I won't always be there for you.

@nifty-nikki
 
Wednesday, February 15th, 2012- While Igor and Mari are away on their honeymoon, the next couple days will be filled with business. We have a lot of work to do in order to get back on top of the food chain.
 
I was woken by a voice calling my name; it took a moment for me to acknowledge that it was my uncle's. I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes and wondering how long my nap had been. I could tell by the tone of my uncle's voice that he was growing impatient; I stood and walked downstairs, searching for the room that my uncle sat in. I found him in his 'office' where he dealt with other business-men, I had never stepped foot in the room and it felt odd when I had the privledge. He pointed to the leather chair across from him; gesturing for me to sit, I did so and kept silent.
 
"Viktoriya, do you know when my youngest sister married?" he asked, his voice deep and it seemed odd that he still had an accent. I tried not to allow my expression to change; I was confused with the out-of-the-blue quesiton.
 
"20?" I asked; I clearly knew that was too old for a woman to be married off, I enjoyed tweaking with people's nerves though.
 
"You're good at math, correct?" he asked, hinting sarcasm.
 
"I graduated high school with flying colours, does that answer your question" I replied sarcastically, a large smiled plastered on my face.
 
He frowned but what else did he expect from me, his frown began to form into a small smile, "She was 17 and even at that age it was too late".
 
I nodded slowly, "Why are you telling me this?"
 
"How old are you?" he asked slowly, narrowing his eyes slightly; it took my brain a moment to comprehend and guess where this was leading.
 
"19" I answered, avoiding eye contact; my fists clenched underneath the table. I would always jump to conclusions and my short-temper did not help.
 
"You know what I'm going to say"
 
"And the idea can f.ck itself" I cussed, finally looking him in the eye. His expression was neutral, my temper no longer surprises him.
 
"You don't have a choice" he shrugged, standing from his chair, not looking away from me. I stood also, he was a tall man with broad shoulders, I was almost his height, which was impressive.
 
"You've met Ivan Pirvonov, correct?"
 
I nodded as I glared at him; there was a point in my life where I loved him, he meant the world to me, my views had changed.
 
"He's lovely husband material, perfect for you"
 
"How do you know what's good for me?!" I yelled, my blood was boiling over; thoughts were jumbling around in my head. It wasn't long until tears were trickling down my face, a stupid and weak way of showing emotion.
 
"I know what's good for you, this is good for you" he said, he continued to show no emotion; he was used to my outbursts and 'tantrums'. This was normal for him.
 
I ran out of the room immediately; I slammed the bedroom door behind me as I searched for my backpack. It was one of my weakest actions yet but it seemed like the only 'good' solution. I shoved clothes into my backpack; a couple pairs of pants, dresses, shirts and a shorts. I was careful that it wasn't heavy. I smiled through tears at the bright red wig that I shared memories with.
 
It had been a while since I had jumped down a tree and ran like my life depended on it; athletics days at school were my advantage to this escape.