Xavier cried and cried. Our father's face showed no emotion as he hit Xavier's hand with a metal ruler. He cried and cried, his hands were bleeding, blood slowly dripping.
The four of us stood frozen in place, unable to do anything. We wanted to help, but we couldn't. Because he said this was for our own good, he called it discipline, while we saw it as abuse.
Our father stopped, then he looked at us. We all straightened up.
"Disobedience is a flaw," he stated. We nodded our heads. For us, his children, we had to be perfect in his eyes; there couldn't be a single flaw, or else we would suffer severe consequences.
We were never given holidays. Our lives were consumed by training, designed by our father to make us stronger and more resilient.
On Mondays, we would travel to our father's private island, where we would undergo intense self-defense training. Our opponents were prisoners, handpicked by our father, who believed that fighting them would toughen us up. He would often call us "weaklings," saying that we needed to be pushed to our limits to become worthy as his children.
Tuesdays were for mental toughness training. Our father would take us at the back of his private island where we would witness his guards punishing or killing someone. This was meant to help us adapt with violence and control our emotions.
Sometimes, our father would even let us join in the punishment or killings, forcing us to confront our emotions and to never feel sympathy for traitors. If we failed, our father would discipline us. He said emotions are a hindrance to success.
Wednesdays were for business planning. Our father would take us to his company, where we would observe operations and learn about marketing, product development, and customer service. We had to pretend to be the guards' children, not our father's, to avoid drawing attention from other people, knowing he had many enemies, they would target us.
From Thursday to Sunday, we would train with a man our father called a "friend." He taught us advanced skills like survival, first aid, and technology. We learned to survive on our own, treat injuries, and hack into systems.
One incident stands out. Our father's friend secretly taught me how to play games at difficult levels, because I begged him to. When our father found out, he was furious. Instead of physical punishment, he decided to teach me a lesson about mental toughness.
He ordered me to do something horrible, a traumatic experience that would haunt me forever. Our father believed this would teach me not to hide things from him and to never have a flaw.
*****
It was the day of our last training on Father's private island. Zarina, Zayden, and I are fraternal triplets, while Xylara and Xavier are fraternal twins. As 16-year-old kids, today marked the end of our training on the island, whereas Xylara and Xavier would have to wait four more years to leave this hellish place.
However, leaving the island only to live in the mansion our father provided for us would be just the same – a hellish experience.
I opened my closet door when I heard someone's voice outside the room. I eavesdropped, hearing Zarina and Zayden's voices.
"Enough, Zayden!" Zarina said, her tone was harsh. "He's our brother, our fraternal triplet. So, stop the negative thoughts!" Then, I heard a loud bang. I jolted, covering my mouth, and continued to eavesdrop. I heard a mocking laugh.
"Zarina, I know that. However, he changed the moment Father ordered him to kill. He became just like Father – emotionless. Not to mention his face; we don't look identical, but we're triplets. He looks like Father more and more each day," Zayden said, almost shouting.
I cast my gaze downward, a bitter look on my face, as I slowly opened the door. My face was expressionless; I had had enough. They looked at me as if they had seen a ghost. Zarina slowly opened her mouth, ready to say something.
As I walked slowly towards them, she extended her hand, but I walked past them, looking, moving, and acting like our father – the man they hated, and whom I loathed the most. I didn't look back, no matter how much Zarina called my name, her voice was gentle and soft, just like when she used to call my name and pat my head in the past.