My father sat at the desk in his study, where we usually found him, flipping through the pages of the morning's newspaper. He was obsessed with reading printed words and would frequently remind me that there was nothing better than the crisp pages of a newspaper or a book.
"No one reads newspapers anymore, Father," I said, crossing my arms as I came to stand by his desk. Towering over him, I gazed at him expectantly, waiting for him to look up. But his eyes remained on the page he was reading.
My father scoffed. "Well, I would hope not, otherwise half of England, if not all, would know what a disgrace my son was while on vacation." He smoothed out the pages he'd had his eyes trained on and slid the open newspaper in my direction. Exhaling, my father removed his glasses and looked directly at me. I shrugged as I read the headline. BritishOil Tycoon's Son Caught in a Bar Brawl While on Holiday in Greece.
"That's quite the headline, ey?" My father's deep frown made me choose my next words carefully. "The boys and I were just having a good time, and then things sort of, I don't know, got out of control."
My father wore an unreadable expression.
"Out of control," he said, sitting up straight in his leather chair and making it clear that I was in for a long lecture, "is what you say about a car that swerves off the road in bad weather. Out of control is what you would call an unruly animal. Out of control is what you call the media when they get hold of intel that can quite possibly destroy prominent figures like me.
"This," he gestured at the newspaper between us, "is not out of control. This is pure stupidity, and I expected more from you. Your mother and I have had it with your antics, so we've de —"
"What? I'm too old to be shipped off to boarding school, Father."
My father looked as if he had considered it for a brief moment, as though he had forgotten how old I was. He drew a heavy breath, then exhaled. "Your mother and I have decided we will be freezing your access to the family's funds until you can prove you're responsible."
I stared at my father unblinking, then I burst out laughing, but straightened once I noticed he hadn't joined in.
"It's a joke, right?" I asked, not feeling too confident.
"I'm afraid it's not."
"So, what, you're kicking me out?"
"Precisely."
"And how exactly am I expected to prove my responsibility?" I asked, complete disbelief colouring my voice.
"Ah, I'm glad you asked," my father responded, folding the newspaper shut. "You will be teaching at Grimwald College."
"Come on, Father, not Grimwald. Anywhere but Grimwald," I pleaded, but my father wasn't having it. Whenever he had set his mind on something, it was quite hard to convince him that his decision was wrong.
I had attended Grimwald a few years ago, left with a heartache, and plummeted into a great depression soon after my long-term girlfriend, Angelica, left me for someone else. At the time, I already knew she was having an affair with an older man; I just hadn't planned on walking in on them in the act. Seeing her bent over a desk like that and being pounded into oblivion by another man had made something inside me crack. I never wanted to give myself to anyone like that again.
After our break-up, and almost flunking my entire year, I promised myself that I'd never go back to Grimwald, and here my father was suggesting I reopen an old wound. Of course, he hadn't known what had caused my descent into depression at the time, but he was well aware that my current relationship with Grimwald College was anything but pleasant. Last I heard, many of the teachers who had worked there, while I was still a student there, had moved on to other schools. Some had even retired or followed different career paths.
"You start tomorrow." My father's words broke through my thoughts, shattering every last one of them.
"Pardon?"
"Your first day is tomorrow, so I suggest you prepare yourself." He took a sip from the coffee mug that had undoubtedly been sitting on his desk since before I walked into his office. He never had a problem drinking his coffee cold. That was my father for you. So caught up in his work that he paid little mind to the things around him, including his wife and children. Especially his wife and children.
"I can't believe you're being serious. Why don't you just, I don't know, send me to a farm and have me clean up chicken poop or something?"
"I doubt getting your will is going to make you think about your actions, Philipe. You can't act however you want just because your family practically shits money. It is precisely because your family is so important that I need you to present yourself better in public. You will likely always represent your family in public, so I suggest you learn how to before it's too late."
"What do I get for obeying?"
My father clasped his hands together under his chin, a pensive expression on his face. "Well, for starters, we'll still let you come back to the house to visit every week."
"Wow, that's mighty generous of you."
"Well, your mother and I think this change will be good for you."
"And where do I live?"
"We've sorted out a small allowance for you to help you get through the first month alone. After that, you're on your own."