Brutal Kings...damn..{Ongoing)

2

Clinton woke up feeling shivery. He yawned and got his covers off from his body. It was the day he'd set to sight see the acres of land he was planning on purchasing for designing his dream penthouse the very best way possible. He'd purchased the one he was currently staying at, a week ago. It had the view of the ocean, the main reason he'd done so. Clinton was someone who loved penthouses. It was his taste and type of building. He'd everything planned out for the sightseeing. The helicopter and its pilots were probably waiting for the arrival of him with his friends. The architectures were ready to pen down the choice of structure of edifice that was topper. He'd made them know that it was somewhere he was going to live in. It must be optimum. Clinton yawned and walked to switch off the air-conditioner that had kept him cold from yesterday night. He cleared his tight throat and knew he needed one hot cup of coffee to begin with. He scratched his eyes slightly as he crossed to ring the bell for the housekeepers. Clinton wasn't surprised when he heard the slight knock on his door. It wasn't up to a minute he rang the bell. He would swear he loved the diligency. Clinton wrapped his hands into the warmth of his Jacket pocket, laying legs crossed on his bed as he spoke lowly, "come in."

A chubby lady wearing some blue uniforms showed up. She had her hands tightened to her back, waiting patiently to hear what the young man was going to say. Her eyes couldn't hold to his gaze. She let hers fall to the soft white fabric below her feet.

      "Coffee." Clinton simply said.
"Sure, Sire. Right away, Sire." she says hastily, turning for the door.
   "It should be hot and desirable. Milk, is a top priority." Clinton mentioned to her. He wouldn't want the way he likes his coffee mistaken. That was him. He likes what he likes and hates what he hates.
       "Sure, Mister." her hand was stretched to the bolt.

Clinton could still hear her footsteps miles away from his room. He shook his head and went for his phone and was surprised to see the missed calls popping on his screen the moment after he dialed his password. Clinton had visited together the night club in the country with Harrison and David and had left alone. He'd gone straight to bed without eating or taking off his clothes. Clinton remembered he didn't want to be at the club anymore after spending one hour. He tasted his tongue and could still smell the reek of wine in his breath. His fingers searched the call list and saw he'd missed calls from Harrison and David. He wasn't surprised. They were supposed to leave the club together. He'd ghosted on them again. Clinton was used to doing so. Once at an event hosted by Samuel's mother, Twice at his own party and then at David's birthday occasion. He'd left two hours after the party started and never called to tell the birthday boy or any of the boys. He hadn't want them to lose concentration on the enjoyment they were having. Clinton had felt nauseous on that day and knew instantly the reason was the crowd. He'd left immediately. He hated to be in an overfilled place. He was someone that loved his space and time alone. Clinton smiled at the messages of Harrison swearing to deal with him the moment they see and asking how and where he was. David hadn't texted yet. He rarely texted. He'd the highest number of calls misssed. His, surpassing Clinton's mom with two. Clinton wondered why his mother would call that much. She never called. If she ever does it would be once, the most two. They weren't close. Clinton was sure they would never in any day to come. Why did she call? To query him about why he'd bought the apartment? Because the information must reach to her first. Clinton had withdrawn the large amount stating in the documents the reason was to acquire a property, a penthouse at hillside country park. It was a must to sign some papers before money leaves the co-operation bank, since his mother made the law. Or possibly to remind him about school setting to resume by next week? He wouldn't be surprised if that was the reason, he thought as his thumb poked on her number. It rang once, then the familiar voice began. He'd hesitated before placing the phone to his ear. Clinton reasoned if he wanted to hear the voice of lady that gave birth to him.
     
"I'm very shocked you called back. I thought you would never. Where are you? You got me and your sisters worried sick yesterday. Your friends called yesterday asking if I knew of your whereabouts. How would I, when you always do everything at your own will." Clinton rolled his eyes after a hiss. He trusted his guts he would've hunged up if she hadn't added the phrase that his father is back from his trip and would want a dinner with the family.
  "You wouldn't want me to make him know that you'd taken quite a sum of money from the company's account to squander on something irrelevant. We've houses, Clinton. Three on the uptown City, Two in the Villa. The estate on the long island isn't fully occupied..." she was scolding. Her voice showed she was pissed off. Mrs Cornell was the manager of the company and any money removed from it would surely be made known to her. "what is the matter with you. You always do what you feel is right, when it's not. Why do you have to buy an apartment. It's fine if you want to be alone, everytime, but stop doing things only by your presumptions."

   "Are you done?" Clinton's voice came without stress. He wasn't in the mood to argue. He would just skip doing so at that moment, his forehead ached terribly. An argument was the least he wanted to do.

   "You should stop using money unnecessarily because you are fortunate enough. I'm done. Be home for dinner tonight." She hunged the phone. Clinton felt a pinge of regret that he didn't suspend the phone call first. Definitely he would be going back to the house he was avoiding because he wouldn't want to be grounded. It was something he didn't want at the moment. The plan of building his penthouse can't be paused. Clinton's thoughts were interrupted by his doorbell.

"Your coffee, sir." The voice sang almost after the bell.

   "Yeah, come in." He responded and the door was opened. The lady that had left minutes ago walked inside with the coffee cup and tray. "Just as you requested." she says professionally, placing the cup on the table at the center of the room. Clinton nodded. She bowed a little and walked away. The young boy stood from his bed and went straight to where the cup was waiting to be held. His eyes were to his outside view. The breeze meeting the ocean and it displaying peculiar dances was something worth watching everyday. Clinton tasted the warm drink. It was good, he admitted. And at four gulps, it was finished. He uttered a sigh. Indeed the coffee had set his head. It always worked. Clinton could already tell he was having a bad day and knew it wouldn't end well. His phone started beeping.
   "David!" he said the moment he answered.

************

"Don't sit on my couch that way." Clinton commanded at the girl who hadn't noticed him walk into the quiet sitting room of his apartment. The curtains were drawn down, that played a huge part of making the room look very peaceful. The white cushions fitted perfectly with the white wall and the art paintings that hung at the areas. Clinton was someone who loved artistry designs. He purchased the works from the best gallary in the city each week that passes by. The old ones were to be thrown away. He loved meeting his things new and fresh. Same with changing his wardrobes. That was his lifestyle. Gabriella who was sipping the juice from the tumbler and watching the television series was stunned by the voice she hadn't been expecting. She swallowed hard and stood immediately from the chair. She wondered if she'd committed a crime. She'd only crossed her legs, falling her back to rest on the couch.

    "I'm, I'm so sorry." she was stammering. "I was only waiting for—"

"Who the hell are you?" his eyes were squinted.          
"My mother is a domestic staff here, Sir. I— I'm so sorry." for a bit she wondered why she was apologizing. The young slender girl of 20 was going to take the cup from the table beside the chair when it left her hand. Her eyes were widened. The drink spilled from the table and stained the white rug.
  
"What the—" Clinton felt the anger rise and boil inside of him. It was so hard for him to bear. His eyes were pinned on the floor the incident occured. "Get out of my house! Who is your mother? She's fired!" His temperate was high. He wanted her to leave before he destroyed something. Her presence and what she'd done was going to force him to. Clinton knew he would have to change the entire rug. "Stop staring at me. Are you deaf?"
  "No, please." The blonde girl ran to meet her knees on the ground in front of him, pleading. "Don't sack my Mum, she's not the one at fault."
  Clinton stared at her for a moment and said, "you irritate me and I don't take my words back. Security!"