Failed Expectations {IN EDITING}

Chapter One: Typical

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(Chris' POV)
"How about that college application?"

I dropped my head with a silent groan. It had been said that the Turner's have had the loopholes to the constitution written in there blood. A direct relationship to the little fact that for past century, every male Turner has devoted their lives to defending wrongdoers and innocence in courts day in and day out. It was only expected I do the same. "About that," I muttered, forking a piece of cantaloupe with plenty more force than was necessary. "I haven't really gotten to that point yet."

"What point exactly?" my father demanded.

"The beginning part?"

He let out a roar of frustration at my procrastination. I flinched as if his disappointment wounded me physically. "Dad, chill. I'll get to it. I always do."

" I will not, 'chill out'," my father growled in irritation. "Is this how you plan to run the family firm one day, Christopher?"

"Chris." The correction just popped out of my mouth. I closed my eyes, waiting for the same lecture I got everyday.

"We, as your parents, gave you the name CHRISTOPHER and that is exactly what we will call you," he snapped. "Do you think this Chris-business sounds professional?"

Did it not? It didn't sound unprofessional at least. I wasn't sitting here, saying, "Call me C-Dog," it was merely a shortening. "No dad, it doesn't."

My phone beeped. "And what have I told you about phone use during mealtime?"

It was all I could do to not ask him to just shut up. But, hey, this was typical.
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(Will's POV)
Words were caught in my throat as the knife neared my chest.

No, I thought.No, I don't want this. I don't want to be a Black Rose. Don't, please.

But on the outside I was still, calm, understanding that if messed up 'our' initiation in any way, I would truly see the wrath of my father. I kept as still as I could. The dark cloaked figures at my sides, clasped my arms to ensure I would not move while 'He' anointed me with 'His' mark. The cool metal touched my sternum. Goosebumps covered my body instantly, scalp prickling as the knowledge of what was going to happen really set in. "My son," he breathed, though his voice seemed to rise above the clearing and sweep over the entire cult that watched excitedly. "I welcome you into my family. Into my heart."

The knife was sharp enough that I did not feel the slashes immediately,but once the rough triangle had been formed, hot blood dripped down my chest with then slow, constant steady drips similar to my tears down my cheeks; a deafening roar of a cheer went up. I felt a solid though firm nudge against my arm. "Enough," my father said in a quiet though gruff tone.

I feebly tried to stop the tears but when they grabbed the white-hot brand I knew that I wouldn't be able to be manly long.

Typical.