Meeting Mr. Jerk

Chapter one

This is the first time I ever try to publish anything. So, please tell me what you think of it, and hopefully I can write something you can enjoy.

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Chapter 1

Eric

It was very dark and very cold. He was very scared; his foster parents were fast asleep already. And the fight was about to erupt, Jeremy, the big bully was coming to hit him. Jeremy was 16 years old, mean as hell, and if that was not enough, he had a set of muscles on him. Eric didn't mean to fall on Jeremy, he had tripped at dinner over another kid's leg but that resulted in dumping all his food on Jeremy's face as he fell on him. He had no dinner and was now going to be beaten up. He just knew it. He braced himself for the fight; no way in hell was he going to go down without fighting back. Jeremy walked to him; he stood there watching Eric through narrowed eyes.

"Well, little punk, you got anything to say for yourself?"

"Look Jeremy, I swear it was an accident. I'm sorry, OK?"

Then the first punch came, knocking Eric down on the floor. Eric was only 10 years old; he was so thin, and that blow hurt like hell. Eric stood back up; he shoved Jeremy away and bolted out of the room. Eric ran with all the speed he could muster, but Jeremy caught him by the time he reached the kitchen. Eric fell down, this time on his face. He couldn't scream because Jeremy had his hand on Eric's mouth.

Tears started to trickle down on Eric's cheeks, he was really scared. He kept kicking with his legs; his legs suddenly came in contact with something when suddenly Jeremy's face went a little bit red. He had kicked Jeremy. He quickly stood up, and was fixed in his place. Eric was afraid that he might have harmed Jeremy.

"Oh my god, Jeremy are you OK? does it hurt? I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to do that. I was only moving my legs because I wanted to get out from under you".

Eric bent down to help Jeremy stand up, when Jeremy was finally up on his feet, he bent down to pick an empty beer bottle that was in the trash can and with the swing of his arms he brought the bottle down on Eric's face with all his strength. The bottle broke on Eric's face and he let out a loud scream. The pain from the impact of the glass on his face was very fierce. He was crying uncontrollable as he reached his hands to where it heard when he suddenly found a glass sticking in his left cheek right under his eye. He panicked not knowing what to do; he just pulled it out deciding to go with his instinct.

Eric bolted up in his bed, breathing hard. He had had another nightmare, he wondered if those would ever stop. He walked to the bathroom, turned on the light, and washed his face. He dried his face and then looked at himself in the mirror. He was 28 years old now; he was well built, strong man, with a lot of muscles, black hair, hazel eyes and a scar that ran from just down his left eye to the beginning of his cheek. He couldn't believe that he still had nightmares about that night. He had promised himself that night, that no matter what the circumstances were he would never be that small, weak kid anymore. He was powerful now, physically, financially, and most importantly emotionally.

He never allowed anyone to be close to him, he had built a wall around him to keep everyone at bay, even his friends, although he trusted them, he did not talk about himself or share any piece of information; always staying away in case things got intense.

As for his relationships they were only a "booty call"; meaningless sex with different girls that he didn't even know their names nor cared to. It was always at the women's apartments and he always left after it.

Eric looked into his eyes, those empty, ruthless eyes. They say that the eyes were the window to the soul, well if that was true then he had no soul. His life concept: "you're either the prey or the predator". It's a very simple yet effective concept.

He walked back to his bedroom to look at the time; it was 6:00 am; time to shower and get dressed. He grabbed the towel, fresh underwear, and marched to the bathroom. He turned the water on and waited for it to heat up; he jumped in and started to shower.

Eric let his mind drift away with his thoughts, today was a big day in work. He will get promoted, yup, today he was no longer just another member in the creative team, today he was becoming the manager of the said team; and hopefully a full partner one day.

He got out of the shower, dried himself up and started to get dressed. He then went to the kitchen to fix himself breakfast. He decided on some omelet and bacon. He started making them; and when they were done he put them in a plate and sat at the table. He sat in the kitchen admiring it; he had come a long way from being a poor orphan. Now he was successful, creative, and owns a killer apartment in Los Angeles. Things were really going great for him. People started telling Eric that he was one lucky son of a bitch, but to be honest, Eric didn't believe in luck. He believed that if a person wants something then he should work very hard to achieve it and then work extremely hard to maintain it.

He finished breakfast and put the plate in the dish washer, went to the living room, picked up his keys and got out. Eric lived in the penthouse of the building, so it was a long ride in the elevator, not to mention that if any of the annoying neighbors rode with him, they always attempted to start a conversation with him. Eric was not sociably, to put it in a polite way; he never talked to anyone, kept to himself a lot, and refused all offers to socialize with his neighbors. To them he was a mystery to be revealed. He patiently waited till he arrived to the parking, he quickly made his way to his Mercedes, turned the engine on and got out.