AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Victor
Threehoursearlier
Every morning I wake up too early, sick to my stomach. I curl into a ball under the covers and scroll through my phone for an undetermined amount of time—celebrity gossip, people fromTheBacheloretteandLove Islandthat I know better than my own family. Then it’s straight to the pool. No piss, no breakfast; I don’t even bother to open my eyes properly until I’ve coasted along the bottom from one end to the other and back without taking a breath. Because the ache in my lungs, pretending I might not choose to surface this time, is the only thing that gets my heart pumping anymore.
But today, I stop dead in the doorway of the dining room I never use. I close my eyes and open them again, hoping it will make everything disappear. It doesn’t. There’s food all over my table—croissants, Danishes, crullers. A pitcher of orange juice. Avaseof yellow flowers.
Whatever employee of my family delivered this shit must have let themselves right in when I didn’t answer. I wish I could nail boards over the door.
I dump one tray in the garbage before the doorbell rings. I wish I lived in a normal neighborhood so that maybe I would see a gang of kids running away, leaving a flaming bag of shit on the step.
Instead, it’s my father. I haven’t seen him in five years and eight months.
We stare at each other. He’s big and square in a big, square suit. My pajama shirt is a baggy tee with a ripped neck that saysSalty Bitchover a picture of that Morton salt umbrella girl. He probably gets a good look at the ass of my neon yellow briefs as I turn around and walk away.
He bangs the front door shut as I strip my clothes and take a running jump into the pool. Hope he enjoys the fucking crullers. Hope he chokes on one.
The man is alive and well when I come back inside with a towel around my waist. He’s buttering a croissant and reading a newspaper he carries around in his suit pocket to remind people he’s a traditional, salt of the earth fellow who couldn’t speak English until he was fifteen but still came to America and made billions.
I sit down at the far end of the table and rest my chin on my arms, watching him, waiting. A clock ticks in the next room. I forgot I had a clock. Time doesn't pass in this house.
“Are you or are you not going to accept my job offer?” I guess he means the one from six years ago for me to become some boot-licking manager in his tech empire. I was a little distracted at the time, what with the doping scandal of the decade and all. He pushes an empty espresso cup at me and I stand up automatically, turning on the dusty machine. I’ve had his obscenely complicated drink order memorized since I was twelve.
All the food is making me hungry. I dig a pack of gum out of the credenza drawer and chew on it as I wait for the coffee to brew. “Absolutely not.”
“You understand that if you never learn to run your family’s company, I won’t pass it down to you. I’d rather leave it to my dog.”
“Mhmm.” Hiking my hip up onto the table, I pick up pastries one at a time and lob them at the trash. I’m no good at any sport besides swimming, so most of them hit the floor in a mess of crumbs and powdered sugar.
“This is your final offer.”
A cinnamon roll bounces off the can so hard it tips over. I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Very well.” Instead of leaving, he reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a folder, setting it on the table. I hold my breath. Nothing good comes out of that case. “I’m buying an Italian dating app.”
“I don’t think Mom uses those. You should have just kept her phone number.”
“You’re going to be the face of their new ad campaign.”
Finally, I look into his watery, slate eyes. “What?”
“You heard me. It’s time for you to bring something to this family.”
“No.” I stand up. I pour his espresso into the flower box by the window, probably killing whatever plant the decorator put there. “No. No, no, no.”
That’s all the power I have, all the power I’ve ever had, to repeat that two-letter word again and again. And just like every other time, no one listens. He taps the folder. “You signed your right of publicity over to me the day I gave you this house.”
It rained that day. I hadn’t eaten or even taken the blanket off my head in six days. I chewed my lips bloody so that I couldn’t cry as the Olympic opening ceremonies played on the TV in my dad’s penthouse flat. I was disgusting.
“We’re going to put this aside,” he said. “All of it.” He handed me the key to a safe place and told me I never had to come out again. But first he slid some documents across the coffee table, offering me a pen as I sat up, shivering. “These will allow me to manage your affairs, so you don’t have to worry about anything else.”
I thought I’d be dead in a month anyway, so it didn’t matter what they said.
“What can you do,” I ask, very slowly, my voice hoarse, “if I refuse?”
“You know the answer to that, son.”
I do. He owns my pathetic life, all the wretched secrets, and there’s nowhere safe in this world but the cage he built me.
“We’re having a press conference later this week to announce the sale and launch the campaign. Gray will help you prepare. Don’t worry about the rest of the details. You wouldn’t understand them anyway.”
I don’t have any pride left. I’d fall on my knees in front of him, if I thought it would change his mind. I’d beg. I’d lick the bottom of his shoes. Some people like to see me do that.
My breath starts hitching uncontrollably, so I slide off the table and leave the room. I set the downstairs shower as hot as it will go and try to warm up my insides as I scrub chlorine out of my hair.
Every inch of my skin knows the feeling of being watched. I turn around in time to see the splash outside. Still toying with my tasteless gum, I switch off the water and walk naked out of the bathroom, down the hall, and onto the deck.
The piece of trash has thick, dark hair and dirty clothes and a broad, blue-collar body. He’s sitting at the bottom, not moving, staring at nothing. Stretching my leg out, I hook his hat off the surface with my toes and examine it.Emerald Landscaping. I look around the garden, seeing for the first time all the plants I don’t recognize and didn’t choose. Anything that isn’t between me and the lake has never captured my attention. I wonder who hires these people.
The thought of having to shower again makes me tired, but I like to keep a tidy pool. Protecting my junk with one hand, I step off the edge and drop straight down into the beautiful rushing sound of water wrapping around my head.
