Page 2 of Bastian

He only did it to kiss the ass of the other fools who are part of the United States Congress.

No morals and no brains.

A troubling and shameful combination.

Tucking the queen chess piece out of my suit’s pocket, I toy with it and count to three in my head just like my mother taught me whenever I felt the urge to say something that to others might come off as hostile or condescending.

I believe I did nothing wrong.

On the contrary, I only did him a favor by pointing out his many mistakes. People should be able to take criticism in all forms. Especially people who promise shit they never deliver.

Besides, most humans piss me the hell off.

I take a deep breath and hold it in for three seconds.

One.

Two.

Thre–

Nope.

The urge is stronger, so I succumb to it and speak up. “If they didn’t want to be called out for their stupidity, then they shouldn’t have said or done anything stupid.” I try to keep my tone light because the last thing I want is to upset mom, and whenever I act up or say something that most would find offensive, I know that it worries her. Instead of looking sad or worried, mom chuckles, surprising both father and me. “You’re one of a kind, sweetheart.” She drops a soft kiss on the top of my head and breathes me in. “Don’t you dare change, but stay my good boy, okay? Always my good boy.”

I ignore the loud crowd of journalists, guests, and their security escorting everyone to their cars safely. It all fades into the background as I concentrate on my mother’s beautiful face. Sea-green eyes, framed by thick and long eyelashes, give her a doll-like look. Long, curly black hair that falls like silk around her stunning face.

My mother is the most beautiful woman I have ever met. Her beauty is rare and very much appreciated by others. So much so that my father has had to do his fair share of fighting with pricks who have once or twice made a move on his wife. If I ever get married, I hope to find someone as beautiful as my mother, both on the inside and on the outside.

Someone warm.

Kind.

Someone who warms me down to my bones.

Someone the opposite of me or the frigid brats I go to school with.

Ignoring everyone else, I keep my eyes trained on my mother’s sweet face smiling down at me as if I am everything good in this world.

I am not.

I’m not.

“I won’t change.” I won’t lie. I tell her the truth. This is who I am. I do not care for anyone who doesn't share my blood. I won’t ever change, but she doesn’t need to know that. I am the way I am, but never to her.

I also know that she loves me, but my attitude toward life worries her.

I see it.

“Good.” She just wants her son to be a good boy, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that something inside of me—something broken stops me from being all she wants. Good and kind.

I’m rude, smart-mouthed, and downright mean when I want to be, and I know it scares her.

It scares them both.

Yet they’ve never made me feel unwanted or unloved.

Feeling my father’s firm hand on my shoulder and my mother’s gentle one on the back of my neck, I welcome their embrace. They never fail to make me feel like I belong with them.

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