A Wife for the Billionaire
Chapter 43: RICHARD

Chapter 43: RICHARD

Two days after the voicemail, I was on a flight heading back home.

Was it even that then? Home, I mean.

Don’t people say a home is a place where we feel safe. A place where we are free to be ourselves and yet be showered with love and acceptance.

And yet, Wellington Estate, the place I grew up in didn’t feel like that. Even at the present, I’m afraid, but it still doesn’t feel safe, neither am I showered with love and care.

Don’t get it twisted, I know what to qualify the feelings I get from my parents, and love and care weren’t in the box. It was more like pity, manipulation and sorrow.

I get that no one is perfect, but there are parents whose love for their child surpasses perfection. And my friends, Aaron and Chad had these parents, or at least one out of the two showed the level of love I can only wish for with my parents.

In his rage, my father had demoted me to Economy. I hadn’t been as popular as I am now, but I was known. Donning a face cap, I sat among those who weren’t in my class, receiving the same basic treatment.

In accordance with Ray’s plan, I stayed sober for two days so that when I took the merch he got for me. It will be enough to boost my morale in standing up to Edward.

It was hard, the sobriety I mean. From someone who was always indulging to not taking even a sniff in two days, it was as hard as hell. I remember the uncontrollable itch for a smoke, the tingles for a sniff and my firm resolve through it all.

Thanks to my cruel father, I knew harsh times. I have faced more than enough of them in his hands that navigating through that sobriety felt like just another one of those times.

I recall trying my hardest to sleep during the hour flight from my college to New City. I even tried bidding through a magazine, but all I did was stare at one page without flipping it over for minutes.

I tried not to think of the encounter, but it was all that waved through my turbulent mind. Different scenarios, varied conversations - they played through my mind, but in every one, the endgame remained the same. Edward subdued me as always.

I had tried to calm myself with the assurance Ray placed on the merch and his own testimony of how it had helped him settle the score with Xander West, his father.

Time had dragged to my liking and greatest displeasure. I liked it because it stalled the face off, and I hated it because as it dragged, my mind plagued me with different versions of my defeat.

Eventually, we landed. Stealthily, I exited the plane unnoticed. And I remember dashing into the bathroom and draining the merch just as Ray instructed, because I knew James would be waiting to drive me home as per Edward’s instruction.

"Welcome home, young master," James said, taking my bags.

"Wish I shared your optimism, James" I replied, even as I began to feel the merch take effect.

Like a flood of thrilling power, I felt it travel my veins. I had gripped the door, as the effects took hold of my brain. It felt like a factory reset was done on my brain as I took my seat on the back.

"I’m sure you and your father would work it out_ Sir, are you alright? You seem weird" James had said, but I wasn’t listening. Everything felt more vivid and colorful, and I don’t remember half of the shit I did on the drive to the estate.

But I remember the encounter, because Claire had recounted the experience when I woke up the next day with a chasm in my memory. My left eye had hurt as hell and I remember taking a step back in shock when I beheld my countenance.

It took two days before I was able to remember everything. Including that I had hospitalized my father.

I had stormed into the house immediately the car drove to a halt in front of the stairs leading into the house.

"Where is he?!" I had yelled.

"Where is who, Richy? Are you even alright, you are practically red. What is it?" She asked, rising from where she sat watching her latest movie.

"Don’t you ever call me that again. I’m no longer a child and you know with your escapade two years ago, you’ve lost that right. Now, where’s your husband?" I had asked, my words and temperament halting her from coming any closer.

I felt so alive. My body thrummed with extraordinary power. I was so drunk with strength and energy that it felt like if I didn’t do anything about it, it could stop my heart.

"Where is he?!" I yelled, kicking the golden statue of a mother backing her child that adorned the ceramic gold plated table in the living room.

"Christ! What has gotten over you? You liked that statue" she said, backing away farther from me.

"I don’t give a fuck about that damn statue or figurine, where is Edward?"

"Please Richy, sorry Richard, stay away. Just give me room to call him"

At that moment, someone tried pinning me from behind, but with the surge of strength in me, that was exactly what I wanted. I elbowed the body so hard that I heard a crack, turning I saw James knelt on the floor, coughing blood as he clutched his abdomen.

Claire rushed to his side,

"What have you done? What is wrong with you?!" She cried, helping him rise.

I wanted to feel pity or remorse for what I had done, but in that moment, I was so blinded by the drug and my rage to care.

I remember yelling instead as I flipped the sofas. I had wanted to throw the TV set when I heard that voice that always struck me to paralysis.

"Where’s he?" My father’s voice boomed from the vestibule, "Where’s that prodigal son of yours? Wait, he really did this to James, let me just get my hands on him"

"Honey, I think you better step back. I don’t know what he took, but that is not Richard." Claire begged.

"Nonsense, whatever it is or whoever it is, I will make him pay for doing this to James."

For someone so cruel, he liked James, in spite of the harsh way he treated the poor guy, he respected him though he will never admit it. The same way, I would never admit to liking Lanke.

"There you are," he toned as he walked into the living space. "What is this, a weakling like you did all this. Bravo, I didn’t know you had it on you" he finished clapping.

I wanted to offer a retort, to tell him that he had no idea what I was capable of, when he added as if as an afterthought.

"Right, you took something. Should have known, you would never have attempted all this were you not hopped up on something. It’s quite a shame though, but I suppose you deserve an accolade for doing something at least"

"Argh!" I screamed, trying to haul the TV set on him. But a tug war raged within me, on one end I wanted nothing more, but to wipe that mocking grin off his face and the merch in its effects were pulling hard on that thought.

Whereas, the other end. That part of me that has always been afraid of him. That part that had endured silently years of cruelty in his hands. That part that gave his words the power to paralyze me. That part fought against the surge in me, daming it.

"What are you waiting for? throw the damn thing. Show me that you are a man, throw it"

I remember raising the TV set to haul it at him, but my hands were heavy.

"That’s what I thought," he continued, stalking towards me, confident that I wouldn’t hurt him. "Even with that nonsense you uploaded in your bloodstream, you are still a weakling. You are still as pathetic. Once a weakling, always a weakling, now drop that Richy and ask your father for forgiveness"

"No!" I yelled, lifting the set again.

"I see, so what is it going to be? Are you finally ready to become a man? You know that would mean something especially with just a few days to your 18th birthday_"

"Just shut already. Shut the hell up!"

"Oooh," he said in mocking shudder, turning away from me, "Claire it seems your son is ready to become a man... finally an act he’s acting like a Wellington, not that weakling ’Richy Pamperedness’ you raised him to be"

I’m yet to decide what had prompted me to do it. Was it the merch? My disdain for the name ’Richy’? Or my surmounted anger from years of taking his shit?

"I said, SHUT THE FUCK UP" and I hauled the TV set at him. It struck him from behind, pushing him to the floor where he hit his head on the cold hard marble floor before passing out.

"Oh my God, Richard, what on God’s name have you done? James, is he still breathing, where are those incompetent fools, someone call 999!" Claire yelled.

I remember taking a step back, the merch washed out from my system as I stared at my father’s blood gathering on the cream tiles.

"You’ve killed him. You’ve killed him. You’ve killed him."

Again and again, those words accused me from within. I remember tears dropping from my eyes as I made to rush to his side,

"Stay the hell away! In fact, get out of here. I can’t stand you right now. Go! Leave!" Claire screamed, her voice breaking with sobs.

"But... but... I didn’t mean to... I never intended forrrr_"

I felt a sting on my neck as something pinched me and everything blacked out.