Satan 2.0

Some know me as Elijah Bourne, the son of the author Cassius Bourne, some know me as the son of Adam Bourne, the owner of the best Clubs in New York, and some know me as the kid of those sick homosexuals.

Yes, stupidity still leads the world.

Anyway, I like to present myself as Elijah Bourne, 18 years old, the proud son of the best parents in the whole damn world.

Papa, aka Cassius, and Dad, aka Adam, are also my best friends. There’s nothing I can’t talk to them about; when I say nothing, I mean nothing.

They raised us by telling us every morning and every night that they love and support us no matter what. They also told us that as long as we were honest with them, even if we did something terrible, we wouldn’t get in trouble, so we were never afraid to talk to them.

Okay, depends on how badly we fucked up, but even so, the worst punishment I got was being forced to help Papa in the garden, but I ended up liking it, so it wasn’t really a punishment.

Also, there’s nothing that I don’t like doing with Papa.

He’s the serious father, the one who makes rules. If it were for Dad... well... we wouldn’t know what the sense of responsibility is, or what limits are, but even though Papa is the serious one, I still have a weak spot for him.

I love them both the same, but Papa is... Papa. Maybe because Dad himself worships Papa with all his being, and he always told us to love Papa more than anything in the world, even more than himself.

I’m not saying that I don’t love Dad as much as I love Papa, but, as I said, Papa has that little extra space in my heart.

But I don’t worry about Dad because he’s also being favored by my wild and fierce sister, Elisha. She’s a feminine copy of Papa, at least in her physical appearance, because, in any other aspects, she’s all Daddy’s girl.

There is not one time that I can remember, -and I inherited Dad’s perfect memory, and some other traits, which I’m proud of... okay, I’m not proud of all of them, but most of it, but I refuse to elaborate because I like to keep the good boy facade for as long as possible- when they were together and didn’t do something to annoy Papa, or at least Papa pretends that he’s annoyed by their antics. Anyway, the point is that together they’re up to no good.

My mom, Mia, is the best in the world. She has helped me out of so many troubles that I have lost count, and my Uncles, Blaise, Martin, and Ryan, are my extra-extra backup.

So, one in one, my family is picture-perfect, filled with love and joy.

Well, that was until a month ago.

More accurately, 30 days ago, Monday, 28 March at 07:10 a.m., when, as usual, after I got ready for school, I made my way into the kitchen, where usually Dad would cook us breakfast and Papa would pretend to help, but actually, he just seeks reasons to touch Dad and steal kisses, and he thinks that we didn’t figure it out, but we all know that except cutting his fingers and burning down the house, he couldn’t do shit if left to cook, and my sister and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we’re seeing right through his act.

Anyway, to my surprise, on my way to the kitchen, for the first time since I knew myself, I saw Dad sleeping on the living room couch.

When I asked him what was happening, he said he had just fallen asleep watching a movie. I knew he was lying from the start because he was dressed for bed and had his pillow and a sheet. Not only that, but Dad is addicted to Papa, and he never spends more than a few hours apart from him, and that’s when he is obligated.

As for sleeping apart, when I was around 8 years old, Papa had one of his book signings, and I was sick, so we couldn’t go with him as we usually did. Papa told Dad to stay home with us because he would’ve been gone for one night only, and reluctantly, after a lot of persuasion, he agreed and stayed home—well, until bedtime came.

All I remember is that he came into my room in the middle of the night, and told me that Mom would come and take care of us until tomorrow because he had to go to Papa.

So, anyone can understand my shock when I saw him sleeping on the couch, but I let it be, thinking that they have a right to fight once in 22 years, right?

Well, that one time turned in thirty times, and each time I ask Dad what the fuck is wrong, just like now, he answers this :

“Good morning, champ. Nothing is wrong. I couldn’t fall asleep and came here to watch a movie because I didn’t want to wake Cassius up.” And as usual, I clench my jaw and control the urge to punch him, knowing that it’s a big fucking load of bullshit.

“You really think I’m stupid? It’s been one damn month! Stop lying to me and tell me what’s wrong, Dad! I’m not a kid anymore! I can take it! “ I exclaim angrily, even though, if it is what I think and fear it is, I don’t think I can take it, but I have to know for sure because I can’t live in this grey zone anymore.

“Come, let me make you breakfast.” He says in a low voice, trying to brush me off.

“Don’t change the subject, Dad! Answer me!” I demand as he shoves the sheet off him and throws his feet on the ground, but he doesn’t get up. Instead, he sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his morning-messy hair as if he’s frustrated that he can’t find a way to brush me off.

“I’m not fucking hungry! I just want you to tell me what’s going on.” My voice slowly cracks, and he runs his hand over his face, then looks at the ground as if he can’t even glance at me, sighs again, but this time, the sigh sounds like he’s admitting defeat.

My heart stops together with my breath while I wait for the answer that will most probably change my life and destroy me.

“We’ll talk later, okay? Your sister will also come home today, and we’ll talk then.” And with that, he stands up and marches towards the kitchen, leaving me with my heart in my throat and an urge to throw up.

I gather myself and follow him, determined to find out what I don’t really want to find out, but I have to.

“Dad, don’t avoid me, please. I know it can’t be something good… but please tell me…” I beg with a broken voice, but he still doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he starts searching for the pots and pans he needs for making breakfast, closing and opening drawers that he doesn’t need to because he knows exactly where everything is because he’s the chef of the house, for Christ’s sake, but most probably he’s trying to stall and not answer my question.

“Good morning, sweety. How did you sleep?” Papa’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and his kiss on my temple, which once used to put a smile on my face, now makes me angrier than before.

“Fucking peachy!” I snap sarcastically, and he looks at me confused as if nothing is fucking wrong, and he’s not avoiding Dad as if he has some fucking contagious disease.

“Elijah, what’s with the attitude?” Papa asks, annoyed, making me laugh humorlessly.

“Are you serious right now?” I ask genuinely fucking curious because let’s face it, this is fucking unbelievable.

“Elijah, watch your tone.” He narrows his eyes at me, again, looking like I should be all smiles, and he doesn’t understand why I’m not.

God, right now all I want is to punch them both.

“You are serious!” I exclaim in disbelief, wondering who the fuck is going crazy. Me or them?

“Okay, what’s wrong?” He crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s had enough.

I just give up and bang my head on the kitchen island.

Who knows, maybe I’ll have brain damage and I’ll fucking forget everything or understand their fucked up minds, but I know that it’s impossible, so instead of hoping and praying for the impossible, I let my anger get the better of me.

“What’s wrong?! Let me tell you what’s wrong! What’s wrong is that your husband, Adam, has been sleeping on the fucking couch for a month now, and I haven’t seen you two in each other’s proximity, or at least talk to each other. For fucks sake, you don’t even greet each other!!!” I yell so loud that my throat hurts, and they both shut up, Papa going around the fucking island to make coffee, and Dad looking down in his fucking pan as if it’s the most interesting thing on planet Earth.

“Fine! Fuck you both!” I curse them for the first time in my life, and before they get to see the tears that fell without my permission, I get out of the kitchen, ignoring their scolding.

I lock the door to the garage from inside so they can’t come in, and I cry for the first time since I was three and fell from the treehouse.

I try to stop crying, I try to swallow my sobs and wipe my tears before they fall, but I can’t stop. And how could I? I had everything, I was happy, and now everything is ruined, now my best friends are going to divo--

“FUCK!” I curse my pain away and hit the wall in front of me to get rid of the inner pain and avoid thinking that word that I never thought I’d ever have to worry about.

And what hurts even worse is that I know what will come next. I know that that word will be used today, but I can’t say it yet; I can’t even think about it. I just can’t…

After a few deep breaths and a few more tears, I jump on my motorbike and race to school, not giving a fuck about speeding tickets, trying to find a little peace in the rush I usually get when speeding at 70 miles an hour in the busy traffic, but even so, all I can think about is what will come next.

“What a fucking brilliant day,” I mutter under my breath like a lunatic while I park in my spot.

“Hey, babe, did you miss me?” And then there’s him.

“Stop calling me that, Neil,” I demand in an angry voice as I jump off my bike and take my helmet off, trying to rein in my anger by biting my inner cheek and focusing on the pain. The physical pain, because the emotional one is more than I can handle, but there’s no pain that I can inflict on myself that can surpass this one.

“I’m allowed to talk to you as I wish. I’m your best friend, dude!” Oh, God, I’ll commit murder.

“For the umpteenth time, you are not my best friend!” I exclaim and groan in annoyance while entering the building, glaring at him so he can see for the umpteenth fucking time that I fucking mean it, but as fucking usual, since half a year now, he shrugs me off and smiles.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Then why won’t you let me fuck you?” He asks with a beaming smile, taking me by surprise, and making me stop in place.

What the fuck?

“Because I don’t let anyone fuck me! I top, I don’t bottom! So nobody, male or female, touches my backside!” I explain, even though I shouldn’t, because I don’t owe him any explanation.

“Then why don’t you fuck me?” He asks cheekily and places a hand on his hip, acting flamboyant, when he’s anything but.

The guy is almost as tall as I am, making him about 6 ft 1, because I’m 6 ft 3. He has brown, messy hair, chocolate eyes that change from innocent to devilish in a second, a pearly smile that has ladies and gentlemen on their knees, not buff, but muscular, and, if I really have to admit, he looks hot. Still, I won’t ever say it aloud. His head is big enough as it is.

“Because… that would be gross,” I reply, a little surprised by my own feelings, and he smiles bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile.

He’s soooo strange.

“Yes, because you see me as a brother,” He says while beaming from ear to ear, but before I get to contradict him, someone bumps shoulders with him. I can tell it was intentional because the guy hit him so hard that Neil almost lost his footing.

At first, his beaming face turned into a frown, but the beaming returned when he saw who bumped into him.

“Morning to you too, baby boy,” He greets the football player, who, up until Neil spoke, even though he bumped into him, didn’t seem to have any intention to stop and chat with Neil.

“Don’t call me that!” Neil’s favorite bully snaps angrily and looks at him with killer eyes, but that does nothing to Neil.

“Why? You know you like it. You can admit it now that your friends are not with you. And Elijah won’t tell.” Neil teases and bites his lip while looking the guy up and down as if he’s a dessert.

“I’m not a fucking fag.” The guy seethes through gritted teeth, looking around to see if someone is looking at them or hears what they are talking about, but nobody is, and the angry dispute is being held in low voices, so, unless they are right next to them, as I am, they wouldn’t hear.

Neil doesn’t let the slur or the venom in the football player’s voice get to him, quite the contrary. He licks his lips and smirks as his eyes turn mischievous.

“I never said you were. I said that you’re my baby boy.” Neil replies with a smirk, and the guy raises his hands to push him, but Neil is faster and gets out of the way, then closes the distance between them, stopping at less than arm’s length, and blatantly examines his face.

“What the fuck are you looking at, fag?” The bully asks through gritted teeth, taking two steps back to put distance between them, but Neil follows him and doesn’t hesitate to answer his question.

“Memorizing your face so I can fantasize about my cum on it while I’ll stroke tonight thinking of you.” My mouth drops open in sync with the guy’s jaw, his eyes went wide as fuck, and it’s more than understandable because neither of us expected this answer.

After he comes back from the shock, he raises his right hand, probably to slap him, or punch him, not sure, and if it were someone else, I would intervene, but this is Neil. He doesn’t need my help.

I bet that he could beat him if he wanted to, because he beats any other bully without any problems, but he doesn’t beat this bully. He just dodges the supposed hit, then takes two big steps forward until he’s almost glued to him, raises on his toes just a bit to reach his ear, -because the guy is also about 6 ft 3-, and if I hadn’t been so close, I wouldn’t have heard what Neil said in a voice that was just a little louder than a whisper, but I was, and I did, and… I must admit that I had no idea that he is so damn dirty, or that his voice could sound so fucking husky and hot. I only heard the annoying version of it.

“You will suck my dick one of these days, and I will come on your pretty sexy face, then you’ll eat it all and thank me for it.” The guy’s mouth drops open, and his face turns into a shade of red that would put any tomato to shame. Then, before he can react, Neil pecks his cheek and runs down the hallway, waving at me.

“See you later.” He says with a mischievous grin, winking at a dumbfounded, frozen-in-place, football player. All I can do is laugh my ass off.

And like that, for a few minutes, I forgot about the disaster in my life.

But just for a few minutes.

The day went by in a haze. I didn’t even bother to contradict Neil about us being BFFs. Well, that may be also because I kind of see him as a friend. But then again, it’s hard not to, considering the fact that he literally forced his friendship on me.

Honestly, I don’t know why he chose me because he doesn’t need protection, and we didn’t fuck either, so… maybe I’ll ask him someday, but not today. Today I’m too busy trying not to crumble.

When the bell rang for the last time today, announcing that we could head home, I was the first one to exit the class and the building, even though I honestly wanted to be the last, to stay here until someone told me that my dads are not on bad terms, and everything was a nightmare. But I know that that will not happen, so I jump on my bike and drive home, but this time I’m not racing, because, as much as I want to know for sure what’s going on, I don’t want to know...

Before, riding home felt like driving towards my haven. Now, riding home feels like I’m riding towards Hell.

Every fear gets more accentuated with every mile, and every bad feeling that burns my body, heart, and soul is intensifying, making me feel as if I’m gonna turn into ashes.

First, there is the fear of losing what I love most: my family, my best friends.

Anger is also one of the many feelings that makes my blood boil, but the main one is a feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time. Even then, it wasn’t like this because now it comes accompanied by excruciating inner pain and sadness—so much sadness that it chokes me.

This is another feeling I haven’t felt for two years, when my sister and I did something terrible, and Dad started having panic attacks and night terrors. Honestly, I think that that was the only time I ever experienced true sadness, but then it was guilty sadness, and let me tell you, it’s not a nice feeling. At all.

I park my bike and don’t realize how bad I’m shaking until I grab the doorknob to open the front door and enter the house that once was home.

I hope you’ll enjoy the sequel as much as you enjoyed Student from Hell.

The book is named ‘Satan 2.0’ because he’s Adam’s biological son, who is the original Satan.

Love you all!