Unstable Personality

Nikolai

A slap harshly collided on my face.

“All you fucking had to do was train harder and fucking win the game. It was the fucking last game of the season, Nikolai, and you just had to fuck it up with your anger issue!” Anger cracked through my father’s features, and though I was the one who got hit, my expression remained deadpanned, and I was immune to whatever backlash he was giving.

“Why can’t you just be like other kids? Why? Why do you always have to allow your emotions to control? You aren’t fucker a six grader, who goes around punching peoples faces!”

I just stood there, hands behind me, and head down.

My father sighed, turning around, as he paced around the room, “Do you know how much I had to pay to compensate the boy’s family which you almost beat to death?”

Silence, because I fucking refuse to speak.

“Fucking answer me, Nikolai!” This time it was a punch, and I was forced to groan out of pain, stumbling backwards.

“What the fuck is fucking wrong with you!” He punched me again, and this time I successfully fell to the ground.

The marble floor was cold against my cheek. I tasted blood.

He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and yanked me up like I weighed nothing. “You think you’re strong? You think you’re a man because you can throw a punch?” His fingers tightened. “Strength without control is useless. You embarrassed me.”

There it was.

Not the boy.

Not the game.

Him.

I lifted my eyes slowly to meet his. That was my first mistake.

Another hit. Harder. My head snapped to the side.

“You don’t look at me like that,” he hissed. “You don’t ever look at me like you’re not sorry.”

Sorry.

I wasn’t.

The boy had it coming. He kept talking. Kept laughing. Kept saying things about me, about how I only made the team because of my father.

I proved him wrong.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was I lost control. I lost the game. I made a scene.

Perfection doesn’t lose control.

My father shoved me away, and I hit the cabinet behind me. Something cracked. Maybe the wood. Maybe my ribs.

“You’re going to wake up at five tomorrow,” he said, straightening his sleeves like this was just another business deal. “Extra drills before school. You’ll train until you can’t feel your arms. You’ll learn discipline.”

I pushed myself up slowly, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Yes, sir.”

My voice was flat. Empty.

He stared at me for a long moment, like he was trying to find something in my face. Regret. Fear. Anything.

He found nothing.

Disgust twisted his features. “Get out of my sight.”

I walked to the door without limping. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

The moment I closed it behind me, I leaned against the wall. My body throbbed, but it was distant. Physical pain was simple. Predictable.

It was quieter than the noise in my head. And the fucking voices which won’t just fucking stop. It was the people strapped with black plastic bags against their heads.

Another wave of pain shot through my head, and I was forced to groan again, rolling my eyes, as I held my head, unable to stop the throbbing pain, and the fucked up voices telling me to do things. Things society would frown upon.

I wiped the blood from my lips. Walking through the main halls, I paused for a moment, finding my older brother there, speaking with some dude who I am damn sure is covered up with tattoos down to his ass.

I gritted my teeth.

Liam. Father’s golden child. The one who I should look up to. He fucking wants me to be a carbon copy of Liam.

I was the kid with daddy issues, and he was the kid who handles father’s business.

But you know what? Fuck him and fuck Liam.

Am fucking Nikolai Carrington.

Not staring longer, I walked past them.

“You should get that face of yours treated.” I heard Liam’s comment.

Liam’s voice was calm. Casual. Like he was commenting on the weather.

I halted.

Slowly, I turned my head. He stood there in a tailored suit, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed. Perfect. Always fucking perfect. Not a bruise on him. Not a single flaw.

The guy beside him, tattoos crawling up his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt, watched me with open curiosity. Like I was some stray dog that wandered into the wrong house.

“I’m fine,” I said flatly.

Liam’s eyes scanned my split lip, the faint swelling forming along my jaw. He knew. Of course he knew. The walls in this house weren’t thick enough to hide anything.

“You’re bleeding on the marble,” he added.

I looked down. A drop of red stained the white floor.

“Then tell the maids to clean it,” I replied.

The tattooed guy let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Liam didn’t react. He just tilted his head slightly. “You lost the game.”

No shit.

“You also nearly killed someone.”

I stepped closer. Not enough to look threatening. Just enough to close the space. “He’s alive.”

“For now.” Liam raised an eyebrow.

My jaw tightened. The throbbing in my skull pulsed harder. The whispers crept back in, low and distorted.

Do it again.

Finish it next time.

The damn voices.

I clenched my fists until my knuckles went white.

Liam noticed. He always notices.

“That temper,” he murmured. “It’s going to get you buried one day.”

“At least I feel something,” I shot back before I could stop myself.

A pause.

The tattooed guy shifted awkwardly, clearly realizing this wasn’t just brotherly banter.

Liam’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened. “You think I don’t?”

I gave a humorless laugh. “You? You’re exactly what he wants. Calm. Obedient. A fucking robot.” Something I will never become.

“And you’re exactly what he despises.”

That hit harder than the punch earlier.

Silence stretched between us. Thick. Suffocating.

Liam stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “You think he’s hard on you because he hates you?”

I didn’t answer.

“He’s hard on you because you’re unstable.” His gaze flicked briefly to my temple, like he could see inside my head. “And unstable men in this family don’t survive.”

The words settled heavy in my chest.

For a second—just a second—I wondered if that was a warning.

Or a threat.

I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth. “Worried about me, big brother?”

Liam’s lips curved slightly. Not a smile. Something colder. “I’m worried about the mess you’ll create and I will have to clean up.”

Of course. Not me. The mess.

The voices laughed, low and pleased.

I stepped back, rolling my shoulders despite the pain in my ribs. “Relax. I’ll learn discipline, right?” I rolled my tongue. “Pumping drugs into me like some damn lab rat experiment? Therapy? More drugs?”

“You’re unstable, Nikolai. You’re him, and he doesn’t want another version of himself. That’s why he wants to control you, so you don’t become like him, and the more you try resisting, the more he will bend you up.”

“Well fuck him.” I sniggered, and I turned around, already walking away—

“Nikolai.” Liam called.

I rolled my eyes.

His footsteps reached my hearing, and how he stood beside me.

“I have a job for you, and if you can pull it off, I will have him off your business for two months.”

I scoffed. “Is this another mind game of yours? Fuck me out of it Liam, am not interested.” I was about to take another step, when he sounded.

“I’m serious. Imagine two months of freedom?”

Two months, and you’re free.

Kill more people.

Without Father’s fists.

Without being watched like I was some ticking device waiting to explode.

Then the whisper slid back in.

Two months, and you’re free.

Do whatever you want.

I stilled.

“What’s the job?” I asked again, slower this time.

Liam didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at the tattooed guy. “Give us a minute.”

The guy nodded and walked off without argument.

Now it was just us.

Liam stepped closer, lowering his voice. “There’s a hit out on me.”

I blinked once.

Then I laughed. “What?”

“At a club tonight night,” he continued calmly. “Private event. Someone paid for information on my movements. The timing is too precise to ignore.”

The air shifted.

“You think someone’s going to try to kill you,” I said flatly.

“I know they are.”

Silence stretched between us.

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because you’re going to be me.”

I stared at him. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“No.” His eyes locked onto mine. “You’re my height. From a distance, we pass. Same build. Same profile if you keep your head slightly angled.” He reached out, tilting my chin a fraction. “Especially in low lighting.”

“You want me to be bait.”

“I want you to pretend to be me,” Liam corrected. “You’ll wear one of my suits. Security will think you’re me. Whoever placed the hit will make a move. We follow it back.”

The voices flared up instantly.

Yes.

Danger.

Blood.

I swallowed. “And where will you be?”

“Watching.”

Of course he would be.

“If they shoot?” I asked.

“Pray they don’t then.” He deadpanned.

————

Seated in the club, surround with some pussies, and music which blasted through…

I already found the amateur they sent. I chuckled because the guy was fidgeting like fuck, as he kept twitching up his glasses, trying hard to blend in.

He failed miserably at it.

The music was loud. Bass heavy. Flashing lights cutting through the dark.

I leaned back on the VIP couch, one arm thrown over the leather, a drink in my hand I hadn’t touched.

Girls pressed close. Laughing. Talking. One had her hand on my chest.

I didn’t hear a word they said.

My eyes were on him.

The kid at the bar.

Baggy jeans. Black hoodie. Cracked glasses he kept pushing up every thirty seconds like they were about to fall off his face.

He was sweating.

Yeah, classified amateur.

Liam would definitely kill this kid. They sent a kid? Now that’s quite disrespectful.

The next few minutes, he finally made his move, when I stood up, bumping into me, and from my peripheral vision, he tipped the substance into my drink.

I chucked, cute.

I watched him, exit through my gaze, into another direction, where he bumped into someone head just to make the perfect diversion.

And thought Liam warned me to stay in track with the plan, of course there no fucking way am listening to him.

I followed the kid into the bathroom, and yeah, I shouldn’t have done that.

Because the fucking son of a bitch, injected something into my system.

I could feel him. That kid. The amateur. The fool who thought he could touch me and not die.

The world tilted.

I swayed, black dots filled my vision before I lost consciousness……

Mother fucker, run, because I will fucking kill you.