Page 59 of Crowned

I don’t even feel angry with her anymore. It’s more like a dull, festering ache. When I was ten years old, and my dad had me on the floor, kicking me in the stomach while Mom washed the dishes, I quickly learned not to expect any help.

“Better than being a farting old man,” I throw back at him.

Rage transforms Dad’s face and he lurches to his feet. I realize with a swoop of alarm that I misjudged how drunk he was. Not nearly drunk enough yet for me to be safely talking back.

He grabs me by the front of my T-shirt and drives his fist into my face. My lip grinds against my teeth, slicing it open. Blood fills my mouth and spills down my chin.

I wrench myself out of his grip and run through the house. Soon I’ll be bigger than him and I’ll fight back, then he’ll be fucking sorry. Blinded by pain, I lurch toward the window. My fingers are wet with blood, and they fumble on the catch as I hear Dad’s bellowing getting closer and closer. The lock springs open, and I half dive, half tumble out of the window, landing in the weedy flower beds.

A second later I’m up and running into the trees.

I swipe my forearm across my mouth and wipe away the blood, but it keeps flowing. It’s so dark outside now that I can barely see where I’m going. I stumble against the corner of a pale blue building with white roses growing in the flower beds.

Kristina’s house.

I bet she’s tucked up in bed, dreaming bitchy little dreams.

I make my way around the house, peering in all the windows. Her parents are up watching TV in the living room. A younger brother is asleep with his thumb in his mouth.

I find Kristina’s room, and she’s between the sheets with her head on the pillow.

All alone.

I’m out here watching her, and she can’t stop me. Is she naked in that bed? Has she been touching herself? I bet she has, the dirty bitch.

I peer behind me, and there’s no one there. Kristina thinks she can run from me, but she’s got nowhere left to run. I can jerk off right here and it’s almost as good as being in there with her.

A grin spreads over my face and pain sears my lip. I let out a gasp and Kristina suddenly sits up in bed.

I duck down out of sight, a hand clamped over my mouth. I want to laugh, and I don’t know if it’s because of the pain or because I’ve discovered something wonderful. Girls act brave when they’re in packs, but how vulnerable they are when they’re all alone in their beds.

I push away from the window, leaving a bloody smear behind. I hope she sees it and wonders who’s been creeping outside her room.

As I continue walking down the street, I see another figure up ahead, walking with purpose through the darkness. I follow him silently, wondering who it is. When he turns his head, I think I recognize his profile.

Artem?

I change direction and follow my older brother along the street, keeping to the shadows. He heads for the biggest house in town. It’s a palace compared to our hovel, with huge windows, columns, and ornamental trees dotted around a sweeping lawn. The driveway is made of neat white stones, each one raked perfectly into place. Artem has no purpose here, and neither do I. Perhaps he’s going to rob the place. That would be interesting, and I wouldn’t mind giving him a helping hand. The rich people in this town look down on us like we’re scum.

Artem climbs a trellis to a bedroom window, but instead of forcing it open, he taps on the glass and waits. A moment later, the window opens, and he climbs in.

I’m so surprised that the pain in my lip fades to nothing. Two girls live in this house, and one of them is the beautiful, eighteen-year-old Yelena. She’s always been so fucking haughty whenever I’ve passed her in the street. My brother is just as much of a nobody as I am.

Proud, high-and-mighty Yelena has a taste for trash like us? This I have to see.

As silently as I can, I climb up the trellis and creep across the roof toward the window. There’s a yellow glow coming from inside. As I peer inside, I expect to see beautiful, blonde, long-legged Yelena in a canopied bed, but the girl my brother is undressing is short and her hair is a muddy brown. Ekaterina. Katya for short. A mousy little thing in my class who’s almost as much of a loser as me. She has a handful of friends but has her nose buried in a book most lunchtimes. I’ve barely noticed her, but I’m staring now as Artem kisses her roughly, squeezes her breasts with both hands and motions her back onto her bed.

After a few kisses here and there on her shoulders, he pushes his pants down and starts screwing her. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight. It’s not particularly hot, but there’s something animalistic and entrancing about it. Artem’s finished surprisingly quickly and then he’s getting off Katya, who seems unmoved by the experience, but she does want to hold Artem’s hand. He lets her for a moment, but then he’s pulling his clothes back into place and turning to go.

Toward the window where I’m watching them.

I duck out of sight and crouch-walk toward the trellis and scramble down. Then I’m running back to the road. My heart is beating so wildly that I was nearly caught again, and I’m grinning despite the pain in my lip. Blood is filling my mouth again, but I’ve never felt more alive.

Every night after that, I wander the streets, peeking in windows and spying on unsuspecting victims. I’ve discovered a secret world and it’s all mine. I watch couples fighting. Screwing. Girls furtively touching themselves beneath the blankets. Trying on clothes their mothers wouldn’t let them wear. I jerk off multiple times a night, turned on to crazy extremes by the fact that they can’t see me or stop me.

I feel powerful for the first time in my life.

Without my father’s nightly beatings, my body starts to feel like my own. I grow stronger, hauling myself over walls and climbing trees to get a better view into windows. Sometimes I can’t get up to where I need to be, and I start doing push-ups out of sheer frustration. I have to get stronger. Climb higher. Get my fix. I’m fucking addicted.

---