Broken Promise | Monsta X Jooheon

20//Rise

"And I will not negotiate. I'll fight it, I'll fight it. I will transform." — Rise, Katy Perry

Declan Keshan is a six foot two, lean business mogul and billionaire with the world at his feet. His icy blue eyes can pierce your soul, dark brown hair always neat and tidy and he was not one for messing around.

Declan Keshan could be easily called one of the most powerful, intimidating men of our time.

Declan Keshan is a monster.

Declan Keshan is my father.

And he's standing right in front of me.

Icy blue eyes appraise me in thinly-veiled contempt as my father took in the child he hadn't laid eyes on in three years.

"You'll never find a suitable husband with those hideous tattoos covering your skin," was the first thing that came from his mouth as he stood, rounding the desk to stand before me.

Though our personalities were more similar than my father and especially I would like to admit, we shared few physical features except our ice cold glares and our mouths, currently shaped in cold, thin lines as we sized each other up.

I dont think I've ever actually seen my father smile.

At this point, I don't really want to. He doesn't deserve it.

"You've gotten taller." he drawled, eyes blank though there was a strange tone buried deep beneath his voice.

I scoffed. "It's been three years, one would hope so."

My father snorted, turning and mumbling something along the lines of "Not nearly long enough."

I maintained my poker face, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

How could he not know how much words like that hurt? Did he even care? Or was it his intention to hurt me all along, just like he had hurt my mother until she no longer even wanted to live anymore?

Did he wish I would follow in her footsteps?

"Why are you here, I told you to go through the accountant if you want more money sent to your account." his voice was scolding, like my very presence was a nuisance to him and I should know better than he put him through seeing my face.

He wasn't even looking at me anymore, face buried in a stack of papers I didn't even remotely care enough to read.

I could feel my blood pressure spike at his words, gritting out through clenched teeth, "I'm not here for more money. I'm here for answers."

My father's eyes didn't move from the papers and his body language didn't change in the slightest. It was like he never even heard me at all.

If my mother saw him acting this way towards me, directly to my face, she would have burst into tears.

"Answers to what?" his voice was monotone as if he would rather be anywhere on earth than sitting in this room with me.

This would be substantially harder than trying to talk to Nana or Jiho. They actually cared about me and solving the issues we had.

My dad? He couldn't care less.

But I'd tried with everyone else, this motherfucker sure as hell wasn't about to escape his pseudo-reckoning. He deserved peace least of all. He had the most power to prevent what happened and not only did he do nothing, he didn't even give a damn about the damage that had been done.

He'd turned everyone else's lives inside out, why should he be the only one to not feel any consequences?

"Answers as to why you hated my mom so much, you couldn't bear to take two days out of your oh so important week to be there for her when she fucking needed you."

My father sneered, otherwise unresponsive before he murmured, "I hope you get rid of that nasty cursing habit before it's time for you to enter the professional world."

I laughed humorlessly, the sound emotionless and grating against my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

For the first time in my life, I saw my big bad father, Declan Keshan, flinch.

"My nasty cursing habit, huh? Please, that's nothing, BITCH, SHIT, FUCK, CUNT, ASS, DICK —"

He slammed his pen on the desk, glaring at me with fire in his eyes now. We were in his downtown office and he knew as well as I did, there were plenty quite a few potential clients and colleagues in the building who wouldn't take too kindly to my potty mouth tickling their sensitive little rich people ears.

"What do I have to say for you to leave me the hell alone?" He hissed, finally at his breaking point.

A small part of me, left over from years ago, was quaking in horror. As a kid, I'd always been utterly terrified of my cold, imposing father.

Though it had dissipated some with age and sorrow, it seems there was still a bit of fear left over.

"You want me to apologize? You want me to suddenly pretend that I love you and that we're a happy little two-thirds of a pitiful family?"

I'd always known that my father didn't love me, he made it pretty damn obvious. But to hear him say it. To hear the words from his own mouth where I could no longer defend or rationalize or twist them into something kinder....it made me boil over just like he did.

At least I knew where I got my temper from.

"I don't want you to lie to me! I want you to be a decent human being for once in your miserable life and tell me why you sit there on your ass and let my mother kill herself! I want you to tell me why in the hell you hate me so damn much! I want you to tell me why you keep bringing all these people in your life with the promise of loving and protecting them when all you do is let them down!"

Before I knew what happened, I was on the floor, face throbbing from the hard as shit punch my father had delivered to my right eye.

But little did Declan Keshan knew this little bitch is a goddamned street fighter.

Maybe if he'd ever paid an ounce of attention to me, he'd have known how my fighting worked and how to defend himself against me. Or that I could fight at all.

I wasn't surprised that my father was beating me, I was more so surprised that my words had affected him so much. That I'd apparently hit his soft spot so hard he flew into a blind, frenzy induced rage.

The shock (and pain of a now rebroken nose from his second hit) were the only reasons he was able to bust my lip and hit my jaw.

After that, instinct kicked in and when I snapped out of it again, I'm pretty sure Daddy dearest was sporting a couple broken ribs, a concussion, and a fractured ankle in addition to his own busted lip, two black eyes, broken nose, and probably a busted eye.

The receptionist's eyes bugged when she saw me stomping towards the exit and she offered to call an ambulance, or the police, but I only waved her off, not sparing her a second glance as I stalked out of the building, and down the street in the direction of my grandmother's bookstore.

My body was sore, trembling, and on complete autopilot, but my mind was clearer than it had in years.

Everything made sense, every piece of Declan Keshan's puzzle snapping into its rightful place.

Declan Keshan wasn't soulless or a monster. He was me.

Me pushed to the absolute extreme, but still me.

He was terrified of letting people in. Terrified of letting people down. It was that fear that led to him emotionally abusing my mother and neglecting his child but it didn't save him, it only made things worse.

Now he's terrified, guilty, and angry.

Declan Keshan isn't one of the most powerful, intimidating men of our time. He's a terrified little boy, blaming and bullying the world so he has something to project his guilt into in order to avoid taking responsibility for his actions.

Declan Keshan is what I'll be if I don't clean up my act. Alone and a monster, hurting everyone I should be protecting in order to avoid the guilt and fear of letting them down.

I won't become like my father.

I fucking refuse.