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He moves to the stack of artwork on the desk. It’s the portfolio, a collection of the pieces I’m most proud of from the last few years.
I have a little bit of everything in it—sketches, paintings, even a few graphic art pieces I’ve had turned into prints.
About half of it is irreplaceable, even though I’ve taken photos of everything.
Control picks up the top piece, a landscape sketch, and holds it out, cocking his head to one side and looking at it consideringly.
Even though I know better, a flash of hope shoots through me.
Maybe he’ll finally see something valuable in it.
In me.
But when he opens his mouth, he shatters that hope. “This is the kind of crap art schools are looking for these days?”
As if he’s ever known anything about what art schools looked for—in these days or any others.
I don’t answer. It’s too late for that.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take this piece of shit,” he rips the paper in half, then crumples it into a ball, “and tell those art school pricks to shove it up their asses.” He tosses it into a nearby wastebasket, then turns to the stack and picks up the next piece.
The sound of the paper ripping might as well be the sound of my dreams being destroyed.
At least, that’s what Control would like to think.
“Take this trash and get it out of my office,” he says, knocking the remaining artwork to the floor.
The nausea that I felt moments ago is still there—only this time, it’s underscored not by fear but by rage.
I may love most of the members of my extended Burning Heretics family.
But I am determined to find a way to pursue my own dreams. No matter what Control says.
After all, I’m every bit as stubborn as he is.
And there’s a reason my own club name is Rebellion.
ONE
Dion
I can hardly believe it’s the middle of February. These last few months have been flying by faster than I ever thought they would. Some of the ladies at the club decorated the clubhouse with Valentine’s Day stuff, but my father wasn’t too big on it. Normally, he’d tell them to take it down, but not this time. I think it’s because he’s gotten pretty smitten with his own ol’ lady now, and things have changed exponentially for him because of it. It’s good seeing my father happy, and for the first time in my life, I think hereallyis happy. For years I think my father was surviving, but he wasn’t living his life. Now I know he’s living.
I want to be doing that. I want to be as happy as my father and my sister, Callista, are. I don’t know if their happiness necessarily has anything to do with the fact they’ve found the people they want to spend the rest of their lives with. I don’t know if I’m really ready to be with anyone on that level, but one thing I do know is that I want to find my life’s purpose. I guess I’m on a venture of self-discovery, and I think on my journey, I can find the same happiness that others have.
Very recently, my father announced he’s having a baby with his ol’ lady, Jolene. I have two half-sisters who are older than me—Callista and Amira—who my father had with his wife. I have mixed feelings about my father having another child at his age, but Jolene is younger, and I should’ve expected him to want to make her the happiest woman on the planet. I think this is another way he’s doing that. Even if he didn’t want any other children, I could see him being selfless so Jolene could have one.
It’s bittersweet, I guess. My father being with someone has really made me focus on the relationships I have with my half-sisters in the hopes we’ll grow closer over time. They seem to be excited about the baby, and I know we’re all happy for our father. My happiness is just . . . different, and that’s okay.
Before Jolene came around, my father kept entertaining my mother, Risk, who was a clubwhore for the club. Very recently, my father kicked her out, but for a good reason. She was disrespecting Jolene after my father had made it apparent that Jolene was staying in his life. My father gave my mother a few chances to get her head on straight and start respecting Jolene, but it never happened, and thus my mother was kicked out.
Out of the women, I’m glad my father never settled down with my mother. She was never the right fit for him, and I know I was a fucking accident. It’s not like I was planned out whatsoever. I was an ‘oh shit’ baby that no one was prepared for. Hell, my own mother wasn’t even prepared for me. For the most part, I was raised by the clubhouse and not her.
The moment my mother was kicked out of the clubhouse, I realized the importance of being part of my family. I don’t think I ever really felt in a family with my father. I felt part of a family within the clubhouse, sure, but when Calli showed up and then Amira, it threw me off guard. I didn’t know what the fuck to think. Now, I see my father with a woman, and he’s having a child with her. My half-sisters are heavily involved in my life, and even though Calli and I don’t have the closest relationship, I have a pretty solid one with Amira. But I am trying to be a better brother, so I’ve been putting in a lot of work over these last few months. I’m still going to for as long as I need.
When I really think about it, I don’t want to be a fucking outcast like my mother has made herself. I don’t want to be isolated from the only people who have ever given a shit about me. Outside of my family, outside of this club, I don’t have anyone.
“Hey! Rally on into church, brothers.” My father’s deep, booming voice echoes throughout the clubhouse, and everyone turns their attention to him.
