Living Your Lie (boyxboy)

Chapter 3

"Don't forget to set the house alarm before you go to bed, Harley," my mother trilled loudly through the house as she searched for me.

I was splayed out on the couch that was in the family room at the back of the house. I'd just been staring out of the open windows, the early March breeze blowing in just enough to make it chilly. It had been only an hour or so since I'd gotten done talking to Dante and I was doing my best not to full-on throw a fit about everything. I was just incredibly crabby now, and I didn't really even understand why.

"Harley," my mom called out. I could hear her annoying heels clacking along as she made her way across the orange-gold and white, checkered Italian marble flooring that covered the entire house. "Where are you at, sweetums?"

I rolled my eyes, wanting to gag at my mother's words. "I'm in here," I called unhelpfully.

Lucky for her, she wasn't far away and managed to find me in the next thirty seconds. Next thing I knew, she was making her way over to me, a faint look of disapproval on her face as she smoothed out her fancy and, most likely, expensive dress. The red fabric was fitted to her and flowed all the way down to her ankles.

"What?" I asked her shortly. I didn't like the way she was looking at me.

She sighed. "Really, darling you shouldn't sit on the furniture like that. That sofa cost more than your car. You'll ruin it."

I grumbled and righted myself on the couch so my feet were flat on the ground. "This thing is ridiculous."

"You're supposed to act like a nice, refined gentleman when sitting on furniture. Not some hoodlum."

I frowned. "I don't want to be a gentleman."

"Clearly," she muttered. She fixed me with a stare. "Well what do you want from me?" she asked in a way that made it sound like she had no idea how to deal with me.

"I want you to buy furniture that I can actually be comfortable on. Jesus. Everything in this damn house is practically too expensive to touch. It's my house! I want to be able to lie down and not worry about wearing out the stupid fabric."

My mother huffed indignantly. "You can be so ungrateful sometimes, Harley. Your father and I put a lot of effort into getting you nice things. At least you have a nice roof over your head and a breathtaking view all around you. Your walls could be boring and white and your floor could be carpet. Don't act so spoiled."

I gave her the most dumbfounded look I could muster. "I'm the spoiled one? Holy shit, woman."

My mom put one hand on her hip, gave me a stern look, and pointed at me with the pointer finger on her other hand. "Watch your language, young man."

I was about to mutter something sarcastic in response, but my dad beat me to words by walking up to stand under one of the three arches that separated this room from the dining room. "Tara, come on," he said sharply. He looked pointedly down at his wrist and tapped the diamond-encrusted watch that sat there. "We've got to go."

"One moment, Glen," my mom said. "I'm trying to instill some manners into our son's memory."

"Again?" my father asked.

He sounded irritated and bored, but I found it funny. Especially when it became known that my mother wasn't amused. I laughed and she sent me a warning glare--one that I couldn't possibly take seriously.

"Let's go," my dad insisted, gesturing in the direction of where our front door was--quite a ways on the opposite side of the house. "Make sure you set the alarm tonight."

"I already told him that," my mom said before she started to walk away from me.

"Of course she did," my dad sighed. I turned to him and gave him a look. "We'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Don't throw a party, please. Then we'll have to listen to your mother bitch about having to pay the cleaners extra to put things back in order."