What started with a random number (BXB) (GAY)

Unexpected changes

They arrived back at Red's mansion, and Red disappeared into a room upstairs. Emory was left downstairs in the unfamiliar household. 

He had no clue where anything was, and there were around ten rooms solely on his floor. Only God knows how many floors there are. 

Obviously, he planned to look around, but before he could do that, he had to make a phone call—a phone call he didn't want to make. 

Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he opened his contacts and quickly located the contact name "aaron." 

He deliberately exhaled slowly before pressing the call button and raising his phone against his ear as he leaned back against the island in the middle of Red's kitchen. 

It rang for a few seconds, and with each one, Emory regretted his decision more. 

Eventually, the person on the other line picked up. There was a long sigh on the other end. 

"What now? Need more money? Get into more trouble? What the fuck are you bothering me for?" They asked brusquely. 

Emory paused for a second before responding, "You, uh, you don't need to pay for my apartment and shit anymore," 

The person on the other end laughed. They laughed for a while as Emory sat there in silence, looking down at the floor as he listened to it. 

"You a drug dealer now? You know damn well you need my cash, and you can't keep a normal job for shit." 

"No," Emory paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "No, it's just," He paused again, the words getting caught in his throat. "I'm staying with a friend, and- and I don't gotta pay for anything, so--" 

"Who's this 'friend'? Is it Stephen? Stephen lives with his parents. They don't want you there," The man interrupted, laughing once more, but for a shorter amount of time to let Emory speak. 

"No, not Stephen," Emory answered, keeping his replies short and not saying too much. 

"Really? Then who the fuck are you with because I know damn well you don't have any other friends." 

"Well, I don't know, maybe if you gave a shit about me, you'd know more about my life. But alcohol and weed and all that- all that shit is so much better, right?" 

The call was silent for a few seconds, and Emory spoke once again. "Sorry, um, but, yeah, I don't need your money anymore."

"You still haven't learned how to talk to me, huh? Did I not hit you hard enough? Do you need me to come down to this house belonging to this 'friend' of yours and beat some sense into you?" The man snapped back harshly, his tone becoming sterner as he went on. 

Emory didn't respond, which only made the man angrier. "You deaf now? I'm talking to you, bastard. I thought I taught you to do as you're told." 

"Right," Emory started, trailing off as quickly as he began. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I didn't wanna start shit. I just wanted to let you know that I don't need you anymore." 

"Oh, you're all grown up, huh?" The man scoffed, laughing. "You don't need me? We'll see about that. You'll always need me. I'm your dad." 

Emory paused for a few seconds before saying the one thing he had been most confident saying throughout the entire duration of the call. "No, you're not. You can't call yourself my dad after all the shit you did. Go buy yourself a drink, Aaron." 

With that, he hung up and placed his phone face-down against the island, pressing his hands to his face as he groaned. "This bullshit," He muttered, pushing himself up and sliding his phone into his jacket pocket.