I unlock the cellp
hone but, as I do it, it starts ringing. My father’s name is on the screen like a fucking bad omen. My father, the King, is not really the kind of guy to call to know how I’m doing. Besides, after everything he’s ever done to me and my mother, may she rest in peace, he’s lucky I’m even going to take his fucking call.
But still, I take the call and press the speakerphone button. Before I have the time to say a fucking word, my father is already speaking. And he’s both upset and worried.
“You crossed the line, Derrick,” he says and then takes a deep breath. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?”
Sigh. Here we fucking go. Moral lectures from the man who started dating his Press Secretary one year after I left the palace. Seriously, the only good thing about Samantha, the Press Secretary was that she was Alicia’s mother. Alicia Bayer. I would love to just sit and fucking rub one out thinking of her, but I have a cunt father to respond back to.
“Fuck you, Leo. I guess you already know, then,” I say with venom dripping down my words. “Like father, like son, huh?”
“Derrick? Son? What are you talking about and what’s going on? I can’t turn on the television without seeing you make an ass of yourself! It’s all over every damn TV channel in the world!”
“Well, it’s not my fault I was made for the spotlight, you know?” I say, putting a toast inside my mouth while I lean back against the chair. Fuck, people are really getting bent out of shape. “But don’t worry, old man. I’ll call the DA’s office and I’ll get it sorted. I don’t need your fucking help.”
“Derrick, I’m your father, for Christ’s sake,” the fucking fool continues. “Don’t use your anger for me to ruin your own life.”
He sounds so miserable on the phone. Whatever. Like I gave a fuck. After beating my mother and cheating on her till she couldn't fight the cancer anymore, I don’t owe him shit. I don’t even care that he’s dating his Press Secretary. I just wished he’d showed my mom just a little bit of love when she was alive.
But I still can’t treat him as badly as he’s treated Mom. I decide to give in a little.
“Alright, alright. Calm down. I’ll just go back home for a few weeks and let this die off.”
“No,” my father says in such a firm way I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to convince him otherwise. “You are going to stay there and you are going to fix it, Derrick. I’ve been trying to get a trade deal on paper for three years with the US, and I won’t let you ruin it just as we start to negotiate. Stay there. Get it fixed. If you leave now, it’ll look like you’re fleeing and be even worse.”
I’m about to protest when Larry jumps in. “You really have no idea what you’re into, Derrick. You’re way in over your head. The DA doesn’t want a deal; she wants your head on a platter. I don’t know why. But whatever the reason, she’s going to indict you and try to get your VISA revoked.”
What the fuck? Kick me out of the States?
“I take it by your silence that you know what all this means,” my father continues. “You need to get this sorted.”
Fuck, I really hate being treated like a fucking child. I’m Derrick fucking Blaine, not some goddamn pawn to be used by the DA against St. Livy.
“Listen to me --” I say, but he doesn’t allow me to continue, cutting me short.
“I don’t want to hear a thing, Derrick. You’re St. Alban’s heir. It’s time for you to behave like it. You want to hate me, that’s fine. You want to judge me for everything you think I’ve done? Go ahead. But I will not let you ruin your life because of your anger towards me and I will not let you ruin the lives of your subjects.” And, without giving me time to respond, he ends the call. I stay there, staring into the New York City skyline with the cell phone disconnecting after a bit.
Fuck all this shit. Just fuck it.
“Pressly, get me my helmet. I’m going out.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea, sir?” He asks me in that understanding tone of his. If there’s someone that cares more about me than about some fucking trade deal, it’s Pressly.
“I need to unwind,” I simply say as I grab my leather jacket.
“Very well,” Pressly says, disappearing into one of the rooms and returning a few seconds after with my black helmet in his hands.
I look over at Larry who’s still sitting there. “Sir, if I may...” he starts.
Here we go. Larry’s about to lay some fucking wisdom on me. I hate it when people do that… But whenever it’s him, I can’t help but listen.
“Let it out, mate.”
“If you can show that you’ve changed, that you’ve become more stable – we could make it work out in the end. I know it might sound absurd to you, but I know you’re capable of it.”
I stare at him for a heartbeat. Change? How the fuck am I supposed to change? Should I become Derrick nice guy Blaine? That’s fucking impossible. Wrecking shit up is in my DNA. I’m a fruit of the genetics of chaos. You can’t change this shit. But instead of arguing, I simply nod at him respectfully - I know he means well. He could charge me a fortune, but he serves the kingdom pro bono.
“Any ideas how I can change?” I ask him. I turn from Larry towards Pressly. “Any?”