Dark Heart, Gentle Hands Chapter 1: Man up!

Enzo’s POV

I woke to the soft rustling of the wind brushing through the trees outside my window, mingling with faint voices. My room was steeped in darkness, the faint glow of the moon filtering through the thin curtains and pooling on the floor. The air felt cool against my skin, prickling with the kind of eerie stillness that made my chest feel tight.

Rubbing my face, I dragged myself to the window. The coldness of the floorboards seeped into my feet with each step, grounding in the quiet of the night. Pressing my forehead to the icy glass, I peered outside. My dad stood in the yard, his figure frad by the stark silver light of the moon. A small group of n surrounded him, their voices low but urgent, rising in occasional bursts of laughter that felt too sharp to be real.

I let my breath fog up the glass, my fingers idly tracing the condensation. Were they happy? Was he? It was hard to tell these days. Since Mom died, there was no warmth left in him—no easy smiles, no gentle reassurances. The man I once trusted with everything was gone, replaced by soone cold, distant, and brimming with anger.

And ? I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I was just... surviving. Carefully stepping around his expectations, holding my secrets like fragile glass. The thought of him finding out I was gay sent a chill deeper than the night air ever could.

The n finally left, their boots crunching against the gravel as they disappeared into the woods. My dad stayed behind, lingering in the moonlight with his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The faint tallic glint of the gun caught my eye, and a lump ford in my throat. He stood there for a mont longer, staring into the distance, before turning and heading toward the house.

The front door slamd shut, and the sound seed to echo through every corner of our creaky old ho. My stomach twisted as heavy, deliberate footsteps climbed the stairs. The door to my room burst open with a force that made flinch, the knob smacking against the wall.

"Why are you still up, Enzo?" My dad’s deep voice filled the room, rough and unyielding.

"I couldn’t sleep," I murmured, barely eting his gaze.

He stepped inside, the scent of tobacco and sweat clinging to his clothes. His boots thudded against the floor as he crossed the room, each step carrying an edge of finality. His figure lood larger than life in the dim light, his face carved with shadows. He studied in silence, his dark eyes narrowing.

Finally, he sat on the edge of my bed, his elbows resting on his knees. He clasped his hands together tightly, the veins on the back of his hands standing out. For a mont, I thought he might say sothing kind, sothing soft—sothing like the father I used to know.

"It’s ti," he said at last, his voice low and firm. "Ti for you to start coming with to hunt. You’re old enough now. You need to man up."

The words hit like a slap, though his tone was calm. My chest tightened, and I struggled to steady my breathing. Before I could respond, he stood abruptly and closed the distance between us. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of my nightshirt. The fabric bunched painfully against my skin as he hauled to my feet.

"I don’t want to be a hunter, Dad!" I shouted, my voice cracking. My heart pounded against my ribs as I wrenched myself free, stumbling back until the wall pressed cold and unforgiving against my spine. "I’m not going to school just to waste my life running around the woods with a gun. I want to be a nurse!"

The air between us grew still, heavy with unspoken anger. His lips curled into a sneer, his jaw tightening as if to hold back a torrent of words.

"A nurse?" he spat, the word dripping with disgust. "No son of mine is going to be a nurse. That’s a job for the weak. You’re a man, so act like one. Pick up a gun and follow . You’ll see the world the way I do."

"I don’t want to see the world the way you do!" I snapped back, my voice trembling as heat surged up my face. My fists clenched at my sides as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. "You can keep running around in the forest, shooting things, but I won’t! I don’t want to stay in this godforsaken town, and I don’t want to be like you!"

The words spilled out before I could stop them, raw and jagged. His face darkened, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"n don’t cry, Enzo," he barked, his voice rising. "How many tis do I have to tell you that? Clean yourself up. Your mother spoiled you too much, and this—" he gestured sharply at , his voice laced with scorn—"this is why you’re weak!"

Each word cut deep, like tiny shards of glass lodging in my chest. I wanted to scream, to shout that crying didn’t make weak, that I was human and I had every right to feel. But the weight of his anger pressed down on , and the words dissolved on my tongue.

So I did what I always did. I wiped the tears from my face, my hands trembling as I tried to compose myself. My throat burned, my chest ached, but I swallowed it all down.

Silence hung heavy in the room as he turned and left, his footsteps retreating down the hall. I slumped against the wall, the tension in my body giving way to exhaustion.

I stared at the darkened doorway for what felt like hours, the faint echo of his words reverberating in my mind.

I wanted to believe I could stand up to him soday. But tonight wasn’t that night.