Building an Empire [M/M]

Prologue

Prologue

Age 6

The little boy watched his mother throw clothes down in bags and suitcases while mumbling no-no words. “Moooom, where are you going?” he asked while frowning. He had seen her pack before when she went on business trips, but never like this. “Not now, honey,” she snapped without pausing in her wild packing. The boy looked on for a bit longer before he tried again, “Can I come with you?” The mother groaned exasperation and turned to look at her son. “No, your father made sure of that. That old faithless bastard!” She began trying to close the first bag that was filled to the brim.

“When are you coming back?” The boy watched with nervous eyes as his mother finally managed to close the first bag. His mother stomped over and pushed him out the door, none too gently. “I said not now, go play with your toys.” The door slammed behind the boys back. A warm heat slowly built up behind his eyes, but he held back because boys didn’t cry. He had seen his mother angry before, seen her throw things around so they smashed against a wall - even though he’d been told he wasn’t allowed to do that - but he had never seen here packing her backs while being like this. The boy wasn’t completely certain what it meant, but he felt that something was very wrong.

Tip-toeing down the dark hall he stopped in front of the dark brown wooden door. It was the only door in the apartment this colour. He’d always been told that he was to never knock or open it since it would disturb his father. Puffing out his chest, the child raised a trembling fist and tapped it against the hard surface. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for some kind of reply. None came. The boy put his ear against the door and heard the sound of papers rustling.

“Daaaaad, I need to ask you something really, really important!” he yelled and heard his father’s feet stomp over before the door was thrown open. “What have I told you about disturbing me, Alexander van Heimar?” His dad’s voice was calm, but that was the scary part about his dad. His voice always sounded calm and collected, but you could see the rage in his eyes. The child gulped.

“M-mom is leaving somewhere and she seemed really ang-“

“I goddamn know that, now leave me alone. Go play with your toys.” The door was slammed in the boy’s face and he heard his father go back to the paper rustling. The treacherous tears started flowing down his cheeks. “Stop, stop, stop. Boys don’t cry. Boys don’t cry. Boys don’t cry.” The tears refused to obey and a small sob joined in. The boy hurried down the hallway before his father heard him.

He threw open a small door and hurried down the fire-escape until he was down in the kitchen. People in similar uniforms were running back and forth with meat and vegetables in their hands. It had to be dinner time soon. But that wasn’t what he was here for. Walking quickly down the line of the many stoves he stopped at the one with a small round woman.

“Lindaaa,” he sobbed and threw his arms around her hip. She immediately turned off the stove and crouched down to wrap her soft arms around him. “Shhh, it’s okay. Everything will work out. It’s not like you won’t ever see you mother again. What your parents are going through is very difficult for all involved, but it’s gonna be better in the end. You’ll see. Come now,” Linda stood and smiled down at him, “won’t you help me with these radishes?” The boy nodded and picked up a small knife.

Age 13

“I hate you! This is my life! You can’t tell me who I can and can’t be seen with!” Alexander yelled at his father, who was popping tendons with anger behind his big desk. “Alexander van Heimar, you will do what I tell you and you will do it immediately. Now tell me; no father I will never meet with those hooligans again.”

“Go fuck yourself!” His father’s jaw clenched and his eyes shot bolts of fury. “Bow down and apologize,” he bit out sharply. Alexander glared back at him defiantly. Not that he really cared about his so-called friends. They were convenient group of people he could hang out with, without his surname mattering one bit.

His father and he glared at each other in a silent war, until his father picked up the phone without breaking eye contact. “Bow down before you regret it.”

“Never,” Alexander hissed back. His father’s eyes narrowed. “Have it you way then.” He held the phone against his ear and pressed the quick-dial to his secretary/blow-up doll. “Have Linda Peterson kicked out.” Alexander’s eyes widened and his heart stopped beating. “No! Don’t! Please no. Don’t do that.” Alexander threw himself down on the ground. “I’m sorry, please forgive me, I’ll never see those hooligans again!”

His father looked down at him, his eyes cold and unmerciful. “Make sure she’s gone before tonight.” Alexander felt cold to the core, yet his eyes warm and prickly. He stood up and threw a vase at his father before turning and running down the hall.

It didn’t take long before he was down in the kitchen just to see Linda be escorted out. Tears were flowing down her cheeks. Pain exploded in his chest and dropped him to his knees. He watched as Linda was pushed out the backdoor.

Before I leave for Crete I thought I'd let you have a small peek at my next story. ;)

Oh, yeah. Did you notice the 'history fiction' thing? This is gonna have some historical elements, but for the love of gayness. Don't write a history report on this shit. Seriously. Don't.

And I have chosen to make this R-rated because I think this may become a wee bit dark at times. Nothing too bad... hopefully.