Isak considered the Colonel's question for a few moments, wondering how much he wanted to reveal. It had nothing to do with Ives himself, but rather Isak's own inability to discuss certain things with those he did not know painfully well. Even then, he was very discerning. Still, it wasn't as though Ives was going to judge him for anything; he knew that by now. He went and grabbed his whiskey glass, poured himself another, and sat at the table across from Ives. He fiddled with the glass while he spoke.
"I -- I am not comfortable going into a lot of detail, but -- I will say that it is because of my father. He is not and has not been a very -- good person." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "When I was quite young, he was all right enough, though he was not home very often. He is the CEO of the largest bank in Sweden, and so work took priority over his family." The exact opposite of the culture of the country. "But then as I grew older, he became more and more angry. Mean. Little things would set him off. He enjoyed throwing things to -- I guess alleviate some of his anger or stress. His favorite were crystal glasses. Walls had to be patched and repainted many times from where he'd throw things or punch them. One time, in the dining room, he threw a glass against the wall while I was standing nearby. Shrapnel shot out and hit me all over my body." He pointed to the scar on his cheekbone and pulled his collar away to reveal the one along his collarbone. "All I remember is the pain and the blood. There was so much of it, from what I can remember. I remember crying, trying to pick the pieces out of the cuts." His face is flushed a shade of pink now as he remembers. "He did not apologize. He simply walked out of the room. My barnskötare heard me crying and brought me to the hospital so I could receive stitches." He took a long, deep sip of the whiskey and set the glass back down. He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat. "There were other incidents. But -- that is why. I had learn to learn how to survive that. How to survive him."
no subject
"I -- I am not comfortable going into a lot of detail, but -- I will say that it is because of my father. He is not and has not been a very -- good person." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "When I was quite young, he was all right enough, though he was not home very often. He is the CEO of the largest bank in Sweden, and so work took priority over his family." The exact opposite of the culture of the country. "But then as I grew older, he became more and more angry. Mean. Little things would set him off. He enjoyed throwing things to -- I guess alleviate some of his anger or stress. His favorite were crystal glasses. Walls had to be patched and repainted many times from where he'd throw things or punch them. One time, in the dining room, he threw a glass against the wall while I was standing nearby. Shrapnel shot out and hit me all over my body." He pointed to the scar on his cheekbone and pulled his collar away to reveal the one along his collarbone. "All I remember is the pain and the blood. There was so much of it, from what I can remember. I remember crying, trying to pick the pieces out of the cuts." His face is flushed a shade of pink now as he remembers. "He did not apologize. He simply walked out of the room. My barnskötare heard me crying and brought me to the hospital so I could receive stitches." He took a long, deep sip of the whiskey and set the glass back down. He cleared his throat and shifted in the seat. "There were other incidents. But -- that is why. I had learn to learn how to survive that. How to survive him."