Age 16
The space smells like expensive perfumes and money.
I’m standing in the meeting room next to our bodyguard while Rick and Sylvia sit at the table, sliding a suitcase of money across to another couple from the Vermilion Organization.
The conversation is muffled in my head.
I’ve gotten so numb to these meetings. They’ve been dragging me everywhere since I grew into this height, telling me it’s time for me to get into the business and making me their fucking lackey at every damn meeting. In hotels, in dark clubs, in some private meeting rooms like this one.
The last year of my life has gotten awfully dark. I don’t even remember the last time I could run around the lake with Adrien and Natalya.
There’s just no time for that anymore.
When Sylvia doesn’t drag me along to be her companion at some event, introducing me to strange people, then she makes me go to all the physical classes.
My body is almost numb to the pain since it’s so sore all the time, and I’ve learned to ignore it.
She’s even started dragging Adrien along with us. But it’s so much worse. He’s like her servant, carrying stuff and opening doors for her while she’s introducing me as her dear son, her pride and heir.
I’m fucking fifteen, for God’s sake.
At least I think I am.
I’ve never celebrated a birthday since I was adopted. They never got my birth certificate, so they actually don’t know when it is.
All I know is that it’s sometime in the beginning of winter. I remember my last birthday cake from my mom when I turned eight. It was the first snow that day.
My chest tightens with that memory. It means I could be sixteen any day now.
I cross my arms over my chest, my foot tapping on the floor as I’m losing patience. This meeting is taking forever. I don’t even care what it’s about. I’m just glad she’s not making me sit with them. I actually feel much better right here, standing next to Bryan, our main bodyguard.
As I stare at the backs of my adoptive parents’ heads, sitting there like ducks, I’m thinking about pulling out my gun and making my first official kill.
But I swallow the thought and sink my hands in my pockets instead, glancing down at myself. I’m wearing a black sweatshirt and jeans. Sylvia gave me a deadly look when she saw me earlier, since she’s always making me wear a shirt. But I feel ridiculous in a shirt, so here we are.
They finally finish and get up from their chairs, the wood screeching against the floor. I snap out of my thoughts and open the door for them, excited to go home.
I haven’t slept for two days straight. I couldn’t. Sylvia made me watch an interrogation of a man who somehow betrayed the Varners.
I vomited after that.
Adrien gave me some pills today, so I’ll finally sleep.
We walk through a dark, narrow hall, Sylvia’s heels clacking on the shiny floor.
Her perfume makes me sick.
Everything about her makes me sick.
Adrien is waiting outside by the car, already holding it open for Sylvia as we step through the huge glass doors.
He has another black eye. I’m not sure what he did this time. I’ve gotten so used to him being beaten up that I don’t ask anymore. He seems too unbothered with it anyway.
My body melts into the leather seat, while I sadly watch Adrien getting into a different car than us.
The city is alive today. Lights everywhere, bars full of people, restaurants busy. The car doesn’t take the usual route, turning right toward another valley of glassy skyscrapers.
“Are we not going home yet?” I ask, the lack of sleep obvious in my voice.
