by Dukey, Ker
God and I have been friends since kindergarten, so it’s no surprise he and my mother would have spoken about college; it’s the invite to his monthly dinner that has my mind working overtime.
It’s not a coincidence the police investigation into the fire was squashed a couple days ago. Ruled an “accident.” God works in mysterious ways…
“What does your father think about you wanting to go into law?” he asks, not waiting for an answer to his former question.
“He uses money for my tuition as a way to keep me in line. He hates that I’m going into law and not finance like him, so he keeps my future dangling on a thread.”
God flicks his eyes over to me, then back to his father.
The atmosphere thickens.
“I’m hoping to get into The Elite,” I blurt out.
God chokes on his drink and sputters through a coughing fit. His father, though, remains as cool as a cucumber, no surprise in his features.
“Is that a club?” he asks, looking me directly in the eye.
His steel eyes hold mine, until I look away.
“Of sorts.” I smile tightly.
“Right. I’m done,” God announces, getting to his feet.
“You coming?” He rounds the table, stopping next to my chair.
“Sure.”
“It was a pleasure seeing you, Rhett. Don’t be a stranger around here.” Four clears his throat and stands.
“I won’t, sir.”
He holds out his meaty hand to me, which I stare at for a few seconds in awe before grabbing firmly and giving him a shake.
“I think you’d be an asset to any club.”
My chest pounds, and I lock my jaw to prevent myself from getting emotional. It’s pathetic, but I respect this man. To have him say that stirs pride inside me.
“Thank you, sir.”
Music. Alcohol. Women.
That’s how most nights end up for me, and last night was no different.
I need the noise to quiet the voice screaming at me from the back of my subconscious.
The burn of alcohol is becoming an addiction—a necessity to scald away the chill in my veins.
And women to convince me I’m still alive. Breathing and not numb.
Sheets tangle around my limbs like vines, trapping me to the mattress I passed out on last night.
Flashes of the night’s activities snap behind my eyelids like movie clips.
Cracking my eyes open, I ignore the sting from the intrusion of light streaming in from the open window and glimpse around the room, recognizing my shit everywhere.
Thank fuck.
That’s a good sign. Too many times I’ve woken up in a stranger’s place surrounded by the sin of the night before.
I pat my hands over my body. Naked, all except the condom still attached to my now soft dick.
Gross.
That’s sloppy of me.
Usually, I’d ditch that shit and watch the water swirl with it until I knew for sure it was gone. I don’t want any little Rhett’s out there in the world. One is more than enough.
But I know there are no fluids in it anyway.
Ever since losing Robbie, my body and mind rage war, and my mind always wins. I never allow myself to finish.
The chicks don’t notice. Hell, they don’t care. As long as they get to say they were fucked by Rhett Masters, that’s enough for them.
Sounds stupid, shallow, but it’s true. And something I was proud of before…
My entire high school years were built on my reputation of panty peeler, pussy realtor, heart stealer.
People wanted to either be me, or get with me, it was as simple as that.
Money mixed with athletic ability and good looks equals power.
What can I say, humans are basic creatures, and I’d grown a reputation I wasn’t ready to give up yet.
It’s all I have left.
A pounding on the bedroom door causes a groan to pass my lips and kicks off a marching band in my skull.
Cotton balls fill my mouth as an acid stream crawls up my throat, threatening to expel last night’s liquor intake.
“Fuck off,” I bark out, wincing when the door is flung open and crashes against the foundations, rattling the mirror fixed to the far wall.
“Or come in,” I grit out under my breath.
I hate living here, especially when he’s playing dad, like he actually gives a fuck about me or what I do.
Morning to you too, Dad.
He glares at me, disdain in his dark brown eyes. If I could fully open my own, I’d reflect that look back at him.
I remind him of my mother, and he won’t admit it, but he hates me because of it. He still loves her, and I’m a constant reminder of what he’s lost. Not just her, but his favorite son too. Now, all he has is me, and I can’t stand him.
“Are you listening to me?” His voice booms, wrenching me from the ghosts that own my mind.
No.
His cell shrills from his pocket, giving me a reprieve from his disturbance.
Exhaling an exhausted breath, he flees from the doorway to talk in mumbled whispers to whoever the fuck is calling this early.
No doubt one of his hoes. He’s made no effort to cover up his whoring ways now that he knows I know he cheated. Dick.
Caught balls deep in his secretary, yet tried to blame his divorce on Robbie’s death. He makes me sick.
His fucking secretary?
Ten years younger and dumb as shit, thinking if she let him dip his old dick in her cunt, it would propel her career.
Cliché as fuck.
People say love is powerful, and that’s true, but more often than not, it’s corrupted by lust.
Lust is a force all its own. It consumes the mind and body, and causes even the most loyal to indulge in its sinful ways. He risked it all for a quick fuck over his desk.
He didn’t think of the chaos that fuck would cause.
Lust is a violent desire, destructive and uncontrollable. If you let the sensation take root, you become captive to its power, until you’re waking up in the wreckage of its path.
And even though it’s part of the reason Mom left, I would still take lust over love every fucking time.
Fuck love.
It’s more damaging to the soul than anything else in the world.
Losing someone you love is like living through your own death.
The pain so brutal, the sorrow rips the soul to shreds while still pumping gas to the heart.
No big brother should have to see his kid brother die.
No parent should have to outlive their child—bury their child.
Grief is a fickle whore. It hits me in waves, reminding me whenever I try to forget. The remorse chasing me, and I can’t outrun it, no matter how reckless I become.
“I won’t be late, I promise.”
I am the fucking cliché
“If I hadn’t seen the three girls sneaking out of here, I’d start to worry about you two.” My old man shakes his head, sneering down at something on my floor as he returns to my doorframe, disdain in his tone.
Lifting to my elbows, I follow his glare and snort.
God, my best friend and partner in crime is sprawled out on the floor, buck ass naked, with a pair of panties over his head covering his eyes.
“Don’t be a homophobe, Dad. How do you know we don’t just let the women watch?” I tease, just to see the disgust transform his features.
Redneck piece of shit.
I wanted to be nothing like him growing up. Robbie was his little double. Used to sit in his office for hours learning the ropes of trading.
Our old man liked to play the hotshot, and he was rich, but it was our mother’s money and power that shrunk his junk. He blew the only thing he ever did right, marrying her, by letting his ego and dick control things.
My mother was one of the most popular residents and business owners in this town, inherited properties from her own father, and now can’t stand to be h
ere. She fled, leaving me at the mercy of my merciless father.
“Get dressed and get out. School starts today. I had to pull too many strings to even get you in there, so all this shit has to stop. I can only do so much before I just wipe my hands with you, boy.”
He says “boy” with a growl, and I offer him the middle finger, then flop back on my pillow. The soft cushion cocoons my hangover.
I intend to earn my mother’s respect back, make her proud, and make my father regret ever telling me I’d amount to nothing and it should have been me who died that night.
That’s something we can agree on, but it’s not how it is.
Studying law will be my new promise to his memory. I’ll make sure fuckers don’t get off so lightly when they tear apart lives.
“Rhett,” Dad barks again, alerting me to the fact that he didn’t take my middle finger salute as a hint to fuck off.
“Move your ass, and for God’s sake, put some clothes on.”
The door slams closed, and God lifts his head from the floor.
“Did he say my name?”
Grinning, I throw my pillow at God’s head.
“Dick.” He grumbles.
Time to get up. Untangling myself I shift out the bed to my feet before trailing my ass into the shower.
I didn’t need him riding my ass. I have no intention of fucking up on my first day.
There’s shit I need to prove.
Catching my image in the mirror, I groan. My dark irises are accompanied by red specks discoloring the whites of my eyes.
My full lips are dried out, and my mop of brown waves is sticking up in every fucking direction imaginable.
Rubbing a hand over my torso, I notice I’ve dropped some weight lately, making my six-pack look more shredded. I need to eat more.
“You finished checking yourself out?” God snorts, sauntering into the bathroom and taking a piss.
“I look like shit,” I grunt, flicking the shower on and allowing the steam to fill the space.
“I’ve been telling you that for years. The chicks disagree, though. What can you do?” he mocks, shaking his junk and leaving me to it.
I step under the shower spray, and the water punishes down on me a degree below scolding. I allow the heat to cleanse me of my sins from the night before while trying to conjure up the memory of who I was with, but the women all blur into one.
God was right about the chicks seeing gold where I saw copper. I don’t know why they fuck with me, but they can’t get enough. It doesn’t matter whether I even remember their names the next day.
I’ve always been a party boy.
Captain of the football team, wealthy, and according to my English teacher, “stupidly good looking.”
That’s what she panted as she pawed at me while I fucked her on her desk the last day of summer school.
She’d been begging for it since she saw me changing in the corridor one time.
Her subtle looks and excuses keeping me behind after class made it obvious she wanted a taste, so I gave it to her, and she gave me the grade I needed.
Everyone wanted a taste, and I’d always been keen to give it to them—until recently. I’d lost my urges since my brother’s death. Sexual gratification reminded me too much of why I was late that night, and as much as I play the part of being the lust-filled pussy-chaser, there’s a crater size hole in my chest threatening to consume me at any given moment.
God got me through each day still breathing. He has his own issues, and together, we’re a lethal fucking mix of chaos and sin.
“You wearing that?” God smirks when I leave the bathroom fully dressed in suit pants, a shirt, and tie, my dark hair contained with hair wax, giving me a professional look instead of the just-dried-straight-from-the-shower look I usually rock.
“Getting into The Elite is my only way out from under my dad’s money and fucking guardianship. I need them to help me get the man who killed my brother. I need to look the part,” I remind him.
“Dude, looking like some preppy geek won’t get you into The Elite. You’ve already laid the groundwork, you need me to talk to my dad?”
“No, it’s cool”
It was my dad that was the problem.
My brush with the law after burning down the post office nearly tarnished our family name in the eyes of my dad, now he was being a dick.
What he didn’t know was that my brush with the law was all part of me laying the ground work to be chosen for the Elite.
Dad said it was a close call and one he wasn’t taking lightly.
“It’s a miracle they’re ruling it an accident.”
But I knew better. It was no miracle; The Elite fixed the problem.
The Elite could take care of my tuition and give me the means to set myself up in my own place, sever the parental rights, and free me. And get me the information I need on the prick who killed Robbie and help me take him down. He fucking deserves more punishment than a tiny fine.
Gulping down the rest of my breakfast in the form of a giant energy drink, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, trying to build up the balls to get out of the car.
It’s a strange sensation being out of my comfort zone, especially in a school type environment.
God was right about the outfit. Not one person here was dressed in anything other than casual clothes. I’m glad he made me bring a change of outfit.
“Wanna meet up for lunch?” I turn my attention to God, who napped the entire way here and is now scrolling through his cell phone, yawning. He’s all or nothing—either speed-balling on whatever upper he can get his hands on or dragging when he crashes.
“Nah, man. I’ve got some shit to do. We can catch up tonight.”
Frowning, I grab his cell and turn the thing off.
“Dude, what the fuck?” he grinds out, holding his hand out to me.
“You not going to class?”
He snorts and snatches his phone back.
“No one goes to class freshman week.”
Opening the car door, he slides out and salutes me.
I follow suit, calling out, “Why the fuck did you ride here then?”
Grinning, he turns to walks backwards, stating. “To support you…and I didn’t want to be left with your old man. He looks at me weird. I think he’s got a crush.”
I give him the finger, and he chuckles, jogging out the parking lot.
The slacks I’m wearing are crushing my ball sac, and the tie feels like a noose around my neck. Why the fuck did I think I could pull this shit off.
Popping the trunk, I grab my bag, then open it up pulling out my clothes.
God knows me better than I know myself half the time, I lasted a whole car ride before needing to change.
I whip my tie off, then unbutton my shirt, giving a quick look around the parking lot. There are a few bodies lurking around, but fuck it.
Tugging my pants down, I ignore a guy standing a few feet away getting out of his car. His eyes expand and give me the once over before he holds his cell phone up and snaps a photo, bold as fuck.
Like there aren’t a million pictures of me half naked on the internet.
“Supplies for your spank bank?” I wink, and he blushes before hurrying away, clearly unaware of being caught red-handed. Pervert.
After slipping a pair of black jeans up my legs, I tear off my shirt, replace it with a black tee, and throw on the trusty Tom Ford leather jacket God brought me back from a fashion show his mother was involved in last year.
I close the trunk and hitch my bag up on my shoulder.
Leaning down to see myself in the car window, I run my hands through my hair to mess it up.
This is me, I can’t pull off the preppy, put together look.
The rhythm in my chest pounds, and I take in a deep breath. I’m taking back control, yet feel like a boy starting kindergarten for the first time.
The grounds of the college expand beyond what my eyes can take in. It’s like a continuous garden
covered by an abundance of grass and shrubbery.
Benches sit beneath large billowing trees standing tall and proud against the stone backdrop of the actual building.
I feel out of my depth, and that’s unsettling. I’ve always been in control, held the cards, made the rules, yet, for some fucking reason, I’m anxious as shit.
My whole high school career was to get me to this place, and now I’m here, I know I can’t ride the wave of my football fame. That ship sailed without me on board. Getting through college is going to take real work, study, focus, and less fucking around.
Taking a breath, I move farther onto the grounds, taking it all in.
White stone bricks stacked tall into the sky with round pillars like castle turrets make the place look almost mythical, and reaches dizzying heights.
Large decorative windows with arched entryways give a royal vibe. The appearance alone has me gulping. We’re not in high school anymore, that’s for sure.
Dodging a few kids rushing around like they’re late, my eyes fall on a few students handing out flyers to any and everyone including me.
“Yo, bro, download the app,” some dude says, pushing a business type card into my hand.
It’s weird being on a campus where no one really knows me and treats me like everyone else.
Girls’ stares still linger on me, but unlike high school, there isn’t a crowd forming around my car to greet me purely based on my mere fucking arrival.
People acknowledge me with a head tilt, but that’s it.
I wasn’t king of the school anymore.
Nope. No one gives a fuck.
I’m just another rich kid who paid his way in, and that thought unsettled me.
My plans of coming here and being a sure bet for The Elite begin to fade from my view. The mere size of campus alone is daunting.
Whispering doubt siphons into my conscience from my own fear of failure. My mother’s words fire into my brain like a machine gun.
“You owe it to him.”
The air around me thickens, and the darkness begins creeping into my marrow, taunting me with the ghosts that haunt me.
I would do whatever it takes to become an Elite, but the actual possibility of not getting in has only just dawned on me. The things that matter most to me are the things I have no control over now.
