And I Begin

Mother instantly fell silent, and father's face twisted in a grimace of disgust. I realized I had said something wrong, but I didn't see a problem with it.   Dishes flew from the table; the servants, like marble statues, froze in confusion. Father was clearly not himself.   "Geta," he began, and by his voice, I knew this conversation wouldn't bode well, "you can't do this."   "Why?" I asked, surprised.   "If you want more slaves, just say so. But your… relationship…" he clearly searched for words, holding back his anger, "has no right to exist."   "But I haven't done anything wrong," I timidly retorted. "Isn't it my business?"   Father jumped up from his chair and walked towards me. Mother was still silent. She never interfered, never took my or my brother's side. Before I could react, father grabbed me by the throat, and I went limp in his hands like a rag doll. The forces were unequal, and, honestly, I was afraid to fight him.   "Your business is to listen to me. And if I said it's impossible, then it is," he growled, looking into my eyes. I looked at my mother, hoping she would stand up for me, even though deep down I knew she wouldn't contradict father, even if he pierced me with a sword in a fit of rage.   I croaked something in response. As long as father was in charge, Caracalla and I could only obey.   "You're so foolish, Geta. And this is the future emperor," he hissed, releasing his grip on my throat. "You disgrace the entire empire, our entire family… I swear, if I ever find out…" he clenched his fists. I noticed his veins bulging and his face reddening with anger.   "I understand everything, father," I whispered, adjusting my toga. I had no choice.   "We're counting on you, son. Forget about Caracalla – he's of little use, but you mustn't lose your mind. Caesar is an example for all citizens of Rome, a model of morality and justice…" father started reciting his favorite sermons again, returning to his seat. I didn't want to listen to them again; I had been listening to them all my life.   "I won't let you down," I inserted the phrase he always expected to hear after his moralizing.   "He's a good boy, Septimius. He just needs time," mother added calmly, as if nothing had happened. Such encouragement didn't make me feel any better, and father completely ignored her remark.   He looked around and seemed to have already forgotten about my presence.   "Why are you standing there? Get out of here," he ordered the servants, pointing to the mess in the hall. "Is there anyone in this house who won't disappoint me?"   I felt betrayed and broken. But it became clear to me that I would have to keep my brightest feelings secret.   At that moment, feeling his hand on my neck, I thought for the first time that I was now looking forward to my father's death.