Vengeance

CHAPTER 4

Mikhail had been staying at Anatoly's house for two days, and it felt more like an artificial luxurious suite than a lived-in space.

Everything about it screamed perfection, but it felt eerily sterile. The entire space was white-themed. The walls were a crisp white. The marble floors gleamed with a cold, pristine sheen, and even the bed. It had perfectly arranged white sheets, too flawless to be real. The white blankets were laid so meticulously that it almost blinded him when the light hit them just right.

Anatoly's home was immaculate, so much so that Mikhail felt like he was walking on eggshells, constantly anxious about staining even a single corner. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and disorder he’d grown accustomed to, a sharp reminder of the differences between himself and his twin.

In the two days Mikhail had spent there, the housekeeper had come four times to clean. He was confident that she was being paid a hefty amount to clean an already pristine home. His eyes had begun to squint from the utter perfection of it all, the endless gleaming surfaces, the flawless corners, the absence of even the slightest imperfection. It was complete madness, almost unsettling.

Anatoly's wardrobe was an organizational masterpiece. It was almost unbelievable how he managed to maintain a perfect inch of space between each hanger, with every item of clothing crisply ironed and without a single crease line. His brother's desk was no different. It was spotless. The only thing atop it was a laptop, the rest of the surface entirely clear. Notebooks, pens, and stationery were neatly stacked away in the drawers. Mikhail slid his finger beneath the furniture's borders and discovered nothing. No dust or smudges.

There was barely any personal touch in his brother's house, except for a couple of photos of their mother and Anatoly hanging on the walls in the living room. It was quite disheartening to see no trace of their father, and him displayed in his brother's home.

When he went to the kitchen to make edible sandwiches that actually suited his taste buds after having awful food that his twin preferred, his mother quickly appeared beside him in mere seconds, pushing him out of the cooking area.

Apparently, Anatoly Petrov doesn't know how to cook.

What kind of life did their mother make his twin lead? This is complete madness. Anatoly is fully dependent on their mother.

Mikhail knew that if this continued any longer, he would go insane. It was about time he started pretending to recollect a bit of his brother's memories or maybe theirs. He cannot pretend to stay unforgetful for so long that he deviates from his mission. Moreover, his patience was wearing off. He was in desperate need of answers, along with getting some part of his former life back. He wanted to know why his mother was such a hypocrite, which played a pivotal role in shaping him into the man he is today.

To his great fortune, he was rewarded with a perfect moment. His mother was showing him photographs of Anatoly's childhood, speaking fondly of his milestones. However, none of the photos had him in it.

Not one.

It had pained him to see the lengths their mother went to eliminate him from their lives. Worst of all, he had no idea why he was being punished.

In the album, his mother chronicled every single aspect of Anatoly's existence, but he was nowhere to be seen. Didn't she miss him ever? Did she even think about him all these years? It was highly doubtful because while showing him the pictures of his biological father, she told him how much he loved his son. But there was no mention of him. Didn't he deserve to have a small existence of himself in their family life? He was, after all, her biological son.

Apparently, his mother does not possess the same feelings because she tactfully refuses to even slip up the fact that she has two sons. To anyone else, it would appear she was only the mother of one son—Anatoly Petrov.

Fucking Anatoly.

Nevertheless, Mikhail is a smart guy who isn't the type to back down. He refused to give up, especially when he had finally found his mother. It was time to call it quits and demand the truth from her. Enough was enough, and he was done playing merry-go-round with her. He couldn't take much more of her nonsense.

As Anastasia showed him the childhood photo of Anatoly reading a picture book, Mikhail noticed his tiny hand in the frame, which confirmed he had been there too. He seized the opportunity and pressed his mother for answers.

"Who is this, Mother?" He asked in an attempted innocent voice. It was hard to keep his voice calm and composed.

"Whom?" Anastasia's fingers trembled slightly as she held the photo, her gaze flicking nervously from the picture to him, then back again.

"This person. I can see a hand in the image." Mikhail's finger hovered over the image, pointing squarely at the hand that was unmistakably his. He watched his mother’s face change, panic flickering across her features. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

"I... I—" she stammered, struggling to find something to say. Her eyes darted to the photo and back to Mikhail, then quickly away, as if the truth itself was too heavy to bear.

That's precisely what he was looking for.

She did, however, quickly regain her composure. "Perhaps one of your playdates,"

He wanted to chuckle at his mother's feeble attempt. But definitely a single, if not half, point for trying.

"I've been dreaming about another person who looks exactly like me. I was about five years old, and we were playing together. You were there as well, with the two of us, running, and you came and caught us in your arms."

He shared one of his most treasured childhood memories, one he couldn’t erase, no matter how many times he tried to forget it.

For a flick of a second, an unexplained expression flashed across her face. Mikhail didn't want her to disguise the truth, so he pressed on, "It didn't feel like a dream, though. Sometimes, I feel something is missing. Like, there is someone out there waiting for me. I often see images of someone like me beside me that do not make any sense. And with every nap I take, these images become more frequent."

Anastasia let out a deep sigh, clearly struggling with her thoughts. She wanted to make an excuse, creating an imaginary mirror, but she couldn't bring herself to lie.

"Because you do have a twin brother, ten minutes older than you. His name was Mikhail. I didn't want to tell you earlier, but the fact that you are having those dreams… It's a good sign. It means your memory is starting to come back, and that's far more important."

"My twin? Where is he? What happened to him?" He flooded her with questions, coming straight to the point. He tried not to sound bitter about what his mother had just implied. Anatoly's memories are more important than Mikhail's non-existence.

"He died in an unfathomable accident," Anastasia replied, her voice flat and unwavering. If there is any switch in her son's personality because of amnesia, she cannot risk him trying to find her elder son.

Mikhail's uncontrollable rage was on the verge of erupting. He was well aware of the fact that she was lying through her teeth and didn't feel guilty about it. He was sitting right beside her, alive and breathing, yet she conveniently declared him dead to his brother.

"How?" He asked, trying to keep his temper in check and not to burst at his mother. He is going to dig and dig until she gives up. He was curious to the extent his mother had prepared all her lies.

"Anatoly, it occurred a long time ago. You were both seven when it happened. It is still painful to remember how we lost him, shortly after your father's death." She stated, clearly implying from her voice that she did not have any desire to reminisce that day.

"Is it really?" There was an edge in his voice.

"Is what?"

"Is Mikhail really dead?"

"Yes, he is for us." She spoke in a forceful tone.

"Do you still think about him?"

Anastasia was getting miffed. Why is her son suddenly so keen to learn about his brother? All these years, not once did they have a conversation about him. It was as good as if Mikhail did not exist, but now Anatoly wouldn't stop asking. "Of course, I do. Your elder twin, Mikhail… I loved him with all my heart. But some things are better left unsaid. He is gone, and we should not pain ourselves by constantly remembering him."

Mikhail was baffled. How could any mother think this way about her own child? How could she declare her living child dead?

"Pain yourself with him really being dead, or the guilt of claiming your alive child to be dead?" Mikhail had had enough of accepting her catered lies.

His mother's eyes, however, widened at his words. "What do you mean? Why would I lie about something like this?"

"Why don't you tell me, mother? Why the hell did you even bring me into the world if you didn’t want me in the first place?" Mikhail demanded, standing up abruptly. He could no longer beat sitting beside her.

"Excuse me? What kind of question is that?" Anastasia was confused by the sudden change in her son’s behavior. Anatoly didn’t have a single angry bone in his body, and he worshipped the ground she walked on.

"The question that no son should ever have to ask his own mother. Why the hell did you leave me at the orphanage?"

Anastasia froze, her eyes widening in shock. She struggled to comprehend the sudden switch in her son's personality and questions about her elder son. She couldn’t form words. It was hard to digest the words she had just listened to.

Mikhail, however, didn’t give her a chance to respond. He didn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. He couldn't bear the silence, couldn't stomach her feigned ignorance. All his patience had been drained, and this moment felt like his last resort.

“I waited for you. For days, weeks, months, years—I waited for you. I stood by the orphanage's gate, even when it rained, expecting you would come. I waited when I was burning with a high fever. I was waiting for you to come and get me and take me home with you every single day. But you never came. I looked for you and prayed that God would give me my mother back, but you never once turned your head towards me. Instead, you showed me your back like I was some dirt you couldn’t wait to get rid of. And now you have even managed to completely remove me from your life. If I were such a nuisance, then did you even have me in the first place?”

Anastasia was dumbfounded as she stood up in shock. The man standing in front of her was not Anatoly but her other son, Mikhail Rustova.