LOVE SCARS | Chapter 3 Papa's boy

With Theodore, the interactions between us held this unspoken intimacy. If we cooked (or when I cooked and he sat there), joyful noises would fill our space. In between checking on what was searing away or baking in the oven, I'd look over my shoulder. Out of my entire crooner playlist, Dean Martin was the one thing Theo would always sway to. He'd wave his hand, signaling me over to swirl with him. My hands would find their way to his hips, while any inside joke would pop out of his mouth. With my snorts and his horrid singing, I made it a habit to set an alarm when I needed to check the food.

If we worked together, we'd have this unofficial contest and see who learned more than the other. Before our daily ritual, the days mushed together. Now I was trying to learn something new or come up with abstract concepts just to know his thoughts. My brother has this habit of growing two feet taller when he explains something. This sense of authority danced through him like our game was a debate. A quick banter would follow suit. Accompanied by muttered dammits and his almost endearing boasts of victory.

It was like we knew each other the way we did an indisputable fact. So now, when I'm helping him do his hair, it's no different. He wants a bad-boy aesthetic. Whatever the hell that means. I placed a generous amount of mousse on my hands, rubbing them together. As a ran my finger through his hair, random curls would form in their wake. Theodore's damp hair styled messy reminds me of those Greasers from the sixties. It differed from the clean, slick back look that our Papa preferred.

"My birthday," Theodore said. "I-I made a friend and I would like to spend my birthday with them. But don't tell Papa about him."

When Theodore was nervous or lacking sleep, he had a bit of stutter repeating the articles in his sentence multiple times, or not being able to finish longer words.

"Okay, Bambino. What would you and this friend do?" I rest against the bathroom sink, grabbing a washcloth to clean the hair mousse from my fingers.

He thinks about it, his bottom lip tucked into his mouth and his head tilted to the side. He goes to open his mouth then closes it, tearing at the skin on his lip, then stops when I give him a look.

"I want to have a sleepover with him, play on the virtual reality set, stay up late, and eat tons of junk food."

Something so simple, innocent, and him. It differed from my twin brother's eighteenth birthday. That was more heavy drinking, maxing our Papa's credit cards, and fucking older women on the beach till the sun came up. 

Papa had a much harsher hand on Theodore. 

"Sleepover got it, tons of junk food got it, and video games got it," I said. "I'll get you boys a presidential suite at the hotel that Lucas owns."

"Really?" Theodore said, bouncing between the heels of his feet to the tips of his toes.

"Yes, Bambino." but his little excitement died out like a candle on a frosty night.

"Papa," he said. "We'll need his permission." Didn't I tell this boy it was a getaway as in we don't say shit to get away?

"This is your birthday runaway. You don't need papa's permission."

"But..." 

"But nothing. I'll handle things with papa. So don't worry, okay?"

"Okay." Theodore flung his body at me, giving me a tight hug. "You're the best!"

This feeling of pride beat in my chest like a steady drum. I smiled back, hugging him with sincere gratitude.

I finished helping Theodore get ready for school. Papa wasn't here this morning to inspect him, to fix any minor detail that was out of place on Theodore. His image had to be perfect to reflect Papa. He said his children extended himself. So what if he went to school with his necktie a little out of place, hair a little messy, school shirt not ironed? It wouldn't be the end of the world if he appeared like most teenage boys.

***

"How long will you neglect your job?" Lora asked over the phone. Twisting my words to fit her interpretation.

"I'm not neglecting my job, just, you know, taking a slight break." I sipped my coffee, waiting until I had to pull the phone from my ear.

"You go on a fucking binge for weeks. What more of a break do you need? You can't afford another slight break!" I could practically hear the air quotes from my end of the line.

I shrugged. "Yeah."

My assistant lets out a scream like one of those cruel, tiny dogs. Well, there goes my hearing. After a few minutes, she calms down.

"Do better." Her voice is a little hoarse, reminding me of a bullfrog.

"Anything for you, princess." 

We both knew it wouldn't be long before I spiraled out again, disappearing without a trace. I knew I wouldn't just be hurting my family when I did. I was like the boulder Sisyphus carried uphill. You know the fall is coming, but you're never quite numb to it.

Lora sighs into the phone. I can imagine her running a hand through her blonde curls. "I worry about you, Prince."

Well, that's nothing new.

"I'm fine now." I tried to offer her some reassurance, but it comes out stale.

"Now," she stressed. "But what about later?"

Yeah... What about later?

The call with Lora didn't last long. I finished my coffee and ate a small breakfast that the cook had prepared. By noon, the mansion was busy with maids cleaning while most of its occupants were out. Everything had to be spotless because Papa liked it that way.

Papa's office door cracked open. I poked my head inside, wanting to see if he was available. He's on the phone and, like I did when I was much younger, I slipped into his office and waited patiently for him to finish his call.

"Prince." My father said after his call. His smile spread when he looked at me and his voice went up to a warmer octave. He motions for me to sit in the chair in front of his desk. "You look well."

By look well he meant I didn't look like some piece of shit that just came off a week-long episode.

"Feeling well too," I added.

Papa smiled, fine lines forming at the corners of his mouth. He relaxed in his leather chair, his posture becoming more approachable. "I miss when you were much younger when you were the easiest to keep a leash on."

"In most ways, you still have me on that leash."

"Doesn't seem like it since you do whatever the fuck you want to do."

I gave a small shrug and smiled. Once I was at the age where I knew I could challenge and disobey him, I gave him hell along the way. My twin Lucas stayed obedient to him being his loyal steed because he liked the praises, the attention he got from papa something I wasn't too much interested in anymore.

There was a knock at dad's office door, soon followed by his assistant Hana stepping inside. Hana is an older woman from Mongolia with short, black hair. She's been working for dad for four years now. Her tint red lips pulled into a friendly smile when she greeted me.

"Mr. Moretti. The venue for Theodore's party is secured. The next thing for you to do is go over the menu." Hana hands Papa the iPad. He puts on his glasses, taking the device from her.

"You may leave, Hana. I'll call you once I'm done talking over things with Prince."

"Yes, Sir," Hana said, leaving the office.

"Tesoro, come here." When Papa called me like that, I knew what he wanted. Just like that, I'm fifteen all over again honored to be my father's toy soldier.

My dad pushed his chair out so I could come to sit on the floor between his legs and rest my head on his thigh. Papa runs his fingers through my hair, a soft voice accompanying his otherwise stoic state. This was something papa always did ever since I was a small child. He said it lowered his blood pressure after dealing with the worst of society.

"Steak or Salmon?"

"Steak."

"I'll go with Salmon," he said.

A laugh quietly passes through me. Why the fuck did he even ask? He's going to be pissed when Theodore isn't around for the party.

Papa's fingers continue to run through my hair. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to just float in the moment.

"Tesoro," Papa said. "I miss when you were a child and everything was Papa this and Papa that. These past few years you've become so distant. "

I rub my face against the soft fabric of his slacks. "Sorry, I've grown away from you."

Maybe this explains the tight hold he has on Theodore. He's afraid of his last child growing away from him, not needing to depend on him for every little thing.

Papa needed that guarantee. It was just easy with Theodore.

I lost track of how long I sat between my father's legs. My lower half had gone numb. Theodore's party was done, the invitations designed, the party favors picked out, the menu decided, and the band that would play that night.

Papa's fingers no longer entangled themselves in my hair. He pets my head with gentle strokes.

" Tesoro?"

"Yes, Papa?"

"May I have a kiss?"

I title my head back in his lap looking up at him. My eyes become buckets of vulnerability. Papa leans down, his lips meeting mine. He bites my bottom lip, wanting me to open my mouth more. I obliged and his tongue slips into mine. His tongue will swirl around every so often as it lazily plays with mine.

How long has it been since we last did this? Why did we ever stop?

There was a gasp that we both heard from the office door. Papa stopped kissing me and sat up straight, staring at the door.

"Who is there?" he called out.

But no answer.

"It was probably a maid." I reached up and grabbed my papa's face. "Can we finish?"