The Alpha's Omega Mate-Chapter 87: Why we don’t touch women.

~Zarek’s POV~

’I shouldn’t go further, I should stop thinking about that night." I said to myself, but I just couldn’t. Not when it was the architect of everything I have become. Not when it was the only thing that kept me awake at night.

That and the years of agonising torture I’d spent in isolation— the years my father had sent me off to perish all in the name of training.

Maybe he never hoped that I would survive his cruelty. Maybe he never expected that my hate for him was strong enough to keep me going. My anger and hatred were the only things I held onto after Nyx shattered everything I held dear... and now that Dahlia had done just the same, I doubt I knew what else to hold onto anymore.

—

My house was never one of those places where you ran to hug your parents— actually, my father— whenever he returned from a long trip. If anything, you become more paranoid in his presence than in his absence.

He didn’t acknowledge me besides the smile. He didn’t even say another word to my mother as his attention was solely drawn to my mother’s pale dress... and on her derrière as she struggled to pick up the fallen spatula.

"I love this dress," he said coldly, his eyes flashing with cold contempt, "it looks sexy on you... and might be the only cloth I’ve ever liked on you."

"Thank you." That was my mother’s half-hearted response as her eyes were still on the young child who didn’t even bother to hide his smile. He didn’t even move to come over to the table or anything. He simply stood by my father’s side like a little bodyguard.

I saw how difficult it was for my mother to form coherent words due to the tremors wracking up her entire being, but she did talk. And she asked; "You have another son?"

"Yes." My father simply replied like he was talking about sports... or a friend of his. "Sophia, my mistress, became pregnant with him three and half years ago. Now, he’s of age to live with us."

The way he talked about it so casually made my heart hurt. It made it difficult for me to breathe and made my head pound with a sudden strange kind of headache.

I saw my mother turn away from him, dropping the topic— more out of fear than disinterest— and then she muttered; "I’m making broth. Should I serve you and your new son some?"

My father went quiet as he watched my mother’s face intently. I had almost begun to think that he wouldn’t say anything until he cleared his throat and wiggled his eyebrows.

"I don’t want to eat that," He murmured, "I want to eat you instead."

Little me knew exactly what that meant but I forced myself to act deaf. It took more than just my willpower now to focus on the pictures in the book because I was growing angrier by the minute. I squeezed my hands into tight fists and frowned, gnashing my teeth.

"Logan..." My mother drawled softly, "I’m in my first trimester, and the healer said I should abstain from rigorous activities such as sport and sex due to how sick I’ve been lately." She explained.

Normally, a right man in his right senses would understand, but not my father. He threw his hands into the air like a child throwing tantrums and snarled; "Do I look like I care about what that pathetic woman ever says?"

The way he said it made me question if the words had ground out of his lips or nose. However, I didn’t get the chance to think much about it because then, my mother’s voice cut through the now quiet kitchen.

She cried; "But please... I really don’t feel good."

"And that’s why I always say you’re weak!" He ground out. "That’s why you only birth weak children like you!" He snarled, coming forward to the table where I sat.

My heart pounded against my chest when his nostrils flared and in an instant, all his attention shifted to me. And as he stalked closer, I shrunk deeper into my chair. Usually, I was used to his hits... his punches... and I already knew that one was coming, but for some reason, I just couldn’t stand it today.

Something had gone off in me... it was probably a bell or an alarm, I just didn’t care.

"And that’s why I have chosen to replace this cunt you call a son with someone stronger... someone like my Derek here" He growled.

The way he growled out the words made the hairs on my body stand on end.

"Logan, that’s a terrible thing to say!" My mom snarled but he didn’t listen to her. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, using it to pull my head backward so that I could look into his furious eyes.

"Now watch me do something even more terrible to him!" He seethed. "Watch me rid the world of his presence... maybe then you’ll learn to stop defying me."

And with that, his hold on my hair tightened. I winced when he pushed my head downward with a force so hard that I slammed my face into the book on the table.

But I couldn’t make a sound.

We all knew that the best way to escape his wrath was by being quiet.

So I remained quiet, silently crying when he continued to hit my head against the book, causing the red hot pain to shoot up my skull over and over again until blood dripped down my nose and from my busted lip.

But still, I made no sound.

What snapped me out of my dark haze was the sounds of my mother’s hysteric cries, her pleading. She rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around his torso as she begged hysterically.

"Please... Logan." She hiccuped, "That’s your son!"

If she thought that those words were supposed to calm him even the slightest then she was wrong because then, his assault worsened. He slapped me across the face and gripped my face in his hands while he yelled;

"This bastard isn’t mine!"

Another blow, another slap. They continued to rain down my face until I became blind from the blood rushing into my eyes.

Now, my mother was desperate. I could hear it in her voice. She threw herself into his arms, yelling and when he wouldn’t pay attention to her and continued to hit me, she slapped him.

Silence.

The entire room was tense with dark awkwardness after that. My heart pounded against my ribcage, so fast that I feared it would fall out.

Mother had finally gotten him to stop, but not in a good way.

With his teeth bared, he turned to her and at first, I thought that he wouldn’t touch her because she was pregnant but I was wrong.

"Logan..." my mother called out in a calm tone as if hoping that that would put some senses into him but he didn’t stop. Hell, he was so far gone.

What happened next was in a blur. He slapped her hard across the face, causing her to stumble to the floor, and when she fell, he began to kick her in the stomach with his pointy shoes.

I was fast losing consciousness but my mother’s anguished cries kept me awake. All I saw was red... blood. It was everywhere. She was bleeding from her nose, her mouth, even between her legs.

Normally, Father beats us but this night, it was different. He was brutal... ruthless. It felt as though he wanted to wipe us off the surface of the earth. Like he indeed wanted to replace us.

Tears blurred my vision and due to how engrossed he was with beating up my mother, he didn’t notice when I staggered across the kitchen to the shelves and picked up a knife.

I didn’t waste time, there was no time to waste when he was just about to kill my mother and her baby. With a mixture of fear and desperation gnawing at my insides, I closed my eyes and rushed to him. I had hoped that I would stick the knife into his back, momentarily stopping him, but I was wrong.

I tripped on the floor.

On my brother—Derek’s— stuck out legs, and my vision waned when my face hit the floor with a loud thud.

Just then a ringing sound deafened me. My eyes went dark as tiny stars danced in my line of vision. Tears even slipped down my face.

I do not know for how long I remained sprawled on the floor but when I finally came through, the kitchen was as quiet as a cemetery. Dad was nowhere to be found, and so was his bastard son.

However, Mom was still sprawled on the floor... she was still bleeding... and I desperately rushed to my mother, hoping to get her to sit upright but she was too limp. She was no longer breathing.

I was too late.

She was dead.

And then came the pain.

A blinding red pain.

An agonized scream tore out from the back of my throat as I held my mother’s limp form in my arms and wailed, willing the moon goddess to take my life too.

But she didn’t.

And she made me suffer even more torturous days in the hands of my father.

—

And that was the day I swore to never touch a woman.

The day I swore to never be my father.

And now, the thought of a particular woman was filling me with so much rage, and so much frustration that I feared I would go back on my words. That I would hit a woman.

Suddenly, a weird sweet scent hit my nostrils and I spun around just in time to see a woman clad in a purple sundress standing behind me.

She smiled at me then bowed. "Alpha Zarek."

And instantly, a frown made its way to my face.

I gritted out; "Nyx, what do you want?"