Bianchi: Dark Knight

1:8

I want to choke Cameron Dane, slash Fabian Bianchi's tires, and most absolutely I want to set fire to the Golden fucking Maison. If not for all three working against me I could be sipping mojitos in Cuba. God I could use a drink or a witness protection program.

"Lennox. Hey-have you seen, woah," Cameron approaches my window, which I should have rolled up. "Why are you leaving so soon, what's the rush?"

"If we weren't in public right now, I would choke you with my bare hands until you turn blue." The lopsided grin he gave me only added fuel to the fire. He thinks everything is a damn joke, he doesn't ever care about everything we have to lose. "What the hell is so entertaining. Did you know Fabian asked me about the Maison today?" The lazy smile he previously wore faded very quickly. Serves the smartass right. "I got him to drop it, for now at least but you need to be on your best behavior." It feels like I babysit this grown ass man more than anything else.

"Alright Lennox. I couldn't do any of this without you." His face full of terror reminded me of when we were kids. At that time all we did was run in the backyard and pinch each other at galas. I'm not sure when the world caved in on those two kids we were back then. Small moments turned into adult decisions and sacrifices. My entire life has been speeding by me. My brother is the star of the family and I'm nothing more than an extension of the Klein name. Putting out other people's crises' and fires. At one point it felt like a conviction. What I did mattered and I was proving myself to who and about what I don't know. Now it just feels like my failures are staring me in the face. Mocking me for being nothing more than what I am. God I wish I didn't deserve it but I do. One last client, one last client, one last client.

That is the thought that gets me through each day that seems even more insufferable than the previous. I wish this started the moment I met Fabian Bianchi. But, no, this immense darkness cascading over my life started when Cameron asked me to help him out at the Golden Maison. I don't even know why he would willingly involve me in that trepidation. Hadn't I been a good friend to him all these years? To possibly jeopardize me just seemed cruel. Selfish. I knew better to expect anything more from Cameron, if I ever do it is my fault because I know better. A man like himself never cares for anyone but themselves.

"That's what you do for your friends. That's how you keep them. This world is about connections, honey. That is a risk of this world." I could practically hear my mother humming these words to me. As the days go on I can't help but think that this world is a metaphor for this elitist world. Or I'm just projecting. Either way I can't exactly pinpoint when I finally succumbed to this idea my mother had banged into my head but it seems she's succeeded.

Unlike other areas of my life in this particular one Chanel Klein isn't the cause of this. She isn't to blame for the fact that I am involved with one of the biggest scandals in the media right now. I answered the call that night knowing Cameron Dane would be wrapped in some bullshit. I just didn't know how deep Cameron could get himself into something so heinous. Worse yet, how quickly I cleaned up the mess. What type of person does that? Where is your humanity? Compassion? Goodness? Those same questions plague me day in and out, hours upon hours. All I want is a break from the guilt, from the remorse, and some days the lack of it. Life doesn't work that way and no matter how many times I close my eyes I could never scrub that night from memory. As the saying goes there's no rest for the wicked. Apparently in this life I'm Elphaba. I'm not sure who is more in the wrong. Cameron or I, but I do know we are bad people. We aren't heroes or warriors, we're the people that would do anything to keep their position in life.

If the pulsating regret I had was not enough to shake me, Jackson Dane waiting in my office is. Cameron is the spitting image of his father, the only difference being how Jackson is clearly older than Cameron. "Lennox, it's all over the media. They're mocking my son like Trump Jr." The hardness in his voice shakes me to my core. Externally I keep as calm of a composure as I can. He's no worse than a shark, any hint of blood and I was a goner.