to develop their abilities to become heroes. I saw it for what it was though, incentive and resentment. He failed to teach me to control my abilities, and found a fault in me that I couldn’t rectify. My ability wasn’t flashy enough, or showy enough for him, for the great Mentor.”

“He wanted a child who would make the world stop and look at them. Someone who was as fast as him, as strong, but not stronger. In his eyes, I may as well have been born with strong charisma because you couldn’t see the effect of what I could do, only experience it.”

Kit looked down at his wrist, at the power dampeners locked around it. Lightning was flashy. Lightning gave Kit strength and strong reflexes, he was fast, he was flashy. He trained hard, to the point of exhaustion everyday in the Hero Academy. Not caring if he had no friends. Not caring if he passed out from pushing himself too hard. He just had to be the best. It was all he had. It was all he could do.

It wasn’t until he was beating people three years above him that Mentor started to pay him any attention. It felt good at the time. It felt like somebody finally recognised him for what he was.

Mentor made him feel seen. He saw that Kit had put his everything into training, because everything in him was all he had to give.

He didn’t have a family to worry about him getting hurt.

He didn’t have friends that would mourn him if he died in action.

All he had was being a hero.

Of course Mentor would latch onto that. Of course he would pick up on the fact that Kit was desperately trying to prove himself. Of course he would take pity on the orphan and bring him home like a trophy. Show him off to the world.

But that… that wasn’t the Mentor that Kit knew.

He brought him home, but it was after Kit denied him so many times. Told him to piss off, and asked if he was a pervert that prayed on boys his age. Kit had grown up on the streets, he knew what happened to skinny kids like him. One day they’re there, and the next, you never see them again.

Mentor was patient, and kind. He didn’t push Kit after Kit said no, told him he had everything he needed in the academy.

“Then my Mother got sick, and well…” Ambrose said, trailing off, pulling Kit from his memory and back into the car. “After she died it was like he… he didn’t even care. All he cared about was building the city up, saving everyone from possible Villains that lurked in the night. He didn’t sit with her in the hospital because he knew he couldn’t rescue her. He wasn’t there when she—”

Kit was quiet beside Ambrose, head tilted down. He knew what loss was like. He knew the absence a parent can leave behind, but losing someone who meant that? Kit didn’t know how to relate to that. When Omen destroyed Mentor’s mind, it wasn’t the same as if he died because Kit could still go and see him. Still talk to him, even if the Mentor he remembered was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said softly. Ambrose cleared his throat, turning his head so Kit couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” he agreed, going rigid. “Me too.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far. Five minutes in the car, and two minutes to park.

“Are you…?” Kit began, then cut himself off when he met Ambrose’s black eyes. What was he going to say? Are you Okay? Alright with going into see the unfeeling man who wasn’t a good father? The man you cursed for being…

Ambrose shook his head, no. “Of course I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kit said with an awkward shrug. They got out of the car, closing the door in unison. Kit thought nothing of it.

It was borderline awkward in the lift. Ambrose kind of just, stood there like a totem pole. His hands behind his back, standing straight up like a serial killer.

“Would you relax?” Kit said, rolling his neck. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ambrose said slowly, voice cold. Kit shrugged and said: “fine.”

He ahead and almost cried in joy when the doors opened to the ground floor. He stopped at the reception desk. Ambrose was walking and stopped when Kit stopped, two steps ahead and glancing back to see what Kit was doing.

He joined him a moment later, standing beside him and glowering at Heather when she turned and beamed at Kit.

“Hi Heather.”

“Hey, Kit. You goin’ up to—” her big blue eyes trailed to Ambrose beside him, who looked as if he was under a storm cloud, or extremely constipated. “Oh. Hi. Is this your brother?”

Kit’s eyes blew wide, but Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Older. We’d like to see—”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Kit. Of course, darlin’s, go ahead. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly and stepped back. Kit blinked, shaking his head, and smiled at Heather. “Oh, actually. Was there anything strange with him? Any new visitors or—”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’m just the receptionist for the main desk. You’ll have to ask the nurses up there.”

Kit nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Anytime. And nice meeting you.”

Ambrose nodded at her. “You too.”

Kit clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s go, bro.”

Ambrose made a noise and Kit had to stifle a laugh until they were in the stairwell. “What was that!” He barked, laughter bubbling up his throat.

“I— panicked.”

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Kit teased. He was turning to walk up the next set of stairs when Ambrose slammed his forearm against Kit’s throat, shoving him back into the corner of the stairwell, pinning him there.

Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with cold fury down at Kit. “Of course I’m nervous, you fucking child. Tch. Don’t you ever switch off?”

Kit pushed Ambrose’s arm off him, and to his surprise, Ambrose let him, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

The realisation only dawned on Kit, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’.

“You’ve never been to see him.”

Ambrose straightened. The villain returning as he stared down his nose at Kit, a sardonic smile on his lips. “And why should I? He didn’t give my mother that courtesy.”

Kit put his hands up, showing Ambrose he meant nothing by it. “Hey. It’s your decision. Not mine. He’s your dad, not—” the words choked up before he could say them. Ambrose didn’t pry. He knew what Kit was going to say.

Ambrose stared for a moment longer before glancing up the stairs and nodding stiffly.

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat and started walking up again. “What floor is it?”

“The fifth,” he replied, starting up the stairs beside Ambrose. “Top floor. They don’t want anyone stumbling amongst the crazies.”

“Probably for the best,” Ambrose muttered. Kit had meant it as a joke, but, he didn’t disagree with Ambrose as they climbed the stairs. Thankful that their footsteps filled the silence he couldn’t in the lift. They knew something had happened when they got to the fifth floor.

Kit stepped in first, Ambrose craning his neck around the door into the hall. Police tape on the usually locked door and two police officers stationed outside it like sentries.

Kit’s eyes widened as he half jogged up to the doors. One of the officers placed his hand on Kit’s chest. “I’m sorry, sir. This ward is cordoned off.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry sir—”

“Tell him.” Ambrose ordered, and Kit shot a glare back at Ambrose, feeling the familiar coldness of Ambrose’s ability brush past him to the Officer.

“There’s been a security breach,” the officer said. Before he could say anymore a hand snapped onto Kit’s shoulder and he whirled.

Mr Silver stood in front of him with a Doctor that Kit recognised was on Mentor’s case. This couldn’t be real. This… there was no way that…

“Hi Kit.”

“Mr Silver,” Kit replied, nodding at the doctor. “Doctor.”

“Hi Kit.”

“What is it? What happened?” Kit demanded, but Mr Silver’s eyes went to Ambrose and his expression changed. Recognition flashing across his features. Kit glanced back at Ambrose who looked away from the man in a suit, his jaw clenched.

“Oskar?” Mr Silver asked. Kit’s brows rose to the roof, eyes as wide as golf balls. Ambrose’s name… Kit studied the villain, assessing whether or not Oskar suited him. Why didn’t Ambrose make Silver forget? Make him overlook the fact that he was here? Did he want to be seen? To be known?

“Hello, Henry.” Ambrose’s reply wasn’t curt or cold. It was a little strained, but, Kit glanced between the two. Were they… friends?! What the fuck was going on?

Mr Silver was the first recover, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I just… never expected to see you both together. I never expected to see you here, Oskar.”

Ambrose’s smile was wry.

“Yes, well. Things change.”

Doctor looked between the three bewildered. “I’m sorry, I only know Kit. Are you related to the missing patient?”

“He’s missing?” Kit and Ambrose said at the same time. Doctor looked between them, then to Mr Silver who nodded.

“Yes. They’re his sons.”

Kit swallowed at the casual classification of sons.

“Yes,” Doctor nodded, his expression troubled. “Mentor has been missing since late afternoon, yesterday.”

“Isn’t this ward supposed to be locked? Doesn’t it dampen powers?” Ambrose snapped.

“It is,” Mr Silver replied, not at all bothered at Ambrose’s tone. “Which is why your father couldn’t have gotten out alone.”

“You think he’s working with someone?”

“He couldn’t be,” Kit muttered, raising his head and looking at Doctor. “I’m the only one who ever visited him. Can I see his visitor log?”

Doctor nodded slowly, his hand on his chin. “Yes. But I don’t think you’ll need to check.”

Ambrose cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because Kit and one other person were his only visitors.”

“Who?” Kit asked, searching the gentle Doctor’s face. “Who else visited him?”

A muscle in Mr Silver’s jaw clenched as he raised his gaze to Kit’s, sliding a hand into his trouser pocket. “Superhero, Kit. He’s the only other person that visited him.”

Kit stared at Silver. A smile cracking his face. This was a joke. They didn’t seriously think that Superhero was helping Mentor be a villain, right? Right?

Kit glanced at the Doctor who looked uncomfortable. “You’re joking.”

“They’re not,” Ambrose said, and Kit stiffened beside him. Ambrose must have scanned their brains, going over every possibility, looking over the visiting logs.

Kit felt as if he was being punked. He reached into his jacket pocket, looking for his phone but he didn’t find it.

“Fuck! I must’ve left my phone at home,” he cursed, looking at Silver. He’d have Superhero’s number. “Mr Silver, can I borrow yours?”

Silver gave him a flat look. “He’s not picking up, Kit.”

“Well then, the Hero tower or—”

Ambrose pressed his phone into the hero’s hands. “Here.”

Kit glanced up at him, wide eyed. He nodded and walked to the stairwell, away from the trio. He dialled Superhero’s phone and like Silver, no answer. Then he dialled the Hero tower, but hung up when it went through to the automatic receiver. Ambrose had a civilian phone, it wouldn’t patch him through.

Finally, he dialled the number of someone he knew would answer, no matter what. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, trying to smoothen it down as he paced the floor below Mentor’s ward. Footsteps echoing against the walls.

It answered on the third ring.

“Hello.” A grumbling voice answered.

“Sawyer, it’s—”

“Mallory. Where have you been?” Sawyer hissed, tone changing immediately. “We’ve been trying to contact you since yesterday.”

“I don’t have my phone.”

“We thought the new Supervillain got you.”

“No— wait, what? Why?”

Sawyer hesitated on the other end of the line. Kit’s eyes hardened. “Why?” He pressed.

“Have you not seen the news? Supervillain has telekinesis, Mallory. He’s- well, we think it’s Mentor.”

Kit was starting to get really tired of hearing that, though he couldn’t deny that this looked… bad.

“I know. He has Tides. Have you spoken to Superhero since the attack?”

“No,” Sawyer snapped. “He’s missing in the chaos too. The tower is basically running on fumes, it’s like a ghost town.”

“What?”

“Look, Kit, I got to go. It’s fucking mayhem down here. If you find Superhero, call me—”

“But—”

The line went dead. Fuck! FUCK!

He had to get his phone, it was probably still at home and call Superhero and find Tides wherever she was being kept and clear Mentor’s name because there’s— there’s no way this was all Mentor’s doing. He loved the city, why would he want to destroy it now?

And if Ambrose was to be believed, he had double the reason to make sure it stayed perfect. Kit walked up the stairs, back out into the hall of Mentor’s ward.

“Well?” Mr Silver prompted, raising his brows. Only him and Ambrose were left, the doctor probably tending to his patients. They were leaning against the opposite wall, talking in hushed voices when Kit interrupted them.

“Nothing. Superhero is missing too.”

Mr Silver’s clever eyes glimmered. “Hmm.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You’re going to say that all this looks very suspicious but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it! Like—” Kit looked between the pair, searching for any kind of sympathetic glance. “Like the security cameras. Surely they must’ve—”

Mr Silver shook his head. “Wiped.”

“From the whole hospital?”

“Kit,” Mr Silver said with a sigh, pushing off the wall and approaching him. “Sometimes the most obvious explanation is the answer. Sometimes the only answer, no matter how much we wish it were different.”

Mr Silver put his hand on Kit’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Right now the most logical explanation is that Superhero has been working with Mentor behind the scenes to destroy the city. He broke Mentor out, and I will put a search warrant out for them both.”

“But—” Kit tried, but it was Ambrose who stopped him with a shake of his head. Kit deflated.

“I wish it was wrong, Kit. But it’s what we have to go on.”

Ambrose stepped off the wall too, approaching the pair. “Thank you, Henry.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Come on, Kit. We should find your phone.” Kit stared at him, at the man who tortured him just yester-fucking-day, but was somehow the only person he could rely on at the moment.

Kit nodded mutely. He followed Ambrose back down the stairs and to the car. Ambrose didn’t offer any words of support, or anything frivolous like that. They just moved in silence.

Maybe he didn’t need to say anything, because Ambrose could probably read every thought going though his head anyways. It didn’t matter if he did or not. Everything Kit thought he knew or believed in or trusted, none of it mattered because everything was wrong anyways.

Mentor was a villain.

Superhero knew the whole time and helped Mentor plan it.

And now, well, he couldn’t even trust Ambrose anymore. The man who was making his life hell is the only fucking person who’s here with him right now, driving him home to find his phone so he can find some fucking sense in his life that was just flipped completely—

“Kit…” Ambrose said, his voice like thunder through the overwhelming silence that was choking Kit. “I can… I can quiet your mind, if you’d like.”

Kit almost burst out crying. Instead, he glared out the window. “Oh Fuck off, Ambrose,” Kit said without any real bite behind it.

“Offers open.”

“Yeah, you’d love that. Dickhead.”

“Alright,” Ambrose said, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He turned on the radio. Kit stared out the window.

“Thanks.”

Ambrose didn’t reply.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ishan stood in front of his daughter, fists clenched behind his back as he plastered a smile onto his face. His wife had invited her around for dinner, since they hadn’t spoken in a while. Unfortunately, he did not have the greatest relationship with her. 

“So,” Rayna began, awkwardly trying to start a conversation at the dinner table as her mother cooked food in the kitchen, “How have you been?”

Her father raised a brow, dropping the smile, “I’ve been fine.” He replied gruffly, obviously not in the mood for a conversation.

She nodded, “Me too,” She muttered, silently criticising his lack of manners.

He narrowed his eyes at her, the tension in the room instantly becoming palpable, “Well,” He began, taking a swig of alcohol before banging the glass onto the table rather aggressively, “Have you found yourself a social life yet? You never were very good with people.”

Rayna rolled her eyes, “I have, actually. And I was good with people, I simply chose to have a small group of friends. Something I still choose to do.”

“Ah, yes, the old excuse for being a loner,” He scoffed.

“I’m no loner, father,” She began, trying desperately to keep her composure, “I could have many friends if I chose too. I’ve just decided that i don’t want a large circle of companions. Is that such a crime?”

He smirked at her in an almost degrading way, “And I assume you still have no husband, yes?”

“Father, I’ve only just turned twenty-four.”

“Yeah, seven months ago.” He chortled, taking another swig of beer, “Listen, sweetheart. Me and your mother only want what’s best for you, and we think you should get married. It’ll help you contain all of…” He trailed off, gesturing to her form with his hand.

“All of what?” Rayna pressed, resting her elbows on the table in an act of defiance.

“Stupidity” He finished, wetting his lips, “You need a good husband to put you in your place,” By now, his words were slurred, and it was obvious that the alcohol was having an affect on him.

Just as he said this, his wife came with two plates, placing one in front of her daughter, and one in front of Ishan, “Here you are.” She smiled gently, “What were you talking about?” She questioned, sitting down.

“Just… catching up.” Rayna furrowed her brows in concern, “Are you not going to eat anything?”

Her mother shrugged, a reassuring expression on her face, “I’m not hungry,” She mumbled, glancing at the bottle that her husband couldn’t seem to stop drinking out of.

Rayna sighed shakily, watching her hand tremble as she went to pick up her fork. 

Her father glanced at her, scoffing once more and muttering under his breath, “Always so dramatic.”

Sarika sighed softly, looking to her daughter and winking at her with a small smile.

Rayna chuckled, the noise barely noticeable. She knew her mother was simply putting on a facade. She knew she was trying to be brave for her, and it pained her to know that the woman she loved most went through something so difficult so often. This fact made her angry. Her mother was always the one to protect her, the one to keep her safe. But in times like this, Rayna felt that she was the one who needed to be brave.

Her father breathed out a laugh, “You bloody women,” He whispered, shaking his head.

Rayna raised an eyebrow. His statement had no real meaning, which is what irked her most. How could someone be so foolish as to just say things with no thought? Her father was no feminist, that was for sure. He believed women didn’t deserve to be on the road. That they were simply there to serve men.

“As if you’re the king of everything.” She shot back, glancing at her mother before glaring at him.

“Don’t speak to me like that, girl,” He snapped, “You know nothing of the world.”

“Now, now,” Sarika began, trying desperately to ease the tension, “Can we just have one meal without arguing?”

But her husband was having none of it, “Silence, woman!” He banged his fist on the table in unjustified fury, “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” He yelled, turning back to Rayna, “Now, as I was saying,”

Her mother interrupted again, “Seriously, Ishan, that’s enough.”

“Can you stop interrupting me? I’m trying to speak to my daughter.”

“Our daughter.” She gritted her teeth, “She is ours. Not yours.”

Ishan waved a dismissive hand, “Anyways,” He began, taking a sip out of the glass bottle, “I think you should get married,” He let out a loud sigh, putting the bottle down, “Because you know, life is hard. It’s not all easy, and you need someone to be with you, or else you’ll fail, Hāṁ?”

Rayna clenched her jaw at the ridiculousness of her father. He made her feel like she was nothing. He antagonised her, made her feel as if she were worthless. She hated him. She hated the way he thought he knew it all. She hated the way his face looked. She hated the way he thought he could do whatever he wanted. She hated the way he used Punjabi in the middle of his sentences. She believed that he didn’t even deserve to speak the language at all.

But she also hated herself. She hated the way she forgave him, the way she let him do what he wanted. She hated the way she let him bully her and her mother. She hated the way that after all this time, she still loved him.

“We’ll find you a husband, don’t you worry.” He rested his head on his chin, staring at her with a drunken smile.

“You will do nothing of the sort!” She snapped, “I don’t want a husband, I’m perfectly fine on my own!”

“You need one.” He challenged, his voice raising.

Rayna was sick of her father by now, and she was going to make sure he knew, “I don’t need anything. What I do need is a break from your nonsense! You think you have it all figured out. You think I need someone to do well? Here’s a news flash! Without a woman, you wouldn’t exist. Without a woman, none of you would exist! You think you’re so important, but just try having to deal with catcalling all the time. Deal with periods. Or even try holding a baby in your womb for nine goddamn months! Not only that, but birthing it! You think it’s easy? Well just know this. You men have it easy. So very easy.” Her tongue dripped with acid as tears of fire filled her eyes, leaving a trail of flames down her cheeks as they dropped.

Ishan’s eyes widened in shock. In that moment, he was stone-cold sober. He stared at his daughter with wonder. He glanced at his wife, who had nothing but pride written across her features.

Just then, her father’s eyes seemed to open. The child he had raised with such harshness, the one he had hurt on countless occasions. The one he had broken down, never bothering to build her back up. Never bothering to give her the time of day. The woman he sat opposite now was brave, but it still reminded him of that little girl. The Rayna sat in front of him, tears streaming down her face and disgust bursting the capillaries in her eyes. The voice in his head telling him to break her down again was silenced. The one telling him that she was his one and only target. The girl he had made to feel as if she were a child had made him realise something. 

His target was still a child.