4. You ungrateful spoilt brat!

NATE

"Young man, what is this?" My father snaps, dropping my Maths test result on the dinning table like some piece of shit.

Well, in actual sense, the test result is a total piece of shit. But what is my shitty Maths test result doing here on the dinning table when it should be safely hidden in my bag?

"Answer me Nathaniel!" He barks, slamming his palm on the table, the action rattling the plates and the candelabras on the dinning table.

I wonder why is he getting so worked up on my test result like he fucking cares.

"Antonio calm do–"

"Don't tell me to calm down Suzie."

One fucking interesting fact about Dad is that no matter how angry he is, he still calls my mum Suzie and not Susan.

But in my case, he goes all rogue, and even yells out my full name with disgust. His thick eyebrows arch, his blue eyes darken, and his nostrils flare up like they are about to combust into flames.

"Answer me you ungrateful spoilt brat!"

"It is my Maths test result." I shrug, picking at the blue berries in my plate.

I can hear my father's heavy breathing, and without taking a glance at his face, I know he is already fuming in rage. I am getting angry too, and I want to scream at him, to fucking ask him when and why he snuck into my room and into my bag like a damn thief just to humiliate me this early morning because I couldn't do well in a fucking Maths test.

The only sensible reason why I am not screaming right now at my dad is because of my mum. She is already rubbing her fingers across her forehead, and I don't need a soothsayer to tell me that she can't afford to handle two grown ass mad men this early morning.

So I resort to keeping my mouth shut as my dad continues to rant about my utter failure.

"What sort of an embarrassment are you Nathaniel?! Why are you hell bent on bringing shame and disgrace to this family?! I pump my hard earned money into your education, trying my best to make sure that you are the best, and yet you make me feel like an utter fool!"

I swallow hard, dropping down my fork near my plate. I clench and unclench my fists resting on the table, fighting to restrain the harsh words trying to tear out of my mouth. My blood is boiling. My hands are beginning to shake. My head is starting to spin.

"Your sister Cathy is traveling around the world, creating job opportunities for people and making their lives better. But you, you are in my life and in this family to wreck havoc and ruin my reputation. Why can't you—"

"Stop it Antonio!" Mum shouts, silencing him in an instant. But she is too late. The damage has already been done.

Pain rips my heart open. Raw and unforgiving. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to be better, I can never be enough for my father. I will never be the perfect child like Cathy is to him.

I will always be the stain in the bloodline. The only child who can never fit into the family's imperial status quo.

And though I am beginning to get okay with that, Dad won't let me hear enough about how incompetent and how much of a big disappointment I am to him and to my family.

The silence still hangs over the air like an invisible blanket of dark clouds, hovering over us with its thick tension. My phone's alarm beeps, and without even glancing over at it, I already know that it is time for me to leave this wretched house and be on my way to school.

Today's breakfast sucks. In fact, having breakfast every morning in this damn house sucks every single time. I have never eaten in peace in this house.

Not even for once.

I grab my bag, my phone and my motorcycle keys off the table. I also pick up my shitty Maths test result from the table and tuck the damn paper into my bag.

"Goodbye mum."

I turn to my dad, glaring squarely at his face, hating the god-damn undeniable truth that I am actually the exact replica of the man I hate. Perfect thick brows. Full long lashes. Deep blue eyes that are staring daggers at me. Straight pointed nose. Bow shaped fading pink lips that seem to be quivering in anger.

Well, actually, they are indeed quivering in anger, probably waiting to spit out fire on me if I ever open my mouth to say anything.

"Goodbye dad." I voice out with a smirk, knowing that it will totally drive him nuts.

"You ungrateful—!"

"Antonio!"

My mum's loud voice trying to calm down my dad and my dad's continuous outpour of obscenities on me are all I hear behind me as I head towards the door. I exit the house and bang the door shut behind me, but not without hearing my dad yell, "Irresponsible son!"

Well, whatever.

Outside, I head towards the garage, walking past the fleet of expensive, lavish cars that no one in this damn house actually gives a shit about. Lamborghinis. Maseratis. Bugattis. BMWs. Dad added three fucking Ferraris to the collection last month.

Talking about irresponsibility and shitty extravagance.

I know it is his fucking money, but wasting it on things that don't have any fucking value instead of using it to increase the measly salaries of his construction workers is really disgusting and cruel.

I finally locate my Yamaha baby. The entire body is black and shiny, the seat is also black leather and smooth, and the windshield has this Jaguar sticker that my best friend Marco sticked to it the very first day I bought this motorcycle.

Unlike my dad, I bought this baby with some thousand bucks I earned all on my own last summer while working in Brewtown, the cafe near school. I bought this baby because I needed it. It is not like I can't drive any of my dad's cars. It is just that I don't want my dad to start having any fucking thoughts that I am starting to feel any sense of entitlement to any of his fucking properties. This baby is something that I can proudly boast to anyone as 'mine.'

And I am very proud of that.

I pick up my helmet and wear it on my head before mounting my motorcycle. For a couple of seconds, I sit there, breathing deeply, trying to shut out my father's voice from my head. I hate the truth that I look like him. God should have given me my mum's calm and sweet beautiful face, but no, he decided to punish me right from birth by making me look like my dad. The dude is handsome, but his heart is something quite nasty that I can't explain. I hate the fucking fact that I live in his house and I fucking can't wait for the day I leave this wretched mansion for college.

After taking another deep breath, I turn on the motorcycle and drive out of the garage, glancing momentarily at the transparent glass window of the dinning room to see my dad and mum arguing. I know that I am the reason for that argument. But at this point, I am done giving a fuck about it.

Today really started shitty for me. I just can't wait to be with my crew in school today.