Page 3 of Fragments

Get… me… out.

After my shower, I get into bed. And I pass out for hours.Manyhours.

When my eyes open again, it’s dinnertime. And no surprise, I can hear my mother shrieking up the hall. I open my bedroom door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and preparing myself for another installment of‘scream at Ren until he realizes the error of his ways.’

“Rosa, I’ve told youone hundred times… If Mr. Xavier is due business visitors, we cannot have you all mulling about. It’s distracting and unprofessional.” My mother pauses her berating of the housekeeper for long enough to glance up at me. “Well, look who’s decided to grace the world with his presence.” Her gaze falls over my shirtless torso for a moment before she rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You’re unbelievable.” Then fixates back on poor Rosa. “Get everyone out of sight, right now!”

“Yes, Mrs. Xavier,” Rosa trembles, scurrying off to go shit herself. And I get it. My mother is definitely scary… to people who give a flying fuck about her bullshit, which I certainly do not.

“What the fuck is wrong?” I yawn and stretch my arms over my head. “I need my beauty sleep and you’re out here squawking like a demented bird.”

“Warren, enough,” Beth, mymother, shrills. “Your father is expecting company and you’re standing around looking like the epitome of a disappointment. Put some clothes on.”

I can’t help thehuhlook I’m giving her. “Dad’s company isn’t my problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed. I have work in a few hours.”

“Warren! I swear to God, we’re not doing this again!” She rushes me, grasping me by the arm so hard her acrylics are breaking the skin. “It’s bad enough the entire community knows you were kicked out of school for inappropriate conduct. And now you’re flouncing around the city like a common whore! It’s disgusting. Get your shit together, or we’re sending you to back to rehab!”

“Blah blahBLAH!” I shout in her face, and she flinches, gazing up at me like I’m the spawn of Satan.If the shoe fits, Mom.“You sound so boring and stupid. Listen, I don’t give a fuck about your yammering.” I rip my arm out of her grip. “If you wanted a normal son, you shouldn’t have fucked me up so bad.”

My mother’s blue eyes are wide, burning with unkempt rage in my direction as she goes quiet. It’s that silent fury that lets me know she means business. But sadly for her, I still don’t care. Iphysicallydon’t possess the piece of my chemical makeup that allows me to give a fuck what people think—especially my parents.

And that’s actually not the only part I’m missing.

“You’re living in this house,” she seethes. “We’repayingfor your lifestyle—”

“I don’t need you to do that,” I growl. “I’m making my own money.”

“We arenotspeaking about that, Warren,” she hisses, her Botox not allowing for the facial reactions trying to tug at her skin. “What you do with your time is disgusting.”

“Why… because I’m amandoing it withmen?” My arms fold over my chest. “Meanwhile, you slutting your way across the Columbia campus wasn’t a big deal…”

“Kenneth!” my mother shouts at the top of her lungs, making my ears ring. She storms away from me in a huff, darting down the stairs, likely toward my father’s office. “You need to get a handle on your son! I swear to God, I’m going to blow my brains out.”

“Don’t do me any favors, mother dearest,” I grumble under my breath, spinning back into my bedroom.

I would love to go back to sleep, but after that, I can’t. So instead, I get changed and go for a run. And when I come back, stomping into the foyer with my music turned up to full volume and the end of my water bottle in my mouth, I come face-to-fucking-face with the guy who fucked me and slapped me in the face last night…

John Doe’s friend.

In my house.

What kind of cosmic bullshit…?

Upon noticing one another, we both go completely still and stare for a solid ten seconds. His eyes fall to what I’m wearing… my skin-tight running pants and a sleeveless mesh workout top that shows off all my side tats.

I witness him gulp, and my gaze narrows.

My father’s business acquaintance, I presume.

His eyes shift around before he whispers, “What are you doing here??”

“Uh, I live here, Sherlock.” I sip from my water bottle again. “What are you doing? Let me guess… investing. Or were you just so taken with myskills, you couldn’t help but track me down? Wouldn’t be the first time…”

His face goes ashen, while simultaneously morphing into appall, disgust, shame, and rage. So many things I’m used to seeing on men’s faces. It’s boring.

“You signed an NDA,” he growls. “Don’t forget that,Ren.”

I can’t help but grin at him. “But if you were to sue me… who do you think would be footing the bill?” I glance around the giant, lavish and opulent penthouse we’re currently standing in.