“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Tony will escort you to your locker to get your personal things.”
“The only place I want to be escorted to is the front door.”
I leave his office with Tony trailing behind me.
“Wait,” Tony calls a second before I’m about to pass through the exit.
I continue walking forward, not breaking my stride. “What?”
“You’re a good kid. You can be anything you want in life. Don’t ruin it.”
“I don’t have a future,” I reply.
I walk across the school grounds and hop on my motorcycle, a BMW R1200GS. I rev the engine, zooming out of the parking lot. I never wear a helmet because I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid to live. I don’t plan to go home to face my mother and the old man just yet. They’ll have to wait a few hours to feed me their bullshit speeches.
The sun has been set for hours by the time I arrive home. I enter the code at the gates before continuing towards the big structure. When I enter the garage, I see my grandfather’s Bugatti Chiron next to my mother’s Ferrari LaFerrari Aperta. I kill the engine, then walk through the mudroom to enter the kitchen where the two of them are sitting at the island bar, waiting on me.
Figures.
My mother has a distressed look on her face, but the old man’s face is the complete opposite—he’s furious.
“Arthur, shall we have a conversation about what occurred in class today?” He refuses to call me by my nickname.
“No, I’d prefer if we didn’t have this conversation at all.”
By the time I was released from rehab, my mother had moved. There’s no way I would’ve been able to live in the same place where Cole died. Though the residence is spacious, it’s nowhere near the size of the mansion where we used to live. There’s a pool, but I don’t go near it. I haven’t been in a pool since that day. My therapist tried to help me overcome that fear to no avail. Going to a therapist was a waste of time and money. I’m still the same fucked-up person.
My grandfather has power of attorney over my father since his stroke. He’s been a resident of a nursing home since the day he was discharged from the hospital. The doctors said he’ll never make a full recovery. It’s a good thing my grandfather has control over all my father’s businesses and investments. My mother is a trophy wife who doesn’t know the first thing about business. Her job is to sit and look pretty. I bet she’s thrilled she doesn’t have to pretend to be the doting wife anymore, free to fuck her way through the entire male population of Boston. She’s a shitty wife and mother. She hasn’t been to visit my father once, but then again, neither have I, so that makes me a shitty son. The old man pays all the monthly bills and deposits money into our separate checking accounts on a weekly basis.
I walk past the island bar, intending to leave the kitchen.
“Art, don’t leave,” my mother demands.
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“You can’t continue to function like this!” my grandfather shouts.
“What are you going to do after you graduate high school? You don’t have the GPA to get accepted into college. You’ve been expelled from several schools. It’s time for you to grow up!” my mother yells.
I turn to face her. “So now you want to pretend like you give a fuck about being a mother when I’m nearly eighteen? It’s too late for that.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” Her voice wavers.
Here come the damn waterworks.
“Don’t you have a dick appointment? Your main squeeze must not be doing his job. Maybe you should get another one.”
“That’s enough!” my grandfather roars.
“I’m just getting started,” I reply.
Tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
“She knows if she’d been home that night instead of spreading her legs, Cole would still be alive.”
A loud sob leaves her mouth.
