How Stereotypical!

Chapter 7: Turn Down For What!... Fuck it!

Chapter 7: Turn Down For What!... Fuck it!

*Adrian's POV*

TURN DOWN FOR WHAT!?

"Mother of f*ck!" My eyes shot open as I jumped up in surprise. Stupid phone! With a groan, I fell back onto the bed, closing my eyes. I regret the day I chose to set that as my ringtone. Not one time has it failed to scare me. I pated around the side table, looking for said phone and picked it up without looking at it.
"Hello?" I said in a half asleep voice.
"Hello, son," a familiar male voice said.
I shot straight up, my grogginess out of the window.
"What do you want?" I asked coldly.
"How are you-"
"Stop beating around the bush and get to the point." A hint of irritation seeped into my voice.
"Can't a dad just call to ask about his son?"
"A dad can. The owner of the Blue Ivy group of hotels can't."
Silence
"Well, son-"
"Don't call me son."
"Very well. Your mother and I are hosting the-"
"No. I'm not coming to some f*cking black tie event." A sigh exited from the speaker.
"It'll please your mother."
"Oh please! She's probably screwing your assistant as we speak. That woman couldn't care less about me!"
"Adrian! Do not speak of your mother like that!"
"She lost the right to be called my mother when she chose f*cking your assistant over picking me up from school. Goodbye CEO of the Blue Ivy group of hotels," I spat before hanging up. How dare he?! My thoughts spiraled out of control. With a loud growl, I punched the wall hard, breaking skin. A loud sound of feet running filled the air.

"Ian? Honey? Are you okay?" my aunt asked as she stepped into my room, followed by a worried Amber and confused Jay. "Oh my God!" Aunt Julie gasped when she saw my bleeding knuckles. "Get some towels and the first aid kit, Jay. Amber, go fill some warm water in a bowl and bring it here," she ordered as she studied my hand gingerly.
"It's fine, aunt Julie," I said.
"Shut up Ian! What in Heaven's name were you thinking?!" she exclaimed as Amber walked in with the water, followed by Jay.

"Dad called," I whispered for only my aunt's ears. Her face softened at these words. She knew about my demanding father and estranged mother. After patting my cheek with a kind gaze, she grabbed a towel and dipped it in the warm water, before dabbing my split knuckles. I held back winces as she tended to them as gently as possible. The fact that she felt bad about my relationship with my parents was but obvious. But she knew I needed some time to get over their deeds. My aunt, ever the optimist, believed that it was fixable. I, on the other hand, knew that there was only so much that could be fixed, and my relationship with my gene donors wasn't one of them.

"This is going to need stitches. Put on some pants and a jacket," my aunt said and ushered her children out. My hand continued to throb as I struggled into my clothes. Way to go, Adrian! You hurt yourself over that worthless, good for nothing, excuse of a father! My sarcastic subconscious chided. My fist was still bleeding, staining my t-shirt red. Too soon, I found myself in the car with aunt Julie on the way to the E.R. with my hand in a towel.

"What did Jonathan want?" aunt Julie asked me with tripedition.
"You know, the usual. Some f*cking black tie event they needed me to attend," I replied, unable to hold back my curse. She frowned at me with a disapproving look, but didn't say anything. My anger was justified. They left me with a string of young nannies who were busy with their boyfriends. If it wasn't for aunt Julie, I don't know where I'd be.

When we walked into the E.R. where we were greeted by an over perky receptionist.
"Hello. How may I help you?" she asked with an over-cheery smile. I rolled my eyes.
"My nephew here had a little accident. I'm pretty sure he needs stitches," aunt Julie replied.
"Right this way. The doctor will see you in a minute," she said, leading us off to a closed off section. A minute later, the doctor arrived, followed by a young blonde nurse.
"Stitches, huh?" the doctor said, taking a look at my hand. "How did it happen?" he asked, while stringing a thread onto one of those hooked needles.
"Kick boxing practice," I lied smoothly as aunt Julie nodded. He patiently stitched up my hand, not trying to make small talk, which I appreciated. Soon he was done.
"I'll let Linda here patch up the rest. And ma'am you can go on and fix up the bill at reception," he said before he left, followed by aunt Julie. I was alone with the pretty nurse now. Pouring some rubbing alcohol on cotton, she began working on my fingers.