The Broken Hearts Club

Chapter 7: Blinding Lights

                                                                 

           In the Perspective of Holland Gray

It seemed like I was seconds away from becoming permanently blind. Every camera flash directed at me left me seeing fuzzy black spots, clouding my vision. I stood there at the podium with my head held high, and my shoulders back, trying to have the right posture to reflect my reputation. I couldn't show any sign of fear towards my audience, or the New York press would eat me alive.

I was attending my fifth press conference since taking my father's position as chief commander of the N.Y.S.C. The press and those in a position of power were invested in my every move. They all wanted to know whether I would actually save our country or slowly destroy it. The citizens had deemed me their savior... Their hero. The millions of people in New York had decided to put their faith in my hands. This position had gained my father a lot of power and wealth, two things I didn't want. My father had been just as powerful as our president.

Since New York had become a playground for gang activity, the people no longer concerned themselves with the actions of petty politicians, but rather who was protecting them. Who were the people who could protect our country and save it from becoming a hell on earth? One answer. The security force of New York.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, coming from a guard to my left. A signal that it was time to begin. Even though it was my fifth conference, I still felt completely out of place. I touched the top of the microphone, making sure that it was on. In my most polite voice I inquired " So, does anyone have any questions?" Most people thought this technique was stupid, allow people to ask questions first and then give a speech? This was a tactic I had found effective, people thought you were kinder if you asked the people what they were curious about first before talking about your plans.

Nonetheless, my question caused a commotion throughout the audience. Hands were rising left and right, almost every person moving impatiently like a toddler who was having a tantrum. I pointed to a brunette lady with a notebook, most likely another journalist who wanted to know my every secret.

" Uh, Commander Gray what are your plans to protect the businesses throughout the city that are being raided by violent gangs," the brunette lady interrogated. " Interesting question, but appropriate. My employees and I have partnered up with companies around the country to provide free security equipment and cameras to businesses that are unable to pay for them. This solution will hopefully decrease the occurrence of raids within businesses," I broadcasted. My response was met with several approving nods from my audience.

This continued for several hours. Someone would ask a question and I would respond with my answer. Then my audience would judge it, and decide whether they liked my solution or not. This was the system.

When it was over, I was escorted to my ride by six guards, each one standing close to me. As soon as I sat down in the car, a sigh of relief escaped my lips, and a wave of complete exhaustion came over me. " Hey Holland," said a voice next to me, it was my annoying father, Michael Gray. I rolled my eyes, he was the last person I wanted to see after an exhausting day. He would always find a way to make my day even worse.

He was an older man with brown hair that he dyed regularly, so no one knew how old he really was. His appearance was one of the most important things in his life, other than money. " What do you want dad?" I groaned, hoping he would answer my question and then leave. He took no notice to my annoyed tone and happily responded, " I just wanted to talk to you about your current standings, the press love you kid. They're eating up every word you say, it's fantastic! We're gonna see a lot of money rolling in real soon." I was taken aback by his conceited words,

" Dad, what I'm doing isn't for the press or for the money, it's for the people of New York. Why can't you see that?"

A sly smile spread across his face, " Sure kid sure, ya know you don't have to pull that act with me. All that "It's for the people," crap. I understand though." I stared out at the window, letting the passing landscape distract me from my father's words. " But kid, we got to make a plan to change your tactics. Right now you're doing too much. If you keep doing what you're doing now the press will expect too much from you. Once you can't live up to their expectations, things will get ugly. So...." He continued to talk. I tried to drown out his words but they rang in my head repeatedly, like an unstoppable echo. Spouting nonsense about money, how I should be like him, and the expectations of the press.

The words coming out of his arrogant mouth were beginning to anger me, and then I was at my breaking point. I was tired of his shit. " DAD!" I shouted, interrupting him, and catching the attention of our driver. " What?" He answered innocently. " Do you ever shut up dad?! I don't want any of this, you know I don't! Ever since you made me take your position, you've done nothing but tell me how to get money and make a good reputation for myself." I let my anger out, letting out my opinions that I had kept locked inside my head for the past three months.

I continued my rant, making sure I released all of my bottled up anger. " I don't want to be another pawn in your stupid plan to gain money and power! I don't want to be someone that only exists to satisfy the press! Maybe, I actually want to help this city! Something that's not even on your reckless agenda."

If my dad could have shot me right then and there, he would've. At least, that's what he looked like he was thinking. His expression was livid. " What did you say to me?" He questioned softly, the quiet volume of his question disguising his anger. I didn't have any regrets about what I said, and I couldn't give into anything he said. Then he did the unexpected... He laughed. At first, a light chuckle, which then changed into a thunderous roar of laughter. He wasn't laughing at something, he was laughing in my face.

" Boy, you really think you have a say in any of this? In case that was unclear, you don't. You walk out of this car right now... The press will find your body in one of these garbage bins. You're mine Holland, I think you know that now. You'll sure as hell do anything I say, and yes you might wanna save this city, but it's not gonna happen. This city can't be saved, accept it." He looked into my eyes, making sure his point was getting across to me. I looked away from him, unable to meet his malicious eyes, what had I gotten myself into?

My father was an evil man, I knew that now. I just wish I would've figured it out in the eighteen years I had been alive. I had fallen into a hole of my own making, and I wasn't sure if I could get out this time.