Cassian's blood cooled in his veins, and sweat trickled down his brow. The rugged man before him was old, bearded, and smelled of vodka. To most, fathers inspired nostalgia and love. To Cassian, his father's face only awakened true, primal, fear.

He froze where he stood. Watching his father's every movement like a scared, wet dog. His father scanned the terrace, his eyes landing first on Apple, grimacing slightly, before continuing on to Cassian. He frowned harder. Cassian quickly turned to the floor.

"Boy." His father didn't yell. Didn't need to. His voice carried and thundered into the dark sky like that of a god. Viktor Butler was a bear incarnate. 

Cassian knew he should move, should go to his father like the well trained dog he was. But he couldn't even bring himself to lift his gaze to meet him. Jesus christ. He hadn't seen his father in years, not since middle school, not since the incident. What was he doing here? Cassian's mother had told him that his father was still at St. Peters with his mistress.

The bear swore in Russian, slamming his fist onto the wall. 

That was all the encouragement Cassian needed. He hurried to his father's side, and without looking back, let the bear lead him out the terrace by the shoulder.

Apple, in her corner, watched their exchange in silence. She wasn't surprised. Wasn't even pleased. Apple was just afraid. Watching Butler be led out on his leach only reminded her of what was to be her fate tonight. 

She stood in the cold for a while, breath stuttering in the silence, before a smack echoed into the night. 

"Fucking get it together Apple," 

she whispered into the night, cradling a swollen cheek with one hand, and shaking the burn off the other.

"Move your damn feet."

She slowly made her way around the pool, inching to the light of the door that looked like it would burn. Black shimmered from the corner of her eye. Butler's flip phone lay sprawled in the damp. Apple rolled her eyes. Not her problem.

The foyer had well cleared out. The lights were still on, but even the staff had deserted. The only sounds that could be heard were the late night activities upstairs. That was probably where Butler had been taken.

Apple headed for the 5th floor. Her heart sinking with every increase of the elevator's level monitor. She paced her breathes. Rehearsed her lines.

'The other kids were just playing a prank.'

Floor 3.

'No, no one saw me wet, don't worry.'

The walls darkly grumbled. The resort was an old building, with more then one ancient thing needing repair.

'No, Butler was not there, you know all those girls are liars.'

Floor 5. 

'I'm sorry.'

The elevator doors took their time screaming open.

'I'm really sorry, it won't happen again.'

God those doors were loud.

Across the elevator threshold, feather turquoise slippers and a lapis blue robes stood cross, and red vexed.

"I'm really sorry Ma-"

Apple didn't even get a chance to utter one rehearsed line before she was snatched by the ear.

"Just wait until your Papa hears about this!" 

her mother's venom screeched into the hall, dragging Apple along at half her height.

"Stupid ungrateful thing!"

Her mother always spoke in perfect english when it came to this. Apple just followed along silently. She could have simpered on the pain, but part of her had long given up on fighting back.

"Alfonso!" her mother screamed into the apartment, tossing Apple onto the floor and blowing up in italian. All the world was her mother's enemy at times like these, and she even began yelling and crying at the sullen dark man on the desk chair, who just before they'd entered, had been peacefully minding his business.

Apple cradled her ear on the floor, curling her legs into herself. Her body may have been on that cold tiled floor, but her mind was far away. She stared hollowly at the wooden legs of the bed. Unblinking. Waiting. 

Just waiting.

Her mother exclaimed a final and particularly loud word, threw her hands up in the air, and ran into the other room in a fit of tears. 

Apple stayed on the ground. There was a long pause.

"Mia figlia."

Apple's whole body shook. She closed her eyes. No. God no.

A series of Italian curses later, she was dragged by the wrist.

"No," her voice finally left her tongue, and to her horror, it sounded so desperate, so fragile, so sad.

"NO." she was now screaming as he forced her palm onto a table. Her eyes opened to the birch stick in his hand.

"No," she cried, eyes pleading into her father's. The man didn't look at her. He was an older man now. Barely taller then her. Barely stronger then her. And yet.

"You have been bad figlia," he boomed into the room, raising his birch with splendor, "You are ruining my marriage with you're mamma."

Apple looked at the sunken eyes of her oldest enemy. Those sunken eyes that would never see reason again, that may have never seen reason all their life. 

She closed her eyes. Like a deer who knew she would be eaten by the Wolf. And then,

snap.