I never enjoyed a kid's life. I don't remember anything a kid does. I was always stoic, silent, and ignorant. A frown would always hatch on my face. I never mingled with anyone, shooed all the outstretched hands, and was nonchalant to all friendly gestures.
I was more mature at my age, grasping things easily, observing tiny details, studying faces, and understanding the hidden meaning behind the words.
My dad always had a problem with my behavior; he tried, but nothing worked because of my stubborn nature.
Fighting had turned into a habit from a young age, and my dad was the first victim. He complains about my behavior and my aloofness; getting angry would be my answer. He would end up getting agitated at the end. I don't know why we didn't get along with each other. Where and what went wrong, which I didn't bother to find out and rectify.
My dad tried, not at his best, but he tried. I couldn't change anything that he was pointing out. Act like a kid, behave like a kid, talk at least once a day with me, sometimes open that damn mouth of yours, don't be so stubborn, mingle and make friends, enjoy with friends, and so on. Prior, as I said, I couldn't fulfill any of his wishes. I would always stand in front of him and listen to his ranting, and when I knew I was done for the day, in the next second, I would walk out to my room.
Things turned upside down when I turned five; my world started to collapse even more. I was sleep-deprived and haunted by nightmares. Initially, it was nothing that I couldn't bear, but things turned worse as I aged. The nightmares were frequent; they made sure that I was haunted thoroughly, drenched with sweat by the morning. The most illogical part was that I couldn't remember any of it, not even a tiny bit of detail, but the nightmare will always make sure that I suffer the whole night. Till now, I am not able to differentiate whether it's just a nightmare or something beyond, like reality. I sound stupid, but when things don't make sense, there is no logical explanation.
The next morning, as I woke up, I would always feel hollow, lost, and desperately seeking an escape. I wanted to run, but I don't know where to. I just want everything to stop. The suffering was not normal, but the pain was. My whole body would be aching as I woke up from the nightmare, irrespective of the time.
It's been 5 to 6 years, and no treatment has worked on me. I have lost count of how many doctors I have consulted, recommended by Dr. Brandon, who is damn famous in the field, and I still don't know how he became one.
Frequent visits of my nightmare were ok with me. I adopted and managed, but as months passed, it became worse. Daily occurrences added a few more features to my already annoying nature. Due to all this, I couldn't keep my mind free; I had to occupy my mind with something or another.
School was ok, but not the crowd. With frequent visits of my nightmares, things around me started suffocating and irritating, so I couldn't bear the place at some point. So, without another option, I was homeschooled.
I was intelligent since birth, the only trait I received, and I am proud of it. Studies didn't distract my mind much. I tried to occupy myself by studying way ahead of the syllabus, but things didn't work in the long run.
The next step I took was random, indulging in my dad's work. He was always busy running the mafia and the company, so I thought of being some help, and it was enough distraction I was craving.
My dad was only a member of the mafia, not an active member, but the members were forcing him to lead the mafia. My dad won't agree, I am sure of it, and it's because of me. Whatever differences we have, that doesn't stop his concern for me.
When I turned 11, my dad gave me a trial of a few months by tagging me along with him. He wanted to know whether I was capable of managing both studies and the company matter at the same time. I proved it, and I never turned back.
My dad tagged me for almost every board and important meeting. As time passed, I started attending a few meetings alone. He made clear to me that he doesn't want me to get into the mafia thing, but only if he knows how much I am itching to get into that world. To experience the almighty power and a perfect escape from the internal suffering.
My dad and I were in the car on our way to attend a party, a prestigious one. I have attended so many meetings; I love to attend those, but I have never attended a party till now.
Bradly Morris, a billionaire business magnate and a widower, is always on the cover page or on some business channel. People were aware that he had a son, but only a handful of people had seen my face. Not even once did my photo float anywhere, not even on the social platform. My skills and other things were widespread, but nothing beyond that.
Officially, today I am going to be introduced to the world by my dad. I really hate the idea, but sometimes my dad doesn't take no as an answer. Here, we are going to attend a party, which is most frustrating because it will be crowded by default, people annoy me by staring, and it was bothersome to shake hands with everyone and whatnot. This isn't my cup of tea.
That doesn't mean I don't do parties, of course; I do. With the internal battles that I am going through when things are about to reach the top tier. I want to get lost in the world of music, alcohol, and drugs. I am 12, and I have tried every damn thing. At the beginning, it was fun; at some point, it was damn addictive because of what I was going through, but the drugs were not effective after a certain level. Initially, I was lucky to get a few hours of sleep, but nothing worked after that. I love clubbing to get lost and also to annoy my dad, who always gets on my nerves.
It's been 20 minutes, and neither of us has uttered a word, which is welcomed by me. I just wish it would be this way; I love to give my input on some things related to the company, and that's it; nothing else should be traded between us.
We reached the venue; the flashing was killing my damn eye. I groaned at that, and my dad was sending me a threatening glare. "You are coming on the stage and smiling in front of the damn camera." My dad, with a glare, barked those words. I was giving him an 'are you crazy?' look. Once again, my eyes were on the chaos. "You are coming," my dad shouted. I sighed; our conversation never ends civilly.
The flashes would be endless when a VIP would enter the stage, which is annoying me for every reason. I faced my father and vigorously shook my head, saying no. My dad was angry and frustrated with the situation. "Damn you, kid." He started inhaling and exhaling his breath. "Ok, you don't need to face the damn cameras, but you are making an entrance from the front door; no bargain in that." I groaned at that.
"Listen, I am cautioning you by grunting and groaning; nothing is going to work. You are entering the damn party like a normal son, mingling and also making sure to smile. Remove that frown for a few hours, behave, and you will be making friends. Mark my words, we're not leaving the party unless you make some friends. You are damn 12, with no friends. What is wrong with you? I know you are sleep deprived, moody, and everything, but that doesn't mean you are cutting ties with the damn world. You are removing that stoic face for a few hours, no groaning on their faces, shaking the bloody hands of whoever you meet, and of course, with a damn smile." He was going on and on. I did my best to block him, but his voice was high, and my ears started to buzz.
"If you didn't make any friends, I am making sure you are not interfering in any of my affairs, especially in the mafia, which you are doing behind my back. "I rolled my eyes at that. "Now let's go; behave, act like a damn kid."
My dad exited the car and made his way to the stage. I contemplated whether to urge the driver to make a 'U' turn toward the mansion. The consequences would be so severe that he would make sure to keep his word on a few things. I wanted to shout to remove my frustration, but I don't want to strain my voice. I huffed and, by giving up, made my way out of the car.
My dad had entered the party hall, and I was pep-talking to myself, and that took 20 minutes. My dad's personal assistant, Mr. Thomason, of my dad's age, who dared to put up with my dad and also had the audacity to defy orders, was patiently waiting for me. My dad, in prospect of friendship, is not that lucky, but they both really get along quite well. When one is straight like a pole, this could definitely happen, I guess.
This is it with resignation. I was in front of Thomason, who stretched his lips a little, for which I rolled my eyes.