Faux Real [PUBLISHED]

1: Get Me Out of Here

"Oliver! Get your ass down here right now! You're going to be late!"

For Christ's sake! That woman's voice could shatter all the glass in this overly pompous and far too futuristic-looking house. I aggressively stuff my notebook into my backpack, not caring that the pages are being bent and ripped, and head downstairs.

"For such a small woman, you sure are shrill," I say, meeting my Auntie's narrowed and pissed off eyes. "Are you attempting to communicate with your dogs?" I look down at her stupid Shih Tzu that's wearing a damn bow. "Your mommy's loud, isn't she?" The dog barks and I look back up at Bessie. "It seems as though Pebbles agrees."

Aunt Bessie crosses her arms and taps her foot against the marble-tiled floor of the foyer. "You mustn't speak to me like that, Oliver. I am not in the mood to deal with your shitty little attitude right now."

"Well, good thing I'm moving out of here then today, yeah?" I walk over to the console table near the front door and grab my motorcycle helmet. "You and Christian can have the house all to yourselves now that school's starting up."

My Aunt's boyfriend is such a twat. When he's not cooped up in the tanning bed, he's constantly droning on about his organic protein powder business and how he's going to revolutionize the healthcare industry. Seeing as his body weight is that of a fourteen-year-old boy, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that his future is as bright as a starless sky.

"God, I don't know why I agreed to be your guardian!" Aunt Bessie huffs, flapping her hands to her side. "This is precisely why I never wanted to have children."

I swing my backpack over my shoulder, rolling my eyes. "I think my father's money has something to do with it, no? Tell me again, how much is he paying you to be my babysitter?"

My Aunt Bessie is probably the poorest woman in Mycroft County despite living in the largest house. My uncle, may he rest in peace, was seventy-two fucking years old when Bess married him; she thought she hit the geriatric jackpot but what she didn't account for was his stupidly long and complex prenup.

Either Bess didn't read the damn thing or she's just as idiotic as she looks because when he died, Uncle Carlos's lawyer informed Bess that all his money would go to his kids, the only thing she would get to keep is the house; a house which she can't sell; otherwise, the profit goes to said children. It's almost laughable. But now that my father has offered Bess a substantial monthly allowance for watching me while I'm in America, she's been nothing but a bloody nuisance. But honestly, I'd rather live with Bess than my grandparents. Those people are fucking psychotic. 

"They are not paying me nearly enough," Bessie scoffs, a smug smile on her botoxed face. 

"Well, I guess your ass implants will have to wait until next year then," I retort with a smirk, twirling my helmet around my index finger. "How sad."