The Rich Boy's Deal

Chapter Six | Don't Cry

Chapter Six

| D O N ' T     C R Y |

As Niccolò Machiavelli once stated, it is better to be feared than loved.

I've learned to accept that statement at such a young age. My mother was always the tough one; she never believed that being weak was the way to stroll through life.

"Never show them you're weak," She sternly stated, brushing hair away from my face as she roughly pulled a brush through the knots in my hair. I bit my lip to hold back the tears; she was tugging my hair back so hard that I could feel each single strand of hair being pulled away from the scalp. "It only makes them take advantage of you."

I couldn't respond to her statement, fearing that if I did, I'd let loose a shrill cry. In response, I nodded my head weakly, fearing she didn't notice the slight tremors of my shoulders. Once she released my hair, she turned to make me look at her, scrutinizing me under her intimidating gaze. I couldn't help but recoil and squeeze my eyes shut from her gaze.

"Remember one of my biggest rules?" I meekly nodded as my mother sighed, reaching a hand out to clutch just under my skin, forcing me to meet my eyes to hers. A rebel of a tear glided its way down my small face, making me wipe at it in distaste. I was only six, but I knew my mother hated tears. It only made her more stern. "Don't cry, Delia."

I didn't hear the footsteps from behind me until I felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around my tiny waist. Squealing in delight, my mother issues quickly disappeared as my father enveloped me in his arms.

"Pops!" I grinned happily, wrapping my small arms around his neck, as I brought my body to hug his as tightly as possible. "Where's Dean?"

My father's hold on me tightened as his eyes squeezed shut in pain. I brought my small hands to cup his large face, kissing the tip of his nose to ease the pain away. He reopened his eyes immediately, his eyes a completely new shade of emotion. In an instant, I was being soared through the air like an airplane, squealing at the thought of being so high off of the ground.

A voice cut through the fun I was having, "Delia asked you a question, Will. Where is Dean?" My mother's voice quivered, and then I realized, my mother's voice hardly ever quivered. In fact, I realized how little she got emotional.

"He's in the hospital, he's dying." And when I looked in confusion to my mother, she was crouched on the floor, balling her eyes out.

The point of the sudden flashback I had was to clarify what a hypocrite my mother was. It felt like I hated her with a strong passion, and I probably did. She never conveyed those types of emotions to me. It made me feel as if my life was useless all because it felt like she didn't want me as a child. But whatever, I really couldn't care anymore.

But, deep down, I knew it still pained me to reminisce those emotion-filled flashbacks.

Walking into school the next day was a drag. Not only did I need to finish the rest of the year in order to receive my diploma, but I had to complete high school with a bunch of hormonal idiots around me.

Did I ever tell you how much I hate people?

No? Well, now you know.

Sighing due to exhaustion, I made my way to my locker. As I made my way to my locker, I could feel the lingering stares following my every movement, my every step. Throughout it all, my head was held high as I strolled through the corridor, expressionless. "May I ask what caught all of your attention? Or am I just that cute?"