What I Love About You | boyxboy

Chapter 11

“What do you mean, 'a tool’?” I asked.

“You wouldn't get it, but being the child of a billionaire isn't always super fun. The only reason I was born was to replace my brother if he died or couldn't work for the company. And my sister was born to replace me. My parents didn't decide to have children to be loving, caring parents. It was all calculated so that the company would stay in our name.

“I've never had the luxury of deciding I was going to play an instrument, or take electives out of self interest. I was told early on what I was going to do and how I was going to live. There is no room for failure. If I can't do something, then they'll make me.

“You go on about how we brag about being the children of these people, but they are our life. We're just doing what we're told.”

I sat back until I was leaning against the chipping wall. “Doesn't change the fact that most rich kids are spoiled as hell.”

“Maybe they are, but most people attending this school are in the same situation as me. We're here to take over our parents careers. Paris, that girl you referred to as an easy lay that sits in front of you in biology, her sole purpose is to marry a guys son so her family can absorb their company. She doesn't have a choice who she marries.”

I glared at him. “No choice? It's not the fucking 15th century! It's 2018 and we live in the United States. No one is going to force her to get married-”

“It's either that or she'll be abandoned.”

“Abandoned?”

“Yeah, an outcast to the family. What is she supposed to do? Either marry this guy or end up on the streets with no money.”

I clicked my tongue, getting up. “The easiest solution to her problem would be to get a job. Slowly accumulate money. And then, once she's graduated, she's a free woman.”

“A free woman living in the ghetto.”

“God- what's your problem? See, this is exactly what I have a problem with. You think that living there automatically makes you a worthless person-”

“It does.”

I shot to my feet and approached him. Since he was sitting, I towered over him a lot more than I usually did. Before he could get up I forced him down. “Then what does that make me? I'm worthless?”

“You're actually making something of yourself.”

“You don't know everyone's story.”

“And neither do you!”

And neither do you.

I stepped back from him, clenching my fists until the knuckles turned white. My entire life I've hated rich kids. My mother and Ford had put me into private schools for as long as I could remember. They were elite schools with insane tuition, but the two made do by sacrificing our comfort living in exchange for that education. I'd lived in shitty neighborhoods all my life with dirt cheap rent while we spent most of every penny on those schools. I'd met so many rich kids, all of them spoiled beyond reason, and every time I looked at them take everything they had for granted, it made me so mad.

Nothing in this world seemed fair. They had everything and I had nothing. I began seeing the world in two extremes and nothing in between. Their stories didn't matter to me, they all just ran their mouths about how great it was to have money and looked down on those that didn't.

In middle school a girl, who was there on a partial music scholarship like me, had a gap between her teeth. It wasn't a life threatening condition, so her parents made the choice to leave it be and focus on giving her all the things she needed for school. The two of us had been great friends, relating to our “commoner” lifestyle among the rich kids.

Until one day she didn't come to school.

Or the next day.

Or the day after that.

It was the second time I'd been confronted with death.

It wasn't until then that I realized the hell she'd been put through. Tooth gap Lucy was the name written in bold sharpie on her desk the last day of her life. They mocked her for her hair, her face, the gap in her teeth, and the tattered hand down folders she'd bring to class.

“She should pay more attention to her appearance. It's not that hard to go to the dentist once in a while!”

“Oh my God, right? Her breath was so bad!”

“She never even tried to look like a girl, I think she was a dyke!”

The girls were ruthless. All because she didn't have the time, or money, or things like makeup or fixing her teeth.

I pushed away from Taylor. “Just because I don't have money, like you, doesn't make me any less worthy to live. I have worked my ass off to get into this school. Countless hours of playing on the guitar and piano just so I can come close to the level of professionalism. My mother always has bags under her eyes because she's always working and never sleeping. We live in that shit hole so we actually have money to attend this school and meanwhile you people take all of that for granted.”

“You can't get mad without knowing the whole story!” He pushed me back. “God damnit, Sen. I didn't tell you this to fight with you. I don't think badly of you because you live in the ghetto.”

“You literally just said that people like that are worthless.”

“People who leech off the government and refuse to get jobs. You're different.”

“Yeah-” I stopped. “What?”

“I said your different.” He observed my eyes. I could feel myself calming down. “I think anyone that works hard deserves to succeed. I'm also, kind of, jealous… of you.”

Wait? A rich kid jealous of me sounded like complete and utter bullshit. “Why?”

“Because you have the ability to choose where you go from here. You want to learn music, so you're doing it. I… can't even listen to music other than what my parents deem appropriate.”

For some reason I didn't feel mad anymore.

“What's that?” I asked.

He laughed a bit. “Like… Bach.”

I made a face. “Bach? Anything else?”

“Classical music and Jazz. They don't exactly think very highly of musicians.”

“I gathered on that.” I sighed. Once again my attention seemed to go to the bruises on his face. They were fading, but not fully gone. “What do your parents say about the bruises?”

He reached his hand up to cover his eye. “They… don't care.”

“What do you mean? They don't ever ask who did it?”

“They don't care. As long as I'm alive and can hold a pencil to get my work done that sort of thing doesn't matter. I have to dress a certain way, but my brother is the one that must look the part. I'm just the substitute.” He had a glint in his eye.

“Everything's always been about appearances.” He continued. “But they don't ever seem to notice.”

They don't seem to notice? How horrible. He can do whatever he wants with that picture, I decided, because I'm done with my role. I'd finally understood why he was so crazy. Why he didn't seem to care about the amount of pain.

You're a real fucking idiot.

“Classes will be starting soon.” I pointed out. “And Taylor, I don't want to do this anymo-” suddenly he reached out for me, holding me so I couldn't move toward the exit. “What?”

“C-can we just start this over? As friends.”

As friends? Against all of my better judgement, against every warning thrown my way, I agreed to this. Even though, I knew deep down, that history would only repeat itself.