Rugged Lace

Chapter Twenty-two

*Let's agree to break their bones, nothing left for them to own*

Chestnut hair, pale skin, eye lids closed with the smallest chance of being opened. Her scrawny body moves with the rising and falling of her chest. With each breath is the beeping of a machine. Deeply inhaling the smell of alcohol-cleaned utensils and cleaner, Don grins for the selfie of him and the girl.

Satisfied with it, he sends it immediately, standing up and glancing down at her. "You're such a sweet thing."

She doesn't respond.

A nurse smiles as he walks out, "You're so kind. I've never met anyone so caring. She hardly gets any visitors, you know?"

Don walks closer to her, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers. "Aw, stop. I'm just being a kind friend. Who are you?"

"Stacy." Her cheeks redden as he drops her hair.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Stacy. Have a good day now."

He walks off, a slight swagger in his steps. Blonde hair looking good for once, Don runs his fingers through it, knowing that he looks great. Everyone trusts a handsome man, and I certainly am that. He whistles a little bit, a short time that catches at the tips of his memory.

Ever since he was a preteen he's known he'd be handsome growing up. A perfect balance between his mothers good looks and his fathers almost absolute manliness, he didn't even seem like he went through puberty. Unlike Tyler, who had to rigorously take care of her face and body, he naturally got clear skin and lifting never seemed hard.

Trying is off the scales when it comes to him.

Why? He used to ask that, he remembers. All the time he'd ask why? Why me? Why am I so perfect? Why am I so blessed? There was, of course, only one answer. Because I am. The year he found out his Mother wasn't going to live forever, he realized he didn't want to miss out on anything. She always said everything is possible if he wants it enough.

He does.

As he makes his way out to his car--Tyler's car, he hates calling it that--Don imagines music playing around him. A big, brass beat, filled with lots of cussing and music videos of girls dancing all around him. They're there, if only in mind, and they follow him to the car. The music reeves with his vehicle.

A loud song actually does start to play, and he answers his phone as he starts to drive. "Yo, Dad, what's up?"

"Don."

"Yeah?" He laughs, knowing that he only gets that tone when he's annoyed. For some reason, the idea of his father being annoyed is hilarious at this moment.

"I talked to Tyler today."

Turning, Don focuses on the road for a moment, nearly tuning him out. "Oh?" His voice is amused, filled with spite, and nothing he can do will change that. Dad thinks he knows everything, he thinks. Everything that old prat does is stupid.

There's an audible sigh, "Don, I know what's been going on."

"Oh, yeah? What's goin' on, Dad?"

He practically spits the word Dad, and for a second or two there's silence on the line. Neither speak. Just the engine purring and the road winding on. Cars pass by, but most people aren't driving at this time. Ten thirty at night, the perfect time of day. Rain patters down, slowly turning from a sprinkle to a pour.

"Tyler says you...made her do things on camera." The strain in his words is evident, and Don has to force himself not to start laughing. A grin catches on his face as his Dad continues. "She said you did things to her, and hurt her, and I cannot allow that to go on in my house. I don't want to believe this is true. Tell me now, Don. The truth."