4. Domestic Warfare – Raffiel
CHAPTER FOUR
domestic warfare
RAFFIEL
TWO MONTHS LATER.
Sasha huffs loudly from across the first floor of our new apartment. “You’ve got to be motherfucking kidding me.”
I think those are the only words I’ve heard on a constant repeat since our parents announced they’re getting married. That was two months ago and we haven’t so much as looked in each other's direction. Swerving around each other at every family gathering, completely evading each other at school.
“Sasha, language!” Alina snips, her arms delicately wrapped around my father’s. “Vahan and I just think that it might be nice if you two lived together so you can get to know each other better, you know create a brotherly bond.”
I can tell Sasha has been grating on my father’s last nerve.
But he still wants to marry his mother for some reason.
Don’t mistake me, Alina is a lovely woman.
But if that filth were to ever fly out of my mouth, especially in front of her, I’d expect a swift fist to the jaw.
And once we made it home, I would be surprised if he didn’t cut my tongue clean out.
At least this will get me away from my father's scalding tyranny for three years.
“Come on, Sasha!” I say, putting on my most optimistic front. “It might be good for us to get to know each other.”
Alina gives me a grateful smile that starts to melt away upon Sasha’s approach. He stops in front of me. “Who the fuck…” he starts, his full pink lip popping from his mouth on the word. “…said I wanted to get to know you.” The words are ice cold but his tone is silk smooth.
At this point, I don’t know if he wants to shoot me or if he’s trying to seduce me. But whatever it is, I’m feeling the urgent need to put distance between us.
Stepping around him, I take to the other side of the living room, while Alina reprimands him for the third time today.
“It’s really okay, Alina.” I say, trying to think of anything that will stop me from getting hard. “I think it will be just fine.”
Dead kittens. Dead kittens. Lots of dead kittens.
I don’t know why this keeps happening. I don’t even like men, and I definitely do not like Sasha Dragomir—the fucking psycho pulled a gun on me, I’d be psychotic to even want to be near him. I mean it’s not the first time I’ve been on the end of a gun, but it's not my idea of a good night.
My father’s voice echoes through the empty room, stifling my train of thought.“And if that doesn’t work, the apartment has separate floors, so you don’t even have to see each other,”
“Don’t encourage that, sweetheart,” Alina chirps, scolding my father now.
“You know what, Vahan.” Sasha's amusement is evident. I turn to meet a wicked smile from him across the room. I don’t miss the way my father's jaw ticks by being addressed so informally. “Maybe everything will work out just fine.”
I’m not sure what evil plan just fell into Sasha’s mind, but its evidence is smeared all across his face. And all that makes me want to do is steer clear of him.
I am certain that this living arrangement will turn into an all out war.
At least the movers were quick, but the housekeepers my father hired were faster. They had everything hung up and put away in less than two hours. And that's saying a lot. I thought I had lots of stuff, but the number of boxes that were moved in for Sasha was astronomical.
At around half past six, I tip both women before showing them out, and still no Sasha. He hasn't been down since our parents left.
My stomach rumbles incessantly, so I decide to order something.
Stalking to the stairs, I crane my neck and call for Sasha. Just as I suspect, he doesn't answer. Mindlessly, I throw myself back onto the couch, scrolling through DoorDash.
Suddenly, a shadow flashes past my peripheral.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” I ask, sitting up.
He stomps past me again, this time I noticed he's only wearing a pair of grey shorts and his running shoes.
“Sasha?”
“What?” he snaps, taking a swig of water from a sports bottle before he pulls out one of his earphones.
“I’m going to order ramen.”
“I don't want that shit,” he growls, heading to the stairs that lead to our personal gym.
“Lovely,” I scoff, exasperated. “Is there anything you would prefer then? I’m down for anything.”
I'm not sure what I’ve done to make him chuckle. “Oh, Superman, I’d prefer it if you fucked off.” He takes off down the stairs.
“Delightful, I’ll just order you spring rolls, yeah?”
His middle finger peeks over the railing along with his tattoo-riddled arm, and he stands for a moment, holding it high above his head to ensure I don’t miss it before the gym’s door opens and closes.
After about forty minutes, I’m wrist deep in my bowl when suddenly my thoughts drift to my mother.
Her cooking was always better than takeout—I miss it so much right now.
There’s no reason for this sudden shift.
Sometimes, something as simple as this will have my mother's warm udon popping into my mind.
Shaking away the thought, I head towards the gym and tug open the door to a large room of state-of-the-art equipment, with almost two of every machine, presumably so we don’t have to fight.
Towards the back, there is a sauna and a steam room.
And beyond that there is a glass door that leads out to a heated indoor pool.
Sasha’s shoes slam into the treadmill at top speed as if his father’s sins are chasing him, a lot like mine always are.
Sweat beads on the surface of his flushed skin before it slips down his back.
Every drop seems as if it's in slow motion, and I find myself stepping closer until I realize I’m in his line of vision gaping at him.
He smiles at me in a way that makes me want to bash that pearly white smile in.
Slowing the machine to cool down, he asks, “What do you want, creep?”
“I’m not?—”
“Don’t bother lying, Daddy’s not here, you don’t have to hide it.” He takes a swig of water as his light jog starts to taper off into a brisk walk. “You were eye fucking me, can I help you with something?” His eyes stay fixed to mine in the mirror in front of him.
“Food’s here,” I grunt.
He hops off the treadmill when it comes to a full stop. “I told you I don't want that shit.”
“Well, there are no groceries, and you have to eat something.”
“Is that so?” He cocks a brow, grabbing a pair of dumbbells across the room . “Did someone tell you I need a wife? Are you my wife now?” he grunts a labored breath as he lifts his first rep, a sound that does something to my brain chemistry.
All my good sense rushes out of my body as blood travels south, and I'm left with only one word, “Sasha?—”
“Raffi, what!?” he barks, dropping the weights onto the mat. He surges across the room, stopping in front of me. “What do you want from me?” His sea blue eyes narrow, waiting for my answer.
“I just think you should eat something.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffs, folding his tattooed arms across his chest.
“I—”
“You know?” he starts, a smirk curling on his lips. “At school, you’re a brilliant speaker, Shakespeare, even. Look at you now, stumbling over your words. I wonder why that is.”
Now I can't help the brilliant smile that spreads wide across my face like wildfire as I step closer to him. “Aw, what a supportive brother, I'm honored to know you’ve been watching my debates.”
His breath hitches, and his body visibly goes rigid, as if he only just realized what he said. Averting his har gaze, he grumbles, “I haven't watched all of them.”
“Mmh,” I hum, nodding at his obvious lie. “Look, eat. Don't eat. Do whatever, but I got you something anyway.” I back away with a toothy grin that deepens his scowl. “I’ll be in the living room when you decide to stop being an asshole.”
“Fuck you.”
“I'm sure you possess other words within your vocabulary.” I chuckle, walking backwards so he doesn’t miss my amusement. “Maybe try them out sometime.” I wink.
Just before I make my exit, his face goes beet red. But I don't push any further. One thing I’ve learned about Sasha Dragomir is that he has the ability to easily go from charming to murderous in a split second, and I'm not sure I'm ready to be on the other end of his gun again.
If my father knew, he would be livid.
Not at Sasha, at me. At the fact that I allowed him to best me, that I didn't see his play. The whole reason I’m here is to watch him, take surveillance of his daily life, and report back. If my father knew that I've been… I don't even know what to call it.
But I do know I'm supposed to hate Sasha Dragomir.
Our families have been rivals for a long time, though I’m not even sure why, but the stark reality is… I'm not sure if I hate him at all.