The Angel,The Devil,The Nerd

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Chapter 26 - Dissimulate

a/n: this chapter is entirely dedicated to Eric's back story,well,just some basic explanations of it. Explanations that are useful to understand why does he act as he does.


this chapter involves some sort of violence...there's nothing explicit,but if you feel like it might hurt your sensibility,then feel free to skip it


in case,instead,you decide to read...let me know what you think. Every kind of comment is always welcome :)


CHAPTER 26 - DISSIMULATE


ERIC'S POV

Once home, I marched straight to his office. He's so wrong if he thinks he can just act like that. I didn't even knock, just strolled in, finding him at his desk, deeply immersed in his papers, the daily slut sitting on his lap, like some sort of pet he fondled now and then. Yeah, he does that. Especially when my mother leaves for a couple of days.

Duh, like she doesn't know. She damn well knows. I've told her when I found out when I was 10, not even three months after she married him and we moved here. But of course, I was just a killjoy, a whiny child that made up excuses because he wanted to go back home. And indeed back then I wanted to. I hated it here. And I started hating it even more when Mr. Dickinger here started showing his true colors.

Why the hell did mom marry him, after all these years I still haven't figured out. At first I thought she sought the security my biological father didn't give her, because he eloped with his damn secretary, abandoning her and me like we were useless packages he wanted to get rid of, so maybe mom, I thought as a child, had found this other man that looked after her and gave her what Daniel Romano, my biological father, also Kyle's dad, gave her, but then it turned out that Robert Dillinger, or Dickinger, as I've always called him, was a real dickhead in every sense, but he was rich and powerful and had his finger in the pie of every gangland affair. And he had a different hooker every night, just needed a wife to look like the irreprehensible businessman this town still sees him as.

Because, you know, his Dillinger Corp. have so, so benefitted this town, and he's like the best of benefactors around here, especially because, you know, he is so charitable, he gives so much to the poor every year, helps women quit the most ancient job in the world ... aka, he takes them in his house, making them queens for a week, before he kicks them out, tired of their services.

Every month, when my mother so conveniently goes visiting her "grandma" in Washington, he brings in one of those sluts, because, you know, you can't ask such man to keep it in the pants for a week. That's too much for one with his stamina, isn't it?

The tale about my mother going to see her grandmother then ... please, granny died when I was eight. I remember it because uncle Sam was as distraught as I've never seen him.

Yeah, uncle Sam. He's possibly the only one in this world that's ever even considered me as a human being. The only one I could ever trust. Well, ok, the only once except for some girl I can't even think about.

That kiss yesterday, it was a very bad move. I should have never even dared, because if I know her one bit, by now she'll be mulling and mulling over it, trying to understand why did I do that. But maybe I'm wrong. Considering she is head over heels for my half-brother and he's giving her all those attentions, I bet the very little kiss I gave her just yesterday after she hugged me, all happy because of that Math test, is already out of her mind. After all, if she ever even thinks about me, it's with fear or annoyance. Sure as hell I don't get the silly smile that brat causes in her every time.

You think I didn't see her losing herself in time, ogling him, like he was the most perfect creature in this world, smiling like a silly girl just as he passed by? I saw. I saw everything. I saw everything of her in these years, even if she never noticed. I saw everything that partly made me go on, partly killed me every time. Because since that day in 4th grade, she's been my reason to get up, my reason to fight.

Which is why when, despite his own will, uncle Sam told me what I had to do, what his bosses had told him I was supposed to do, I accepted. Because, back then, like the idiot I am, I thought that it would all end soon and I could drop my mask and finally approach Natalie and at least try, make her forget about that idiot and fall in love with me. Just like, years ago, I fell in love with her so quickly and so forcefully.

But no ... the thing took much longer than I expected, because the bastard here has his roots everywhere and to dismantle something like that, it takes years.

He looked up at me, clearly surprised to see me, because we are never face to face, especially not when my mother isn't here. Normally, we see each other when he summons me because he has some job for me. Ashamedly, yes, I work for him. But only because I have to.

"What is it this time?" He asked, with his usual annoying phlegm. Nothing ever touches him. It's like his heart is of pure and cold stone. Well, I can seriously believe that, considering the way he acts.

When for the first time, I was ten, I stood up to him because I caught him beating up my mother, he didn't even blink, just snapped his fingers and had two of his minions grab me and lock me up in the basement. To starve for a week. Only water every two days, just to keep me alive.

And when he got me out, he led me to his favorite room, the one where he takes those particular cases he likes to handle on his own, without the help of his lackeys, and he gave me his special treatment.

As stepson, I was privileged, you know. Privileged in the sense that he couldn't kill me, because otherwise authorities would have started asking questions ... oh, wait, no, what am I saying? The police chief is practically his best friend. No, he couldn't kill me because then my uncle would have asked questions, and, knowing him and his job, he'd have raised hell, like he was about to when he found out about who his brother-in-law really was. Lucky thing his wife made him reason. So we ended up planning other than just going berserk on the bastard.

So the thing is, I was technically safe, being his stepson. He couldn't kill me if he didn't want to have troubles. But ... that didn't stop him from trying to "educate" me how he thought was best.

I won't dwell on how did he take it as a duty and a pleasure to break my power of will and my spine before I was 13. How did he give me a particular gift for my birthday, the marks of which would be still visible, hadn't he been sly enough to have my mother wash them away every time, because, you know, when you go to the beach and bathe, those evident scars on your back, caused by the multiple, almost skin-ripping lashes that served me as a reminiscence of how wrong God was to create me, aren't at all fashion, and if they see them, people might question it. And where the heck might Robert Dillinger's stepson get such bruises if his stepfather was such a distinguishable man?

Although, he started having less discretion when my wicked bad boy fame became known. That only made it easier. Because "if he's such an undisciplined son, a troublemaker that gets in trouble almost every day, no wonder he's so often bruised here and there. He must have gotten those scars in one of the hundred fights he always gets involved in".

It cannot be that Saint Robert would ever have a precise lash to use specifically on his stepson. It couldn't be that Mr. Immaculate Reputation had a specific room for dealing with his troubled stepson, no. It couldn't be that I still bear the scar of when, so accidentally, he put out a cigarette on my shoulder. Of course, his philosophy is: never where it can be seen.

But don't worry, when I started working for him things got better. I mean, he even pays me! Yeah, being a delivery boy isn't easy, I mean, you might end up walking straight into a trap and then God knows how you get yourself out of it, but hey, being stabbed now and then is a risk of the job. Everybody goes through that.

I glared at Robert, not even considering the slut on his lap that kept caressing him and brushing him here and there. I had no time to spoil, so I went straight to the point, feeling riled up at the only thought:

"We made a deal." I hissed and he looked at me like I was insane. I gritted my teeth. "I work for you. You don't touch my mother and anybody that is innocent." Although, to say my mother is innocent, well, it takes some courage.

She's the one that brought me into this Hell, and she's the one that has never had one single qualm in telling me that I'm a waste of life and I spoiled hers because, wasn't I born, then Daniel wouldn't have eloped with that slut. I once argued that it's not my fault if she can't keep her legs closed and she glared at me, saying that, if I was alive, I only had to thank my guardian angel, because, hadn't uncle Sam watched over me, she'd have suffocated me in my sleep already when I cried so much at night after I was born. Such a lovely mother, huh?

And yet I've been a slave for her husband to protect her too. Because if he takes it out on me, then he won't beat up her. That's what I kept telling myself after that first time. If I take it, then he won't touch her.

Wanna know when I started fighting back? Just four years ago. When, coming back home earlier, she found us in his special room, him comfortably sitting beside me, me who had my hands cuffed behind my back, one of his pals making me drown in the sink at intervals. For no reason. Robert was just bored. I was barely 14.

I said I started fighting then because my lovely mother, for the first time witnessing her son being subjected to abuse, didn't scream, didn't beg her husband to free me no ... she just smirked and came closer, sitting on Robert's lap, telling my perpetrator to keep me underwater for more than two minutes, because I used to scuba dive with my uncle and I knew how to hold my breath, so the normal 30 seconds would be easy for me. Besides, this way I would better learn discipline.

Just the day before I had accused her of being a slut that couldn't keep her legs closed.

Robert gave me a bored look, distractedly waving his hand to tell me to keep on talking while his slut brushed his chest in that way he likes so much.

"What was Nathan doing at my school this morning?" I asked, barely being able to keep my anger. To think that he'd sent that little bastard to question Natalie ... Nathan isn't much strong of his own, he isn't one to fight or something. But he's 20 and has already escaped three sentences for rape.

Most probably, sending that little bastard was just to provoke me, and I fell into the trap so easily, but understand me, I was walking out of the cafeteria when I saw the prick gripping Natalie's wrist tightly, trying to take her with him. How could I ever reason coherently?

My stepfather smirked, his grey eyes twinkling, clear sign he already knew everything. "Nathan?" He asked back. "I think he wants to start over. You know, he couldn't get his degree. He wants to restart from where he left and that's the only school we have here, so ..."

I gritted my teeth, anger practically radiating out of me, in fact he was clearly pleased. "She's not involved." I barked. "You promised not to touch innocent people."

"Oh, but she is not innocent, my dear son." I hate it when he calls me that and he knows it.

He leaned back on his chair, the girl still there on his lap. "She is involved with you. She couldn't be innocent."

"I barely know her." I barked, trying to act like I didn't care about her, I was just concerned because she was an innocent victim.

Robert smirked, though. "You barely know her." He repeated, that venomous tone I know all too well, because it means I'm about to get my punishment. "Then why do you bother?"

"Because she is innocent. She has nothing to do with me or you or this damn business."

"I've heard differently." He contradicted me. "I've heard you have been getting closer to her lately." I knew it. I knew he had spies following me. I knew it was all about me. It's not about Natalie possibly knowing about his business, no, it's about me not having the chance to have even a tiny glimmer of light in my life. Not even the slightest bit of joy.

"You heard wrong." I spat, trying to sound as cold as I normally do when I play my bad boy role. "I was just stuck to her for a stupid project I couldn't ditch. Now it's over."

"And you won't see her again, I bet."

"Of course not. Why should I?"

He leaned in, the slut moving with him, like in sync. "Maybe because you have ... feelings for this girl? Maybe because ... how was that it ... she matters to you? Yeah, that's what you said, isn't it? She matters."

Even if almost invisibly, I gulped, but my fists clenched. So he does have rats following me around. Thinking about a way to dissimulate, I came up with one thing only: "I just wanted to get in her pants, Robert. You know those things work with girls." I claimed with my signature smirk. The one I use when I have to look as bad as I can.

He sneered, I swear, a light hint of approval in his eyes. "So that was all? You just wanted ..."

"She's a little virgin. I wanted to try her first. Is that bad?"

He smirked, an evil glint in his grey eyes. "No, not at all." He agreed. "But didn't you have that blonde toy? How was the name ..."

"Dana."

"Yeah, that one. I believe she is a fine catch."

Gathering up all the despise and coldness I could find, I rolled my eyes as I spoke: "I got tired. She was getting clingy. Besides, she's too used for my tastes. I wanted fresh flesh."

He didn't reply immediately, pondered over it for a moment. In the end, Robert smirked and nodded, which I took as a sign I'd succeeded, especially as he waved his hand to tell me to go, his slut now falling to his feet, beneath his desk, to do what you can easily imagine.

I walked away, trying to think positive: if he thinks I don't give a shit about Natalie, he'll let her be. But before I could get out of that sickening office, he called me and I froze in my spot.

"Was she good at least?" He asked me, making the blood in my veins boil, but I forced myself to smirk as I turned around to reply: "As good as only a little saint can be." I was disgusted with myself the moment I said it, but it was necessary.

He nodded and I turned around to walk away, but stopped, having something else in mind. I managed not to grimace at the absurdly loud sound of a zipper being pulled down from beneath his desk.

"One thing." I commented and he straightened his face, nodding to me, or to how good the blowjob was, I have no idea.

"Nathan." I named and he already knew, in fact nodded as he spoke: "If he touches her, he's all yours to discipline."

Part of me felt disgusted at the thought, but the other, the one that's starting to win over my act and become reality, made my pleased smirk more truthful as he implied I could kill his minion how I wanted if ever he dared touched my Natalie.



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