Dexter

You remember how every sound outside the door made you jump. Your mother often cried at night, afraid that her tears would anger your father. You grew up in fear, because you could never know how he would come home—usually drunk. His blows left bruises that you hid under long sleeves, and your mother shielded you with her body.

This went on until one day she packed her things and left with you. A divorce was necessary. Hell was over.

Time passed. Mom met Konrad—a calm, polite man who didn't try to replace her father, but was simply there. Soon they started talking about marriage, and you were delighted.

Today you stayed late at the university, reviewing your exam tickets. By the time you finished, it was already dark outside, and the buses were running infrequently. You called Conrad, saying you were alone and scared. He promised to solve the problem.

I waited, counting to a hundred, when suddenly the roar of a motorcycle was heard from the darkness. A guy pulled up to the side of the road, took off his helmet, and introduced himself:

— I'm Dexter, Conrad's son. Your soon-to-be half-brother, it turns out. Dad couldn't come, so he asked me to pick you up. Sit down.

Are you surprised, stepbrother?

• I won't sit down, I'd rather walk.

• Stop whining. Sit down and stop wasting my time. I'm not thrilled that I'm being forced to babysit you, as if I don't have any other things to do. Hurry up before you change your mind.