A violinist and his crown

A thick book struck Vasil's head: "Are you even listening to me?"

Vasil held his head, "Ow! That hurt!"

Stefan, who had been sitting next to him in the seat that used to belong to the former bully boy, reopened his book. "You deserve it! Do you think I'm here for fun? The test starts in half an hour! Who's the one who hasn't studied at all? You! Who gave up their lunch break to teach you? Me! And you're staring out the window?"

Vasil, still rubbing his head, replied, "It's raining!"

"Let it rain!"

"It's really heavy!"

"What does that have to do with you?"

"…"

Stefan raised his book threateningly. "Focus on your lesson!"

Vasil shifted back slightly, ready to dodge if Stefan launched another sudden attack. "But I'm worried about our kittens!"

"Tik and Tok? What do they have to do with you studying?"

Those were the names Vasil had given the kittens, which Stefan disapproved of.

Watching Stefan lower his book, Vasil relaxed a bit. "The cardboard box they live in is too flimsy to last. What if they get sick from the cold and die?"

"Don't you think you're overreacting? They're street cats! They won't die that easily!"

"Yeah, but they're street kittens, and they might actually die just like that!"

Stefan glanced out at the heavy rain pouring down and thought for a moment. "It's almost our last class. We can go after school and make them a better shelter. I even have an umbrella, so we won't get soaked."

He turned back to Vasil and saw stars returning to his eyes. "Really? You'll really help me?"

"When I say I'll do something, I do it, idiot!"

Vasil's face lit up. "That's awesome! Tha—"

Stefan raised his book threateningly again, speaking in a scary tone, "Now listen to me!"

Vasil sat up straight, "Y—Yes!"

***

Vasil went up the stairs toward home with a satisfied smile, taking them two at a time. The shelter they'd built for Tik and Tok was even better than he'd expected. Even Stefan, who had stricter standards, seemed satisfied. Now the kittens were safe and warm, since, at the last minute, Vasil had decided to leave his scarf for them.

He took the key from his bag and opened the door. Still thinking about the cats and the rain, a voice startled him, "Where have you been?"

He looked toward the kitchen. The house lights were off, and with the sun almost set, he couldn't see his mother's face clearly, but her tone sent a chill through him.

Her slurred words and tone weren't a good sign.

How many times this month had his mother come home this drunk? This month seemed worse than usual.

Vasil didn't know what to do. Normally, he'd slip quietly to his room in these situations, but now she was talking directly to him, and he feared that if he tried to leave, she'd get more angry.

So he stayed put, standing like a soaked, scared, silent lamb.

Raindrops trickled from his hair and clothes, dripping onto the floor.

He couldn't see his mother, but he heard the slam of a glass on the wooden table. "I asked you a question."

Vasil shivered and stammered, "I… I was with Stefan!"

The sarcasm in her voice made him feel like an insect crawling on his skin. "Oh! So you were out having fun with your little friend!"

He heard the glass lifted and a long gulp. "While I'm stuck working in that dump because of you!"

The rain intensified, its sound echoing as it hit the roof and windows. A flash of lightning revealed his mother's weary, angry face for an instant.

He still didn't think it was wise to leave, but speaking also felt dangerous, so he stayed put, silent, just listening.

He didn't know what to do. The only thing he knew was that he was scared—really scared. He didn't like seeing this side of his mother, but it seemed she was becoming more and more like this every day.

In the darkness, he heard a bottle open and pour its contents into the glass, spilling a little on the table. "Every day I'm forced to deal with drunk, disgusting men in that damned bar, and I don't get anything out of it! I have to spend my life and my income on you! So you can grow up to be one of those lousy men yourself! Just out for a good time!"

She hiccuped. "In the end, all you'll know is how to torment some poor girl with no other choice! A worthless waste of space with no compassion!"

In a small, shaky voice, Vasil tried to defend himself, "I won't become like that…"

Irina snapped, "You're no different already!"

Vasil, who had kept his head down, looked toward where his mother was standing in the dark, "Mom, I'm not—"

Irina screamed, "Don't call me that!"

Softly, he said, "Mom…"

Then, realizing his mistake, he covered his mouth.

Irina stood up and shouted, "Stop it! I'm not your mother!"

The rain seemed to have stopped, as silence fell over the house after her shout.

Irina was a mean drunk. When she drank too much, she became scary, angry, and hopeless. She'd do things she didn't want to and say things she shouldn't, but Vasil knew one thing: she never lied when she was drunk.

That's why, without knowing how or why, he found the courage to ask, in a voice that didn't feel like his own, "What did you say?"

Irina, still leaning on the table to steady herself, turned toward him. Now he could see more of her face—and the loathing in her eyes.

Vasil had always thought her hatred of him stemmed from her hatred of his father, which he'd learned to accept.

But if this were true, if he wasn't Irina's son, did that mean all her hatred was for him alone? Was it just because he simply wasn't "wanted"?

The words tumbled out of Irina's mouth, piercing young Vasil's heart. "I'm not your mother! Why would I have wanted you? I was only 16!"

For a moment, Vasily felt relief. It was easier to accept that Irena didn't want to be his mother than to accept that she wasn't his mother.

Irina ran a hand through her messy hair, pulling it back from her face. "Why would that woman even give birth to you if she didn't want to raise you herself?"

The faint smile of relief on Vasily's lips vanished instantly.

He stared at her for a moment, no longer thinking of himself as her son.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Now he understood why she felt the need to drink. Now he understood why his mother; no, Irina, didn't truly care for him.

He ran to his room and shut the door, ignoring the shouts behind him. Sitting behind the door, he let the tears fall freely.

Now he understood that not only one mother, but two mothers hadn't wanted him. And he was living with the one who wasn't even his real mother.

Somehow, that felt even sadder.

***

An hour had passed since Vasil had watched the sunrise from his bedroom window when he heard the sound of something breaking in the kitchen.

Vasil, who hadn't closed his eyes even once, finally stood up from behind the door.

He rubbed his burning eyes and looked at the clock on his desk. It was nearly time for school.

Vasil liked school. It gave him an excuse to be away from home for eight hours, away from his mother; no, Irina, who wasn't eager to see him either.

It might seem unfair to think this way about someone who had raised him for years, but Vasil had always known that Irina didn't care about him.

The smiles she gave him never reached her eyes, and she could never look at him for long.

He picked up his bag and looked tiredly at his bedroom door. Today, he didn't want to leave his room.

But he also didn't want to stay inside.

So he opened the door and stepped out.

As he approached the kitchen, he saw his mother; no, Irina bending over, picking up pieces of her broken glass from the floor. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up and warned him, "You'd better not come closer, or you might get hurt!"

"Is it true that I'm not your son?"

Irina frowned and opened her mouth to say something like, "What kind of nonsense is that?!" But when she looked at Vasil, her face went pale, and she closed her mouth.

Maybe she remembered something from the night before, or maybe there was something in Vasil's expression that kept her from lying to him.

Vasil dashed out of the house, ignoring his mother's; no, Irina's calls behind him.