The Devil's Son ✔

Bloody Maybach

'Elizabeth, lunch,' dad held up a plastic bag in one hand as he lodged his laptop into its case with the other. Although I loved my father for trying, he didn't know half a thing about food - in fact, it was his bread to jam ratio that always ruined everything.

With a groan I grabbed it from his hand and proceeded to stuff it into my bag.

'Uh,' he cleared his throat as he zipped up his case and looked at me with a sheepish grin, 'You might not want to do that'.

There was a silence in the light kitchen before I groaned again, 'Ketchup?'

My father gave an apologetic grin before he pulled on his trench coat and walked towards me. I caught a fresh whiff of his shaving cream and hastily sprayed on cologne as he kissed my forehead, 'Be good, pumpkin'.

'I'm always good,' I muttered under my breath as I stared at the obliterated bloody sandwich lodged between my calculus books. It looked like someone had tried to hide evidence of a bloody murder in my schoolbag.

'What was that?' he questioned from the doorway, trying to wriggle his feet into his business shoes without looking at them.

I gave him my most encouraging smile, 'Nothing, dad'.

With a brisk smile and a 'See you tonight' my father disappeared out the front door and I was left with a bag full of evidence.

☠☜◊✙◊☞☠

My father was a businessman, he worked long hours and traveled the world. When mama died when I was seven, his traveling increased. I'd often get calls from Paris in the evenings, and pictures on my phone of sunrises in Dubai. Because of all the traveling, he had hired a full time nanny from Poland for me. Michelle had a large bosom and clothes that smelled like cookies - she was perfect for hugs and Christmas. I called her Nana, a name my eight year old self associated with something more homely. When she passed away to cancer when I was 13, the small shred of home I had left disappeared.

Being alone taught me a lot about myself, strengths and weaknesses. Most importantly, I learned the art of decision making. What were good decisions and what weren't were stamped clear as day into my head. So clear, in fact, that I sometimes felt like the tragedies in my life were wasted - I could've turned into a great rebel.

The decisions I made had probably saved me from a life as an insufferable depressive teenager with an inclination towards addiction development but making good decisions for my heart was another matter entirely.

'Is your brain turning into mush again?' Charlotte whispered as she leaned up beside my locker, instantly making my hairs stand up in sudden surprise.

'Uh...' I stuttered, with one eye still busy studying Jack Isles' laugh as he high-fived his fellow team mates.

He was actually gorgeous, not the cliche Captain of the football team but just lean enough to-

I could barely hear the irritated sigh that came from my left, 'Earth to Lizzy,' Charlotte snapped her fingers near my ears. The red lacquer somehow made the snap seem louder than it was.

'What?' I finally turned, my eyes pulling unwillingly away from Jack's figure in his varsity jacket.

My best friend gave me a stare before she flipped half of her blond hair over her right shoulder, 'Don't give me 'what',' she tsked, 'we all know what you were staring at. Who you were staring at'.

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' I whispered, trying to close my locker as I thought of Jack's dimples.

'God, you're hopeless,' with a slam Charlotte shut my locker for me, making me jump, before pulling me down the hallway with her.