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Logic had become the groundwork of his life. Discover the reasons behind why something is and use that to counteract any negative emotions. Well, ‘negative’ in the sense that they would negatively impact the family business. Raphael cried a little harder. What would his father say if he saw him like this? Curled up in his walk-in closet, chair propped up against the handle so no one can open the door and see him breaking down. He’d probably kill him. Or worse. Disown him.
Rafe wasn’t really sure why he was crying – although it might have something do with a peer of his shouting ‘spoiled little brat’ in his face that morning – but he figured sooner or later he had to stop. Tucking his head between his knees he let his parents’ words drift through his brain. Keep your emotions in check Raphael. You’re letting them get to you. “They’ll always get to me.” He whispered to the carpet. Those were the words that he could never bear to tell them. He couldn’t bear the thought of them knowing that their sole heir was a whiny prepubescent boy who took everything personal. What was that phrase?
It’s not personal, it’s just business. How cliché. Rafe can think of about 100 instances where he heard his father say those exact words. And he can think of about 100 instances where the person he said that to, looked like they had just been punched in the stomach. Rafe was never one to point that out though.
He wonders if that’s what they think of him as. Business. Just another task in their day to day lives that needs to be checked off their to-do list. Raphael can’t think of the last time they all had sat around their flamed mahogany dining table and ate a family dinner.
Unfortunately, he can remember the last time his mother told him that he was a rotten leach on their expenses. Like it was yesterday. The way her lips curled up into a snarl and her eyebrows furrowed down over her dark eyes. Her body language hostile and as though she might jump him right then and there and rip his throat out with her teeth. Rafe doesn’t flinch when she leans down and pokes his chest. “You are a waste of time.” He doesn’t need her to tell him that he’s also a waste of money.
They had told him that a few times already.
There’s a knock on the door and Rafe glances up at the chair. Shit, someone had heard him. He wipes his face of tears and stands. Snuffling, he rubs at his cheeks and eyes, removing the chair from under the handle and placing it off to the side. Cracking the door open, he peaked out through the cracks and scanned the room. He was relieved to see one of the maids standing there. Her black dress hung around her body in the most unflattering way possible, giving her a boxy look, but her face is beautiful. Rafe doesn’t recognize her. He doesn’t recognize a lot of the maids in the Adler household.
“Sorry!” She says bashfully. “I was cleaning your room and figured I tidy up the closet. Then I heard you crying…do you need me to get your mother?”
Rafe knows exactly what his mother would do. She’d sit him down and wait for his father to get home. They’d chew him out together. He’d tell them why he was so upset to cry and in unison they’d say, “No excuses Rafe.”
So he does what his father does. “Why are you in here?”
She seems surprised by his silver tongue. “Like I said,” she spoke calmly. “I was cleaning your room. I heard you crying-,”
“You didn’t hear anything. You were digging around where you shouldn’t be digging around. Get out.”
The maid doesn’t get what he’s saying until he screams the command in her face, raises his hand, and slaps her as hard as he can. She nearly falls back when he does, a look of shock on her face as her cheek was branded with a bright red hand mark. Rafe just stares. She wasn’t listening. Sometimes you have to use force to get your point across Rafe, remember that. He moves to hit her again, but she quickly leaves him alone in his room. Rafe balls up his fist and slams it against the wall with a dull thud. He starts to cry again. Mostly in anger, a little bit in pain.
Cradling his hand to his chest he cursed loudly. He had heard his father say the word more than enough times to know that it was something you said when you were really frustrated. Or when you had just lost a really important business deal.
Rafe moves to his bed and lays atop the covers. He wonders for a moment if the kids at school were right. Maybe he was a spoiled little brat.
Who had everything handed to him on a damn silver platter.