Royal Prick (A Stepbrother Romance)(3)

By: J.L. Beck

Her blue eyes widened and flickered with fear. She should be afraid of the things I could and I would most definitely do if she pressed the issue any longer. But that flicker of fear was gone in a blink of her eyes, and in it’s place was something that broke me. I could tell you the moment things pieced together in her mind. The very second I had lost the battle.

There was a determination that she had never shown me before in her eyes, in her stance, in her. Everything about her seemed different.

“You’re going, Royal! You can threaten anyone and everyone else on this damn planet, but you cannot threaten me. I refuse to be bullied by anyone and most certainly by my own son.” She pointed her finger into my chest. I could feel the point of her nail digging into my chest.

“Even more, I don’t care if you don’t like it. Hell, I don’t even care if you hate me anymore, nor do I care what you have to say on the matter. None of it matters because you’re my child and I am your mother, and what I say goes. Therefore, you’re leaving and going to your father’s no matter what you have to say about it.” There was so much hurt in her words and it only proved my point further. It told me I was the reason for her pain, and that just added to the shit storm.

Mother or not, I didn’t have to listen to her, and there was no way I was fucking going. The previous rage I was feeling shattered, escaping through me as I lifted my fist without warning.

How fucking sad it was that I felt nothing. No pain, no fear, just pure rage. My fist slammed into the dry wall next to her head, pain radiating up my arm and throughout my body. That pain was my drug, my high, the only thing that would bring me the release I desperately needed. It calmed me just enough to remind me of the destruction I could cause. I stared her down, willing her to say something. I wanted her to. I wanted to hurt someone, with my fists or my words. Whichever came first, it didn’t matter. I pulled my fist from the drywall only to hit it again. I had a point to prove.

More pain filled my veins, a high starting to build in my bloodstream.

“Good!” I growled right in her face, before continuing, “Maybe I can destroy my father’s perfectly, perfect life, or maybe he has other kids that I can hurt. That I can taint with my bad behavior, or maybe even, destroy? A wife? A family.” The sinister smile I gave my mom caused her eyes to fill with terror; a look I had never seen her give me before.

I knew he had a family, and if I couldn’t hurt my mom, I would hurt them in whatever way possible. Had I been in my right mind, I might have regretted it or at least felt bad, but I didn’t and I sure as fuck wasn’t the one who started this shit. There was a hollowed out part in my chest that had formed. It was filled with a hate for myself, and for the things that I had done, and the way I made her feel, but even I knew there was no other way around it. When my mind was set on something I did what I needed to.

I knew then that I had to get the fuck out of this place. I needed to leave before I destroyed the whole bedroom or quite possibly the entire house at the rate I was going. Rage simmered just below the surface, and I knew I was on the verge of exploding even more; it was only a matter of time. I walked around her, as if she wasn’t standing right there, and headed straight toward my dingy closet. I needed to find a pair of shorts and a hoodie then get the fuck out of here. The least I could do was end my last week or night here with my mom in the only way I knew how to; with a good fight.

“You’re not leaving this damn house, Royal! I refuse to watch you continue to destroy yourself.” My mother tried to make herself look big, tried to make her words fierce. The truth was nothing she said or did could stop me from falling into the deep abyss. I headed toward rock bottom the second she said I was my father’s problem now.

I ignored her as if she wasn’t even in the room as I pulled the dark gray hoodie on, having already slipped into the shorts. Then I grabbed my phone off the dresser and shoved it into the front pocket of my sweatshirt along with my keys and wallet.

“I am. It’s either this or something far worse that I know we will both end up regretting.” I raised an eyebrow up at her, challenging her to disagree or try and stop me. I needed out. I was a caged, rabid animal on the verge of biting, and I didn’t have a rabies shot.

“Royal,” she said my name in the most defeated way I had ever heard. I wanted to run to her and wrap my arms around her. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay—that I would be okay, but even I didn’t know the truth in that. Okay wasn’t something that I even understood; to be okay you had to understand what was going on inside of yourself. I was a lost cause. Despite her best effort at raising me, somehow I still turned out fucked up.

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