First Time

63

Aiden

I had imagined this day a million ways.

The day that I would come face to face with the man I hate the most. A spineless coward. In each of my mind's concoctions, I greeted him with a punch in the face and called him a fucking bastard for abandoning his family. He begged for mercy and tried to explain himself, but I wouldn't hear it. I knocked a tooth out for each of the reasons why I despised him. I imagined him old, frail and broke. A homeless, heartless loser. That's what he was.

But that's not the man that is standing in front of me. And never had I thought that this day would come so soon, if at all. Yet, the rage is the same.

I feel my fists clench under the table. Every muscle in my body twitches with the urge to strike him. But acutely aware of Emily standing across the table from me, I hold my fists down. The effort it takes to do so can only be described as being weighed down by a ten-tonne anchor.

"Hola, Aiden. I am Antonio Miguel," the bastard finally speaks.

Un-fucking-believable. Is he really going to pretend like he doesn't know me?

I look over at Emily who watches between me and him with confusion and anxiety. I look back at the bastard who is holding out a hand to me. His hand looks calloused and is covered with rings. A tattoo of some Spanish writing is smudged along his wrist. As I watch him, adrenaline pumps through my veins and my heart thumps so hard that I can feel the pulse in my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stand erect and the heat of my anger causes sweat to drip down my forehead and along my palms. I am desperate to make impact with his flesh. But I can't. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

So, I take a deep breath.

Instead of smacking his hand away like I want to, I ignore it and look away. Emily releases the breath she had been holding as she slowly sits back down. The bastard grabs a chair and sits at the side of the table.

"So, did you kids enjoy the exhibition," his voice rings in my ear.

There is a pause as Emily waits to see if I will answer.

"It was a big pile of shit," I say icily.

"Yes," Emily interrupts, clearing her throat, "It was very interesting. And thank you so much again for agreeing to meet with us."

"Well, you won the prize draw so, felicidades!"

What is with the Spanish act? Is it somehow supposed to make him seem more appealing? I scoff at the thought.

What a cocky twat!

"Are you interested in art Emilia?" he asks shuffling closer to Emily.

Instinctively, I grab hold of the leg of his chair and pull him back.

"Keep your distance," I warn him.

His calm exterior masks the twitching nerve in his neck. His jaw clenches. He's getting irritated. I know that because I do the same thing when my patience is wearing thin.

Sensing the tension, Emily speaks with a bright smile.

"Aiden is actually really talented. In fact..."

She digs into her bag and pulls out my sketchbook. What the fuck? When did she pinch that?

As soon as he spots the cover, all colour drains from the bastard's face. My face is probably just as mortified. I frown deeply at Emily.

"Oh errm, this is..." she stutters nervously.

I can tell she wishes she hadn't brought it out.

"Aiden's drawings," she continues, "They are actually so good."