Twisted Faith

4

Chapter Four | Cristian

With a smirk on his face, "Son,"

With his arms spread wide, he stepped in front of me and wrapped his arms around my body. I gave him a slight hug and patted his back. It was an unexpected meeting with my father. He let go and went back to my desk. I sat alongside him in one of the seats. My father opened my desk compartment, pulling out one of the cigars I was keeping hidden. The room quickly filled with smoke and the smell of cigar. With silence filling the room, I waited hours for his reason to show up.

"What brings you here?" He held up a finger, signaling me not to speak.

"We need to talk." His voice changes from a relaxed to a more severe tone. He cleared his throat, causing me to sit up in my chair, "What's the girl I hear about?"

"We have it under control," I explained, "Apollo and Aris are on the task now."

He tapped his finger against the wooden desk, "I would hope so. Leaving anyone alive who witness event results in death."

"I assure you, father, that I would stop at nothing," I told him.

"Good," He said, "As for your taking over, we have a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, as you're a young bachelor, the older partners still don't see your role fit," clarified my father.

I instantly got up from my chair, "Who the hell cares about what they're saying."

"Cristian, all of us do," he answered, "They're the reason we have the company."

I sighed, "What do I have to do to make them trust me?"

"Marriage." He said.

Confusion filled my face, "What?"

"You have to be married or engaged." informed my father. Upon getting up from a chair, he rubbed the cigar's butt in the ashtray, "I could care less about who you choose as long as they are divorced or murdered when you take over."

"Sure, father," I responded. As soon as the door was locked, I threw my staples and made a hole in the wall.
•••
Tyla

"At the end of this semester, there would be a mock trial," Explained my professor as he walked in front of his desk, "This mock trial would be 70% of your grade."

"What about the other percentage?" One of the students asked.

"Showing up," he replied, "If you want to send in your paper, all right, but you know that's only half of the grade. You need to be in here fighting for or against your defendant."

"This is a chunky packet," Complain one of the students who dropped his head back.

He picked up a pile of papers on his desk and began to pass a packet out. From reading the first two lines, I was the prosecuting attorney, "There are two people who have the same paper, one of you being the defense attorney and the prosecuting attorney."

Since meeting my partner, I arrived home around 4 p.m. Since Mya was at work, it meant that I had the entire house on my own. Grabbing a bottle of red wine and a glass, I walked up to my room and began to run the water. Balancing school and this job weighed hard on me, but the money was worth it. Often I'll come in, even when no one doesn't turn up.

I was tired as hell, exhausted with the weight of long-closed eyes; I could have easily pulled off being a walking zombie, dead inside, but subconsciously alive. I dipped my toe in the water, testing the temperature before I climbed in.

I filled it up to the rim, pouring the wine inside the glass. Moments like this, when I feel stressed and need someone to talk to, my mom would have been here. The more I think about it, the more my body begins to fall into the water. Slowly engulfing the whole body.

After a while, I decided to get out of the bathroom and headed into my room to start on this mock trial. Not only did I have to read this whole packet, but there was also research involved. I sighed knowing, it was going to take longer than expected.

My phone vibrated on my nightstand, reaching over to get it I glanced at the number. It wasn't saved and I was hesitant about answering the phone. With it on a third ring, I decided to slide the green button across the screen.

"Hello?" I answered.

"How have you been?" The memories of being at home, with my parents were brought back to me after hearing that voice.

"I'm fine," I replied.

"It's been too long," My brother said, "Didn't think you were going to answer."

I shrugged my shoulders even though he couldn't see me, "Why are you calling?"

"I can't just call my sister now?" He said sarcastically. I could hear the mocking tone in his voice.

"Travis, you haven't spoken, called or text since you turned 18 and left dad's house." I explained to him, "You didn't check up on me or made sure I was okay."

"Look," he says.

"No, you listen," I responded, "I don't understand why you're calling, but I don't care. I don't have money or a place to let you stay."

"Dad is ill, Tyla." Travis blurted out. It went quiet on both sides.

"Let him suffer for what he did to me," I sneered.

I hung up the phone and sighed. That was the first in years my brother called. I must have held that in for so long that my adrenaline was still pumping through my body. It was now 12 am and Mya walked in only minutes afterward. Her heels clicked up the steps and stopped on the outside of my door. Without warning, she shoved the door open holding a take-home box. She hopped on my bed and with a huge smile on her face.

"What happened to a knock?" I asked as she set the box in front of me.

"You aren't new anymore," She joked while opening the box and eating the fry.

"Where did you come from?" I asked her, "All late."

"Well," She started, "I met this dude who wanted to take me out yesterday but I turned him down. So, I decided to hang out with him today."

"Oo, Who is he? What does he look like?" I pry.

She turned over and got up from the bed with a grin on her lips, "I'm going to let you get some rest."

"So you're not going to tell me?" she blew a kiss in the air and opened my door, "Mya?"

"Good night," she replied, closing my door. I shook my head, and I decided to call it a night. Placing my laptop and papers on my bedside table, I snuggled deep inside my covers and closed my eyes.

My phone ding letting me know I had a text message but on seeing the number, I turned over without reading it.

Here is his number. At least try to say something. He just wants to hear your voice.