Chapter 12 #2
I wore my first tie when I was merely seven years old.
To the opera. Two things that no child should have to endure.
I should’ve been playing outside or watching cartoons, but instead, me, Aries, Bones, and every other wealthy brat in Melancholia were forced to play dress-up and made to sit in cold perfume-filled theaters listening to hauntingly tragic music.
It’s no wonder I am possessed by this dark disposition.
Whether it was for the opera then, or later for meetings with clients, or even to mundane Sunday night dinners with my grandmother, although, nothing about Penny Blackwell’s dinners was mundane, Father became more insistent that I wear this noose around my neck.
Perhaps he believed it would humanize me more.
There’s no question that he could never hide the disdain in his eyes when he looked at me.
It wasn’t until I was well into my adolescent years that I learned why. The anger of knowing, burdened with the rage for the way he allowed a little boy to grow up thinking he had done something wrong, well, it was enough to plague even the brightest of souls.
“What’s troubling you, sir?” Rodrick asks through the intercom. If I don’t lower the partition between us, then he won’t either. A sign of respect. In all the years he’s worked for me, he knows when to give me space and when to pull me back from the depths of my own self-loathing.
I light a cigarette and take a few drags before lowering the partition. Rodrick isn’t just my chauffeur or butler. He’s been the only constant male figure in my life since I can remember. Sometimes I think he knows me better than I know myself.
“The usual, Rodrick—death, taxes, and existentialism. Who am I? What is the meaning of it all? Will HIM ever get the band back together?” I snicker and take faster drags, desperate to get as much nicotine in my system as fast as possible.
He narrows his eyes at me in the rearview mirror. “You know that you can dismiss me, sir, but you can’t dismiss me, right?”
I glare out the window, annoyed that he makes perfect sense. As usual. “I’m fine, Rodrick. Just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Have you tried the salve Aries made you?”
“The gin works better.”
“What is keeping you up then? Is it Mia or one of the others?”
He wants to fix me so badly, but he can’t. No one can. I’m so beyond fucking damaged… I sigh and stub the cigarette butt into the crystal ashtray that’s tucked inside a middle compartment.
“Nothing to be worried about, Rodrick. I promise,” I lie. “Managing the gin and the poison has proven to be more grueling than it used to be. That’s all.”
He nods, but his gaze lingers imploringly. Curiosity and worry fight within him. “Very well, sir. I am here as always if there is anything else you should ever wish to discuss.”
I nod and send the partition back up. A twinge of guilt stings the back of my throat when I think about all the horrific things that pervade my mind.
I know I can confide in Rodrick, but it’s less about my own shame and more about not wanting to burden him.
He worries too much… Unlike my own father, who never bothered a day with me.
And so now I do not bother with him. I will continue to feed and shelter Noble Blackwell in his old age as he did for me when I was a child, but that is all.
He should be grateful that I even let him reside on our property in one of the guest houses.
I should have sent him to the farm as he did my mother before she passed.
He never forgave her for fucking another man.
And I was just a constant reminder of his own failure to keep my mother satisfied.
I white-knuckle the edge of my seat, my heart racing.
In my mind, I am back at the manor, a child, hiding behind my mother’s skirts while my father smashes every glass object within his grasp.
It was Rodrick who would finally defuse the situation.
He’d sneak in behind him and stab him in the neck with a tranquilizer.
Penny had sent him. My grandmother had no love for my mother or for me, but she absolutely loathed a scandal. And the scenes my father created would echo all the way down to the servants’ quarters.
By the time he came to, he wouldn’t even remember the incident. He’d wake up with a pounding headache and the empty bottle of gin that Rodrick had planted on the bedside table. That’s how we lived. It was a game that we all perpetuated. And the older I got, the better I became at playing it.
The car comes to a stop outside the oddities shop. I wait for Rodrick to open the door for me, not because I’m an entitled brat but because I’m in the center of town, and I need all to see and feel my wealth and power.
I don’t look him in the eye as I tighten the knot in my tie. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“You shouldn’t go in alone, sir. Shall I summon Mr. Crane for you? Or Mr. Thorn?” He means well, but I have no patience for it right now.
“If I want you to summon anyone, I will tell you to. Remember your place.” I stalk toward the shop without waiting for a response. I am rage, chaos, unhinged, and untethered to anything whole. Broken. Damaged.
I can’t breathe.
I fight the urge to loosen my tie again and instead finger the brass knuckles in my pocket, focusing on the coolness of the metal, the snugness of each loop around my fingers. This will make me feel better. It always does. It has to. Please. Fuck.
I lock the shop door behind me and flip the open sign around, so the closed side faces out to the street. The shopkeeper’s face pales when he sees me. He stumbles back against his shelf of trinkets.
“I don’t usually do the collecting myself, but I’m in a rather foul mood today, Otto.” I take my hand out of my pocket and slam it onto the counter.
His eyes flicker over the brass weapon. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwell. It’s been a slow week. I can get you the money in a few days. Five, max.”
I cock my head to the side and take in his gaunt appearance. “That’s not how this works, I’m afraid. I don’t care if you have to whore yourself out to get my money.”
He taps his dirty fingernails against the cash register. The drawer pops out with a zing. He snatches three hundred-dollar bills out and offers them to me with a trembling hand. “Please. I can get you the rest in a couple of days.”
A voice in my head whispers, he’s making a mockery of you.
I take out my lighter and set the bills aflame to his shock and horror.
“What do you think people will do if I allow you more time? Hmm? I’ll tell you what they’ll do.
Others will also decide to stop paying me on time.
They’ll say to each other, Mr. Blackwell is a pushover.
You can pay him whenever you feel like it. He won’t do a fucking thing.”
His teeth chatter while his gaze stays trained on the brass knuckles in my hand. “No. I won’t tell anyone that you let me pay late. I swear it.”
Without warning, I clock him in the face hard. He screams. The brass breaks his skin and some bone. It splinters out of his cheek. “Do you think I’m stupid? You will get high or drunk or both and confess all your sins to anyone who will listen.”
He shrieks when I grab his neck and drag him over the counter. I pinch his jaw between my fingers. “Maybe I should cut out your tongue to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“No. Please,” he cries out.
But I’m in no mood for mercy. With one hand firmly gripping his throat, I hit him again with my brass-clad fist. A piece of flesh on his cheek flaps open as his knees buckle.
I let him fall to the floor at my feet. “I’m so sick of excuses.
So fucking tired of rats like you taking advantage of my generosity.
You have until tomorrow night to pay me.
Not a single minute past midnight, or I will set this entire shop on fire with you in it. ”
He sobs into the linoleum as he cradles his cheek in his palm. “Yes… yes, sir. I-I will. I swear.”
His face looks like how my head feels. A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, and my cock throbs as I stand over him. “And no more poison. You’re cut off.”
He cries harder, his throat gurgling as he chokes on his own tears and saliva. “Wait. I need it. I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you. Please.”
I grab his collar and hoist him halfway up so he can look me in the eyes.
“I know about your family, Otto. I know everything. Your wife left you because you couldn’t put food on the table.
Am I right? Yeah, instead, you put every cent you earn straight into your veins.
Don’t fucking expect me to have any sympathy for you. No. More. Poison.”
I throw his sniveling body to the floor and stomp out. A group of young boys steps widely around me on the sidewalk. “Evening.” I give them a nod.
They all mutter something incoherent before scrambling away as quickly as they can. Cowards. When I was their age, I would’ve lifted my chin and looked a man like me square in the eyes. Respect is earned but pity is given freely in seconds.
I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket, and my heart sinks when I attempt to light one. Blood stains my cuffs. Fuck. I gaze into the tinted window of my limo to see that some has splattered onto my jaw as well.
Rodrick pops out of the driver’s side and groans when he sees me. “Let’s get you home and out of that suit before it ruins. I’ll have it sent to the cleaner immediately.”
I sigh and take a long drag from the cigarette. A part of me wants to strip down naked right here. The thought of this man’s blood on me makes my skin crawl. But then the shadows win. And I can’t let them have that today.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’ll buy a new one. Take the long route home, Rodrick. Through the woods. I want to finish my bottle of gin on the way there.”
“Very well, sir.” He wants to say more. I can see it in his eyes. In the way he actually bites his tongue. But he remembers his place.