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“Derrick, I’m your father, for Christ’s sake,” the fucking fool continues. “Don’t use your anger for me to ruin your own life.”
He sounds so miserable on the phone. Whatever. Like I gave a fuck. After beating my mother and cheating on her till she couldn't fight the cancer anymore, I don’t owe him shit. I don’t even care that he’s dating his Press Secretary. I just wished he’d showed my mom just a little bit of love when she was alive.
But I still can’t treat him as badly as he’s treated Mom. I decide to give in a little.
“Alright, alright. Calm down. I’ll just go back home for a few weeks and let this die off.”
“No,” my father says in such a firm way I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to convince him otherwise. “You are going to stay there and you are going to fix it, Derrick. I’ve been trying to get a trade deal on paper for three years with the US, and I won’t let you ruin it just as we start to negotiate. Stay there. Get it fixed. If you leave now, it’ll look like you’re fleeing and be even worse.”
I’m about to protest when Larry jumps in. “You really have no idea what you’re into, Derrick. You’re way in over your head. The DA doesn’t want a deal; she wants your head on a platter. I don’t know why. But whatever the reason, she’s going to indict you and try to get your VISA revoked.”
What the fuck? Kick me out of the States?
“I take it by your silence that you know what all this means,” my father continues. “You need to get this sorted.”
Fuck, I really hate being treated like a fucking child. I’m Derrick fucking Blaine, not some goddamn pawn to be used by the DA against St. Livy.
“Listen to me --” I say, but he doesn’t allow me to continue, cutting me short.
“I don’t want to hear a thing, Derrick. You’re St. Alban’s heir. It’s time for you to behave like it. You want to hate me, that’s fine. You want to judge me for everything you think I’ve done? Go ahead. But I will not let you ruin your life because of your anger towards me and I will not let you ruin the lives of your subjects.” And, without giving me time to respond, he ends the call. I stay there, staring into the New York City skyline with the cell phone disconnecting after a bit.
Fuck all this shit. Just fuck it.
“Pressly, get me my helmet. I’m going out.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea, sir?” He asks me in that understanding tone of his. If there’s someone that cares more about me than about some fucking trade deal, it’s Pressly.
“I need to unwind,” I simply say as I grab my leather jacket.
“Very well,” Pressly says, disappearing into one of the rooms and returning a few seconds after with my black helmet in his hands.
I look over at Larry who’s still sitting there. “Sir, if I may...” he starts.
Here we go. Larry’s about to lay some fucking wisdom on me. I hate it when people do that… But whenever it’s him, I can’t help but listen.
“Let it out, mate.”
“If you can show that you’ve changed, that you’ve become more stable – we could make it work out in the end. I know it might sound absurd to you, but I know you’re capable of it.”
I stare at him for a heartbeat. Change? How the fuck am I supposed to change? Should I become Derrick nice guy Blaine? That’s fucking impossible. Wrecking shit up is in my DNA. I’m a fruit of the genetics of chaos. You can’t change this shit. But instead of arguing, I simply nod at him respectfully - I know he means well. He could charge me a fortune, but he serves the kingdom pro bono.
“Any ideas how I can change?” I ask him. I turn from Larry towards Pressly. “Any?”
There’s a pause. At last, Larry ventures, “Is there anyone wholesome you could turn to? Someone you could be seen with?”
Wholesome. With me? Gimme a fucking break.
“And His Highness could work with her and maybe do some good publicity?” Pressly asks Larry.
“Exactly!” Larry says. “Someone you could do some public service with that would get the public thinking you’re an asset rather than a liability towards civilization.”
Fuck.
I say nothing to them as I walk out of the condo. I need to work out. Then I need to fuck something.
I grab the helmet and put it under my arm; I head to the elevator and get to the garages down below as fast as I can.
Two hours later, I leave the private gym that I belong to and hop on my bike. I thought working out would clear my head, but doing dead lifts and squatting hundreds of pounds only increases the testosterone level inside of me.
