Redamancy

Luke's POV. 25

Luke

I remember when I was eleven years old, how my parents obliged me to be home schooled due to their lots of friends recommendation. They have all told them about the negativism of those normal schools I always wanted to go.
People criticizing each other and ending up in depression that led to suicides or school shooting.
Girls throwing themselves at guys who came from a rich family, or even fake friends that would use them for it.
My mom used to say that I deserved the best. That I deserved what nobody had.
I was a single child for a reason and that was to keep good appearances with other people. They said having at least a kid proved what money couldn't buy.
Love.
An undenied love towards their own son.
Their pressure fell on me when I turned fifteen and I had to be mature enough to keep a formal conversation with my dad's friends.
Although I was known more for my physical features or lots of money, my mom took advantage of that to use me.
She only talked to me when she needed me to do something and that was either business related or future related, meaning going out with one of her friends daughter.
They knew having a kid required a lot attention and money. Something they didn't mind giving.
I spent most of my childhood and teenage years with the staff members. They were the only ones that regarded me like a family.
Even when my parent's missed my birthday or Christmas, they sent me an expensive car or anything that would meant they are sorry.
I never understood their ways to express their love, but I did see the way the others did it through hugs or 'small details'as the maids said. There were a few couples who I observed. Especially the old ones.
They never showed any type of affection in front of others but when they were all by themselves, they both couldn't resist being away from the other.
That's when I began searching for the same thing through the only way I knew.
I slept with countless women, trying to feel that strange spark a few still had. But none of them made me feel...loved. I eventually grew tired of looking and waiting and concluded it was all a lie.
Or at least something I didn't deserve at all.
A lonely life, I called it.
No friends I could be with, except for my father's colleagues, who I did not consider at all as people I could laugh or be myself with. Neither their older sons.
Who were too busy showing off all the money and power that they had.
Since my parents were one of the last couples in their group circle who decided to have child, I never got along with the others.
I saw them as nothing more than immature kids who thought they looked cool if they mistreated the ones who did not have money or women who wanted to have the same amount of money like them.
"A true woman will do whatever her husband says. I don't even know where this feminist shit surged from. They are not even good as us," one of those older guys said once.
A few of his same age, agreed while we sat in the same table for another of my Dad's friend birthday celebration.
"Matthew you are 5'6 ft, and your dick won't even make a woman realize once it's inside of her." I smiled and leaned my arms at the table. "So what makes you think you are better?"
He fell silent just like the rest of them did. God what embarrassing must have been to have a fifteen-year-old boy ridicule a guy—in his early twenties and a short dick—at that moment.
"What did you say pretty boy?"
Finally some entertainment.
"I said that any women is better than you. Inclusively make herself come without your useless dick."
"You want to prove to everyone that you have balls?" He laughed but no one else did. "You think you are better than me because you have a better face and more money?"
Poor guy. He even admitted it loudly.
"Why don't you ask your mom? I think I made myself clear last time."
And that was before we had gotten to a serious fight that left me with several bruises for months and uncaring looks from both of my parents.
Not a surprise.
Bet that if I died, they would be busy to even to attend to the funeral.
I was quiet but I was not blind. I got used to their lack of attention, and that's how I settled for that low interest they could give me.
That became my reality.
And I didn't fought against it.
Why would I?
The following years, I decided to focus on what mattered rather than on my miserable relationship with my parents or with the people I know.
I began to work along with a few colleagues until I built my own empire and I earned my own money.
When that happened, the first thing I did was to move out of that house and leave.
But with time, I never knew what place I hated the most. Mine or my old parents house.
Both felt empty and lonely. I couldn't even call them home.
Wasn't a home a safe and warm place?
Isn't home a place where all attempts of escaping cease?
Or did a home take figure?

  Perhaps in a woman with dark hair who cried about everything and baked to express her love.