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Popping the remaining buttons on my black Gucci suit I watch as my mother wades over to the table, she hastily fills my father's glass before pinning a dirty look at me and the very empty glass dangling from my fingers. I give her a look as if to say really, are we playing this game tonight? But she must not be in the mood, that or the very tacky handprint my father left on her ass must have distracted her for she fills my glass up to the top and doesn't even bother to glance my way. I take a long swig nearly draining the glass and thank god as a buzz begins to spread in the back of my head.
It is no secret I hate it here. The Black Mansion. I grunt to cover my laugh. The name itself doesn't do the crusty place enough justice. It was more like a black box. Well if that black box had been burned to ashes and reconstructed with nothing but some flimsy craft glue and tacky marital prenups.
But that was our little arrangement. They knew I hated it here. And yet thanks to a little light blackmailing I was theirs promptly and of free will (their words not mine) every Thursday night at five o’clock. So I let them pretend they had power over me. That I was still their obedient little son who would never leave them. Let them believe there was something that would keep me from my freedom.
It was a lie of course. There was nothing that could keep me from my freedom. But unfortunately, the whole thing had become quite the sticky candy mess and as they knew I despised messes. Therefore I would let them make a move on my chess board but they were fools if they thought they would be the ones to walk away from this after I got what I wanted.
I wasn't one to lose. I played to win. And if that meant burning down the very world to get what I wanted then I would throw on a pair of Ray-Bans and watch this very planet burn down to ashes with a fucking smile on my face.
Glaring at the two of them, I watch my twisted parents grinding up against one another. My dad's hands snake across my mother's waist and the plastic smile she wears when we have company glides over her face. He nudges her so she's displayed across his lap like an appetizer for all his employees to admire and I resist the urge to throw up again.
The two of them truly made quite the pair.
And as if these family pity parties weren't painful enough, dad inviting twenty of his closest work pals over for a little nightcap and business chat was just what I needed to get the weight of their crushing disappointment off of my back.
There was a silver lining to the shit show that had become my evening and that was that the attention that was usually reserved for yours truly was now divided like a pie between myself and the twenty-something overpriced suits in the black marble kitchen. Not to mention the man in question seemed to be a bit distracted himself, his fingers running rapidly over my mother's thighs, his eyes trained on his vodka glass.
Years of careful observation didn't leave me clueless. My father was nervous. After all, in a sea full of sharks one had to learn to swim to survive I guess. But that wasn't what pissed me off. What pissed me off was that he was nervous and I didn't know why. I didn't like to be in the dark. Not here and certainly not with him around. I spent half my life crawling around in the dark and while my blindness may have shown me fear it taught me how to see. Taught me to take everything in. To see the world how it was meant to be seen, in complete darkness.
But I was a fool to think I’d ever escaped the dark. That I finally lived in light. After all, if tonight proved anything it was that I was still drowning, blind as a bat in my own fucking childhood home with no light in sight. There was also the small fact that I didn't know why the fuck I was here. My father hadn't had me around the business since I was sixteen. Why he wanted me around after all these years was a mystery I didn't really feel like finding the fucks to care about right now.
Restless I scoot the broccoli away from my steak with my fork like a five-year-old. I should've just ditched the night altogether. I had things to do. The image of a certain angry blonde flashes through my mind for the millionth time this week. The look of pure hatred she gave me nearly burned right through my heart and seared my soul. I think of the way her wet clothes stuck to her body and have to physically resist the urge to smirk. She may be a pain in the ass but you had to admit the little blonde thing had fire. Rose was a flame I’d love to douse with a cold bucket of water over and over until she drowned.
The thought jars me out of my stupor. Blondie was dangerous. Not to mention a complete fool if she thought for a second that I would've taken her up on her silly little “deal”. I smirk, Blondie must be more naive than I originally had thought. Not that this newfound nativity couldn't be used to my advantage. After all, the world could never have too many pretty fools to take advantage of.
My thoughts start wheeling. A turbulence of revenge tinged with toxic kisses and filthy promises all surrounding a fiery little pixie who just so happens to be in possession of my most prized criminally coveted item.
A fool indeed.
“Hey, why don't you stop playing around with your food and show some respect.” My father barks before reaching across the table and ripping the plate out of my hands. Broccoli flies everywhere and my steak drops unceremoniously onto the counter. The sound of shattering glass fills the kitchen and I look up to see my mother's eyes widen a fraction before schooling to a neutral expression.
My fists clench and I have to remind myself that murder isn’t a prison sentence I have time for.
He’s wiping his hands now like he didn't just blow up and throw my entire dinner plate on the floor and the urge to reach across the table and ring his neck is so strong my knuckles are practically porcelain china with how white they've become.
“We have guests over and you will not make a fool out of me during your time here. You are our son and therefore you will act accordingly.” He glances up at me, the soiled napkin twisted in his palms, “Understood?” The word is calm, cool, and a dagger in my heart. Echoes of the thousands of other incidents in which that word was spoken echo through my head and the urge to fight, to lash out is so strong I can't breathe.
Seeing the turmoil in my eyes my father wastes no time grabbing the fork next to his dinner plate and stabbing the points in my hand,
“Understood?” he growls before twisting the fork in my hand and I grunt before giving a brief nod. The movement was quick enough that everyone else in the room missed it, but he saw it. Saw it and recognized it for what it was - a temporary compliance.
“Say it.” He hisses and his spit covers my mouth as he digs the fork in even further, causing blood to pour out on the black marble. Behind him my mother's eyes widen in shock, her mouth gaping open like a fish without water.
“John, is this really necessary?” She asks meekly the strength long sucked out of her frail frame.
“Be quiet, wife.” The fork digs in farther and I suppress a wince. I glance briefly towards my mother who is currently cowering behind a black barstool.
“I understand,” I mumble the words so quietly that the old man has to strain to hear them and a brief but twisted sense of satisfaction fills me. Slowly he pulls the fork from my hand and my skin starts gushing blood anew. A crowd’s begun to form around us now, black suits drawn to us, some in curiosity others in nervous fear. My father scowls hating all the unwanted attention.
I laugh. What did the prick expect after stabbing his son with a fork? He was a sick messed-up bastard abusing his son at his own party. And the guy was surprised that people were staring? Sometimes I couldn't help but compare my father's IQ to that of a stoned teddy bear. Things seemed pretty fuzzy up there.
My father glares at me and his eyes promise retribution. His hands gesture around the room and the atmosphere shifts dramatically, the cold room turning silent as his guest turn to stare at their boss,
“You may be wondering why I brought you all here tonight.” They all turn to look at him and I look down, carelessly wrapping a napkin around my bleeding hand.
“As you all know things have been changing around here at Knight industries. They are no longer the same as they used to be. Competition is arising, allegiances are shifting. I’m no longer sure of where people stand. Of whom I can trust.” I roll my eyes, leave it to my father to be the most dramatic guy in the room.
“I need people by my side that I can trust. People I know will not betray us. People who will not turn their backs on us.” I nearly scoff. Father just wanted people he could control. Robots he could have under his thumb at all times to do his bidding for him. Someone that could be his puppet while he pulled the strings. If I knew anything it was that he would only ever trust one person and that person was himself.
