Fixed and Broken

Alexander's Point of View

“I, Alexander Brooks, reject the title of the Mafia throne!” I announced, my voice booming across the clearing.

I could hear the mafia gangs stifle their gasps with their palms, their eyes widening in horror.

My gaze shifted to my mother, dressed in a black silk gown, her jaw dropping in shock. I guess I took them off guard. No way was I going to be the heir to the mafia throne. I wanted a life free from all this gang life,a life where I could live without fear of getting killed. Couldn't they understand that? I just wanted to be a nobody!

My mother rose from her seat, walking towards the podium with poised elegance, her gown trailing behind her. Her face was straight, devoid of any emotion. Even without being told, I knew what she was about to do.

“Mother, I…” Before I could explain why I had rejected the mafia throne in front of everyone, she raised her hand and struck it across my face.

I swallowed hard, my gaze fixated on the marble floor as if it held something exciting in it.

“You are nothing but a disgrace to the Brooks family!” she yelled, anger contorting her face. Her skin flushed red as her eyes scanned the crowd.

My gaze swept across the hall, and my eyes stretched wide as I saw my identical brother seated beside my dad, a mischievous glint in his eyes. This had always been his dream.

My father, on the other hand, was too ashamed to look me in the eye. He stole a glance at me before walking out of the hall and retiring to his bedroom.

Warm breaths escaped through my parted lips.

“Get out of my home!” my mother scowled at me. She snapped her fingers twice, and the maids brought her a bowl of water.

A mischievous smile crept across her lips.

“I, Melissa Brooks, wash my hands of him. I no longer consider Alexander my son until he comes to his senses,” she declared, raising her wet hand in the air.

“I cut,” she whispered, the blade of the dagger presented to her slicing through her palm, blood rushing out. It was a tradition to inform the mafia allies that we no longer accept a leader and, if found close to the territory, he or she should be killed.

Watching her perform the ritual felt like a life sentence. Well, that's what you get for trying to stand out.

A few minutes later, the maids emerged from my room, tossing my bag to me. I tried to speak to my mother, but she wouldn’t listen.

“Get out!” she ordered, her polished fingers pointing at the exit. I took a deep breath, lowering myself to pick up the black bag and walking out of the hall.

Their gazes trailed behind me. I could hear them mumbling, some calling me stupid for forsaking the old ways.

I strutted out of the mansion, my shoulders slumped, my eyes weary. A burning sensation tingle in my eyes as I strode down the street helplessly. My bank accounts were frozen. I was clearly left to die on the street or beg for forgiveness.

I walked over to the train station to find some warmth and, of course, a roof over my head, away from the storm on the streets. That was where I met her;Alice,and my life changed.

******

I sat in the corner of the poorly illuminated room, watching the inmates play all day, trying to catch some fun, but I was least interested. All I wanted was to see Alice.

My hair was unkempt, long, and tangled. Cadwell Jail was just like hell. Bruises covered my skin, the result of mishandling by the officers and inmates. I couldn't wait to escape this mess.

“Alexander Brooks, you’ve got a visitor,” a female officer announced. She wore a navy skirt, and her blue eyes and blonde hair reminded me of Alice.

I walked out of the room in my orange jumpsuit. The harsh fluorescent light of the prison’s visiting room flickered slightly as I entered, my footsteps echoing off the cold concrete floor. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips when I saw Alice. She had black shades perched on her nose, her skin fair and smooth, with slightly parted red lips. Her hourglass figure and graceful gait only amplified her beauty.

I sat down and picked up the telephone, and she did the same.

“Hey, babe,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I missed you so much, and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again,” I whispered.

For the first time, I saw Alice smile, sending darts of excitement down my spine.

“Do you know what I want to be so badly?” she asked, the smile on her lips fading.

“You tell me,” I replied, watching her bite her lower lip seductively.

“Your ex,” she whispered, digging into her purse and pulling out divorce papers, a cold expression on her face.

The room spun around me as she placed the papers on the table and stood. I shut my eyes, willing the images swirling in my head to stop. Luckily, they did.

“Alice!” I called repeatedly, but she ignored me, her hips swaying as she walked out of the room.

The telephone slipped from my hand, my jaw dropping. I had lost everything. I was in jail because of her. How could I convince her that I loved her? I genuinely did. She was accused of smuggling drugs, and I took the blame, getting sent to jail just to protect her, wasn't that enough for her?

“I love you,” I whispered, shutting my eyes.

A few minutes later, I was released from jail. I stepped out of the Cadwell Mansion, the warm air from nature tousling my long hair.

I hailed a taxi, and in a few minutes, I was home. With the little money I had, I bought a bouquet of flowers and some chocolates to set the mood for the night.

The door to her apartment was ajar, and I stepped inside. I took a deep breath, steadying my racing heart as I walked into the room.

There she was, as flawless as ever.

She sighed audibly as soon as she saw me, rolling her eyes in frustration.

“I’m really sorry, Alice,” I began, setting the things I bought on the nightstand. “I promise to be a better husband. Just give me a chance to make things right.”

“Don’t you get it, Alex? I can’t be married to you!” she yelled.

“Why? I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t,” I interrupted, leaning closer to her.

“You want to know why?” she asked, rising to her feet.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“First, you strink poverty. I can’t spend the rest of my life with a poor man. This ‘baby girl’ deserves queen treatment,” she said. “And lastly, I can’t date an ex-convict,” she declared, a smile on her lips.

“Get that into your thick skull, moron,” she spat, pausing as if remembering something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Poor people can’t think,” she giggled, walking out.

Just as she reached the threshold, she turned back.

“Do yourself a favor and hide in the bathroom. I’ve got some visitors, and I don’t want them to see you. You’re embarrassing,” she whispered coldly, shutting the door behind her.