The Price of Love

Chapter 30

John's PoV

I only have hours left. Hours until Alex finds out who I am and dumps me. I deserve it though. I really do. "John! Calm down!" Maria yells for the fifth time in the past three minutes. "It's going to be okay!" I'm sitting on my bed, shaking, trying not to cry. "He's not going to dump you! That man loves you!" I shake my head, my breathing irregular. She sighs in defeat. "Fine. Then avoid him. Just avoid him all night. If he doesn't know you're here, he won't find out who you are, and he won't hate you. Now I have to go, get your ass down in the ballroom in ten minutes." She stomps out. I feel a tear run down my cheek. I can't lose him. Not again. Not so soon. Stay strong John. Stay strong. He can survive two months of torture, you survive a break-up. I think. Nine more minutes. Nine minutes I stay in my room, wrestling with my emotions. After nine minutes, I finally manage to stamp them down. I walk out of my room, down the stairs, through the halls, and into the ballroom. It's crowded and noisy. Not nearly as noisy as a battlefield. I think, then shake my head. I keep comparing stuff to New York and stuff I've experienced there, I need to stop. I walk around, not knowing what to do right now. Dad never lets me leave, that's why I have to sneak out to go to New York, so I don't have any friends besides Maria that live here. I'm kinda hungry. I think, looking around for the food tables. Well, this is going to be a fun night.

Alex's PoV

I wrinkle my nose at the outlandish palace. It's awful. I can't believe I'm expected to enjoy myself here. "Do I have to go in there?" I whisper to Dad. "Just look at it!"

"I know Alex. But you have to, son. I don't want to either, but we have to." I groan, walking behind him. The doors stand open. With no security. What kind of place doesn't have people guarding a place like this? I wonder, more than a bit aghast. Even Albany isn't like this. I follow Dad inside and am greeted by the sounds of music and people laughing and talking. Loud, but nowhere near as loud as a battlefield. I follow Dad through the palace, following the noise. We walk into a massive room full of people. I nearly choke on the heavy smell of, what is it again? Perfume? I think it's called perfume, perfume in the air.

"Holy shit I'm dying." I slump against Dad. "They're using.... gasses...... I can't..... I'm bested...." I sink to the floor theatrically, playing dead. Dad prods me with his shoe. I don't move.

"Alright. Have fun, Dead Body That Used To Be My Son." He walks off, abandoning me to my fate on the floor amidst a sea of rich assholes. After a few minutes of rolling around to avoid getting trampled on, I stagger to my feet.

"Is there any wine here? I'd like to try some wine." I mutter. "I love beer, but I wanna try wine." I wander around until I find a table with drinks on it. On closer inspection, I discover that there are in fact a few bottles of red wine. With a shrug, I grab an empty glass and an open bottle and pour myself some wine. I take a sip of it. Not bad. A bit bitter, and a bit dry, but not too bad. I still prefer beer, but I'd drink this.

"Young man, where is your father?" Someone asks me. I turn my head. Ugh. A snobby-looking rich boy. Well, he's probably in his forties. You get what I'm saying. "I'm sure he wouldn't be allowing you to drink that. Give it here." He holds his hand out and flicks it demandingly. I raise an eyebrow. Um, no no no no no no no. A shithead like you is not going to order me around, thank you.

"I don't know." I drawl. "He left me alone to amuse myself." I can play at being as rich and spoiled as you are, bastard. I pick at my fingernails, not having to fake my boredom, and take another sip of wine. "And my father gave me permission to drink whatever I want." I force a note of arrogance into my voice, quite enjoying playing this game.

"Boy, I care not who your father is, you are too young to drink." He says. I roll my eyes.

"What's the drinking age?" I demand.

"Twenty-one. You cannot be more than fifteen, at the greatest."

"Yeah? Well, the minimum drinking age in New York is eighteen. You know why? Because my father agreed with me that everyone should be allowed to celebrate being a legal adult with a pint or two beer." I hiss, getting in his face. "And guess what? I'm turning nineteen in seven months. And I live in New York. So fuck off." I spin around and stalk off. I'm so freaking booooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrred. I grumble to myself after wandering around pointlessly for about fifteen minutes. I wish John was here. I think wistfully.

---

About three hours later, and I want to go home. I danced with some girls, told some tales, and got recognized as the Prince and had to deal with that. And the size of the place is getting to me. I can do well in a crowd, you learn to when you fight as often as I do. But not in enclosed spaces. I manage to fight my way back to the table with the beer and the wine and I just noticed that there's some chairs with some tables. Not caring what any of these rich assholes think, I grab two pints of beer and sit at a table. The beer's no Sam Adams, but it'll do. I quickly chug both of them and wipe my mouth on my sleeve, stifling a burp. Thoroughly bored, I watch the people around me, my eyesight slightly fuzzy. But not fuzzy enough to not recognize the man grabbing a beer a few feet from me. Not blurry enough to recognize the face I've been aching to see since he left a week ago. And not blurry enough to miss the crest I so despise sitting proudly on his chest.

"John?"