"STAND UP STRAIGHT, BOY."
Father stood beside, his arms stiff at his sides. His eyebrows were impossibly straight, his eyes made of rich mahogany. His pencil-mustache highlighted the frown placed upon his mouth, and somehow made him seem more authoritative than his aura already suggested.
Fear traveled through my veins, but never made it to my face. I bit down on my lip hard enough to draw blood and I straightened my posture immediately, keeping in the sigh that desperately wanted to be released.
"Don't even think of saying anything stupid when we're inside, got it?" he hissed under his breath. Taking a quick look around to make sure no-one was listening; he lowered his voice even more, "You know the consequences of what will happen if you do."
I waited for a moment, before my voice came out in a breathless rasp, "Yes Sir."
Without acknowledging me anymore, he pushed the door in front of us open. Like a flip had been switched, the irritated and cold expression on his face vanished. A warm smile lit up his face as his co-workers all stood to greet him. I held back, standing by the door, waiting for Father's instructions.
My stomach churned at how easily he was able to change his emotions when only moment earlier, he was glaring at me like he wished for me to be six feet under.
"I see you brought your son with you today," one of Father's friends commented and offered me a polite smile, "I told you, you should bring him around the office more often. He'll be taking over after you one day anyway, so it wouldn't hurt to get him used to the place."
No-one seemed to notice the way his eyes flashed, but he laughed it off. Coming over, he laid a hand on my shoulder, pressing down.
"I keep telling him to show his face more, but you know teenagers," he forced a laugh, "All they want to do is stay at home."
Nods of agreement came in the room. No-one was going to disagree with the man that held their future in his hands.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, feeling the bitter, metallic taste fill my mouth. The wound still hadn't healed from a few days ago, but I didn't seem to care as I bit down harder.
"What are you going studying next year?" the same man asked with a curious expression, "More importantly, which college do you plan on going to? Teenagers these days put down the importance of which college they choose to go, but I think it's almost as important as the course you study."
From the corner of my eye, I could see that Father was grinding on his teeth. He hated that the conversation was pointed in my direction and the attention was taken off of him, even if only for a few minutes.
I shot Father a quick glance. A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye, his mouth forming rigid grimace.
A second of silence passed before I replied in a monotonous tone, "I'm thinking of going to Dartmouth for business studies."
That was a lie. With how my grades were looking, I knew I wouldn't even be allowed set foot on their campus. However, if I knew anything about Father, I knew he didn't want someone like me taking over his business anyway, so in reality, it suited him fine that I wouldn't get in.
"You've got a smart one there," he grinned in approval, "You're certainly aiming high."
"Well you know how my family is," father interjected and I knew he was trying to end the conversation, "We only accept the best of everything."
I could hear the underlying message in his voice: I wasn't the best, nor did I even come close to achieving Father's expectations.
***
My fist was poised in the air.
The small boy cowered away from me, his back hitting the lockers. His eyes were clenched shut in fear, and waited for me to let my fist loose. I could tell he was trying to keep his tears at bay, with the way he sniffled every two seconds.
So, I did what he was waiting for.
The young boy doubled over, clutching his stomach in pain. His face was screwed in a grimace, skin pale and clammy. If hatred was visible, the air would have been scarlet.
I ignored the whispers that broke out behind me. I knew what they were all saying. It was the same every day.
"Don't look at him or he'll come for you."
"He seriously needs help."
"Poor kid, he looks like he's about to faint."
"Trevor's at it again."
"Please," the boy managed to choke out in between sharp breaths, "D-Don't."
Purple and yellow splotches decorated his skin. I found myself breathing heavily, my chest heaving up and down in uneven breaths as I continued to stare down at him.
"I-I'm sorry," he rambled on after I remained silent, "I-I didn't mean what I said earlier –"
"Shut it," I growled.
Blood stained my knuckles and I knew there was a purple ring around my eye from last night. Burning rage hissed through my body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of violence.
Red. Everything went red. My vision blurred as a flame curled in the pit of my stomach. My brain seemed to go in overdrive, as it picked at every moment that I had spent crying in pain. The memories weighed down on my shoulders, but instead of breaking even more, my heart turned ice cold and slunk into the shadows as my brain took complete control. The flames in my stomach rose up to my chest and crawling through my veins, took over the rest of my body.
Just thinking about what had happened, had my blood boiling once more, and without thinking, I swung my fist into the boy's jaw.
Gasps rung out behind me as the young boy fell to the floor in a heap, a pained cry leaving his lips. With my fist at my side, I clenched it tightly, digging my nails into me until I drew blood. Looking at him sprawled on the floor, only reminded me of how I was.
Weak.
I hated that I was forced to keep my mouth closed up tight, while my words begged to be released. I hated that the thoughts inside my head were like a bomb, threatening to explode if I let one escape.
But most of all, I hated that I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror, in fear that I would see the face of the devil staring right back at me.
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