My siblings and parents aren’t excluded. What? It’s not my fault they like to be a cheap reincarnation of Little Miss Ostrich. I don’t like them burying emotions, repressing, or acting like something they’re not. So I shove them here and give them a slice of reality there.
They hate me for it, except for my mum, who still tolerates my shenanigans, but they still need the wake-up call.
I accept thanks in the form of tough love, thank you very much.
“I’m just offering innocent advice, Mum.” I grin at the screen. “I’ve got to meet a professor. Say hi to Dad and everyone.”
“Will do. Don’t cause trouble, Lan.”
“Never.”
More like I absolutely will.
I don’t cause trouble; trouble caused me.
On that note, I end another successful phone call with my mother.
When I was younger, I didn’t realize that letting one’s true nature out was taboo and could be categorized as social suicide. Especially when it’s full of antisocial bollocks.
And while I was completely fine being my beautiful, destructive self, I soon realized I was the reason behind my mother’s distress and my father’s case of epic confusion.
He tried to rein me in by being stern, which failed miserably and backfired. Then he attempted to become my friend, and that only bit him in the arse, because I thought he was giving me the green light to use him. In the end, he was left with no practical solutions to deal with me.
As a last resort, when I was ten and I nearly burned down my school, my parents took me to professionals. The group of pretentious psychiatrists and psychotherapists plugged wires to my head and asked me dumb questions.
My answers to those questions landed me the diagnosis of antisocial disorder, and a brain scan showed mine wasn’t wired like everyone else’s.
I remember the stony expression on my parents' faces so well. They didn’t show it openly, but I could tell the news upset them beyond words.
They still took me for ice cream afterward and treated me the same. They still considered me their son, despite the fact that I felt alienated.
I was around twelve when I realized the house was in a state of shambles due to my fuck-the-world attitude. I couldn’t possibly let that state fester, now, could I?
So I’ve worn a mask since. I took the useless therapy and pretended that I could be fixed. I convinced myself, while trying not to gag, that all I needed was peace, love, and family.
That’s also when I realized people, including your own family, don’t really like you for what or who you are. It’s all about how you make them feel.
Ever since I started wearing the mask of societal standards, the few wrinkles I added to my parents’ faces have eased a little, and I’m, in a way, their favorite—when Bran isn’t channeling the saint he thinks lurks inside him.
My siblings, however, didn’t get the merciful version of my otherworldly transformation. I don’t like them making fools out of themselves, and I might have taken drastic measures to make sure they’re not acting like idiots.
What? It reflects badly on my pristine image.
I leave the art studio, and even though I’m running on more sleep deprivation than a seasoned hooker, I greet my colleagues, comment on their atrocious edgy clothes, and make small talk with my current and previous professors, who would worship me if I started a cult.
All the social interactions are a strain, painfully empty, and hold the importance of a used napkin. And yet I’m an excellent conversationalist and the holy messiah of charming others.
It all comes down to wearing the appropriate mask in the right situation and with the right people.
It still bores me to tears, though.
People as a concept have only one merit—the ability to be used. Other than that, they’re a brainless, rotten species that I like to pretend I don’t belong to.
Finally, I leave the charade of pretending I give a fuck about their fangirling and fanboying.
I grab a coffee from the nearest coffee shop, making sure I tell the owner she looks like Princess Diana on her wedding day. Complete nonsense that she gobbles up without a hint of doubt.
Then I consume my three-shot espresso in one go and dunk the cup in the bin.
My brain restarts in quick overdrive, ready for whatever I dish his way. Yes, I know too much caffeine isn’t healthy, but I’m not beneath using crutches when I need an extra boost.
Whether it’s cigarettes, coffee, or sex.
I slide into my McLaren and check my phone. After I left last night, I sent Mia a very sweet good night text.
Landon: My cock is pleased to make the acquaintance of your wet little mouth and he can’t wait to meet your cunt after my fingers made a compelling recommendation.
Landon: Oh, and good night. Have an erotic dream of me plowing into your tight little hole.
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t reply at the time.
Now, however, I find a text from her. She sent it about fifteen minutes ago, during the time I was playing my Prince Charming role to perfection.
Mia: Oh, I did dream of you all right. You were hanging from a tree by the balls and I snipped your dick off scissors emoji I’d be careful if I were you. My dreams usually come true.
I throw my head back in genuine laughter. This girl is, by all accounts, the most entertaining thing since playing chess with Eli or Uncle Aiden.
Maybe even more so.
Landon: Point is, you still dreamt of me. You like me that much, huh?
Her reply is immediate. Something rare.
I’m breaking that wall, brick by each brick. Once I’m done, my muse will be fully mine.
Mine to own.
Mine to use.
Mine to destroy.
Mia: The delusional police called. You’re under arrest for spreading fake news. In case that wasn’t clear, you’re the last person on earth I’d like.
Landon: And yet you choked on my cock like a good girl.
The dots appear and disappear, but her reply doesn’t come.
Landon: Lost for words?
Mia: More like I’m deciding which voodoo doll of you should I bake in the microwave.
Landon: You’re even making voodoo dolls of me. The obsession is cute. Speaking of cute, are you up to sucking my cock again? I loved your little licks and amateurish attempt at blowing me. The innocence show was such a turn-on.
Mia: No.
Landon: Does that mean you prefer I stick my cock in one of your other holes? Perhaps both?
Mia: Seriously, you need to chill for one fucking second.
Landon: Is that a no?
Mia: Of course it’s a no.
Landon: Pity. You’re missing out on my porn-worthy sex drive. Will try again tomorrow when you’re in a better mood. In the meantime, want to come over?
Mia: To your funeral? Sure. I’ll wear my worst black dress and throw a dead rat in your grave when no one is looking.
I laugh again. I can almost imagine her doing exactly that with a sly grin on her face.
She’s definitely a menace, and I’m loving every second of it.
Landon: That’s tempting, but I meant to come over to the haunted house and model for me.
Mia: No, thanks.
Landon: Your resistance is amusing to a degree, but don’t overdo it, because I could and would crush you once the right circumstances arise. Don’t make the mistake of provoking me again. We both know how it ended up the last few times.
Mia: Middle finger emoji
Landon: Very well.
Looks like we’re doing it my way, after all.
I’m about to throw my phone away when she sends another text.
Mia: Just what the hell do you want from me, Landon? Leave me alone.
Landon: No can do. And as for what I want, the answer is simple. I want your soul, little muse.
14
MIA
I tiptoe to where a familiar figure is standing by the corner of the kitchen, the only sound is the swishing of my boot chains.
Maya is completely oblivious to my presence, despite having the advantage of our twin instinct.
Her fingers clutch the wall as she hides her body and peeks around the corner, spying on God knows who.
We came over to the Heathens’ mansion for dinner and I just finished catching up with Niko and Kill, but that ended when my brother threw us out of his room so he could sleep.
On the balcony.
With his body on the chair and his feet on the railing.
Half naked.