THE INFAMOUS BELLA (KathNiel)

Chapter 2

2

“Dave, you disgraced me! How could you do this to your father?”

Now what? He just woke up, and his absently father is on the other line. Just great. Dave stifled a scowl. Just—what he really needed. He shook his head in annoyance. What does he owe the goddamn pleasure of speaking to his so called father? He bolted up from his bed, his mind still foggy from sleep.

Don pronounced on the poor device, “Tell me? What have I done? You good-for-nothing child.”

Dave sighs in exhaustion, running a tired hand over his face. “Dad.” He stated, “You didn’t do anything, because you were always missing in action.” He replied, sharply.

“You. Ungrateful bastard.” Don shouted, in the device.

“Hell. I, was.” He countered coldly, “Dad. If you were done with your insults can I please hang-up? I don’t need this, specially coming from someone who only pretends to care.” His voice turned more aggravated by the second.

“Watched that mouth of yours! You owe me. I’m your father, show some respect!”

Gritting his teeth he replied, “I, only respect people, who dissevered to be respected.” 

“You insolent fool. You better not disgraced our family any further.” Don warned.

“Dad. Why don’t just kiss all your money since, that’s the only goddamn thing that matters to you.” He stated, flatly.

“After all that I’ve done. I gave you shelter. Feed you. Gave you money, to sustain all your needs and this is how you repay me?” Don asked, hotly.

Dear god. Dave felt awful. Not because of what his father is bragging about or because he was guilty of the way he rudely behaved around his father. Actually, on the on the contrary. Frankly speaking its  because he was simply sick, and tired of all the drama.

Okay, times up. He should really Hang-up the damn phone, right now. And he did, without any trace of hesitation. He did hang-up, slamming the phone down on coffee table.

“You’re up early?” Brandon said, right through the door. “I was just about to wake you up kiddo.”

He huffed. “Dad called. That’s why!”

“Uncle Don called?” he repeated, confused. “Your dad called?” Really—Why?” Brandon asked puzzled.

“Maybe he just needed someone to yell at?” Shrugging, he replied.

“Uncle Don doesn’t just yell at people Dave.”

“Oh yes, you're absolutely right.”Dave nodded, indifferently. “But you’re forgetting something Brad. Unfortunately, I’m, my father’s son, and he thinks he could yell at me anytime, and anywhere he damn pleased.”

Absently, Dave rubbed his sides where his father shot him, outraged. He was only barely thirteen. Don came home from work late. His Mother, Stacy, and his father Don had a huge fight. They trashed everything. Antic vases, plates, paintings, name it all, were sent flying, from left to right, and came smashing on the solid walls. By the end of their third world war battle, there was nothing else to salvage. The paintings on the wall were tossed into the floor with holes right on the middle. Glasses and all sorts of derby scattered on the marble floor.  

He can still recall it vividly, just like it all happened yesterday.

“I’ll kill both of you, you can’t leave me Stacy.” is Don’s parting remark before he marched towards his study, hovering over his table, looking for his pistol.