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And just like that, Oliver’s dad was pissed again. Not pissed at anything in particular; Just angry. Although he did take it out of Oliver like it was his fault his car didn’t start correctly, like it was his fault he didn’t want to go to college. Perhaps it was, Oliver didn’t know. Perhaps he had been cursed somewhere in life to just piss people off with his pretty face and his smile that he wore with such pride every single day. Oliver himself wasn’t even sure. He just knew his dad was locked in the garage, grumbling to himself and yelling at the wall. Throwing stuff around, trying to fix his car. Riley Bentley was a confusing man.

And then there was Miranda, the stupid woman. Oh, sorry. Oliver didn’t mean to curse his mother’s name. She probably deserved it though. But then there was Miranda, saying sorry multiple times through the doorway and trying to get Riley Bentley to calm down and stop cursing their “beloved” son’s name. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bentley didn’t give two shits about this “beloved” son. Oh, sorry again. Anyway, not like they had wanted Oliver, right? Miranda worshiped the ground Riley spit on. Oliver didn’t know why; the man was a nightmare. But he supposed they loved each other. Riley still hugged her when Miranda cried, and Miranda still went to bed even after Riley had screamed for her to get out. Though that was love, and Oliver supposed he was still too young to understand.

Twenty was still too young to understand. Even at twenty, Oliver was poor. Most young adults were poor, but Oliver simply had his mind set on moving out. Once he was out, he was gone. He would go to college, he promised himself. But right now, he just didn’t have the energy. Mr. Bentley would ride him about his grades, his classes, his teachers, his status. Yes, his status. Oliver had one friend: A girl named Aurora. Real pretty, her curly brown hair and hazel eyes simply making his life a bit better. Oliver always looked out at life with a smile though. He wore it like he wore his heart on his sleeve, just so people could see his soul easier.

He didn’t know why he was so happy about living; Just the aspect, he supposed. Even while they were so small in this barren world, how amazing was their existence? Even if they were just ten-pound brains controlling slabs of meat, it was interesting to know what these slabs of meat could just do. Oliver thought too much, he thought. Long story short, he thought this life, this existence, was beautiful. It was a game. You could fail and make a bad score, or get the high score. Oliver played too many games. He was still a child, and children like games. It was almost funny, really. Except not.

Oliver Bentley was a stud. Well, putting it lightly, he was handsome. Probably would have been real popular if he spoke to anyone other than Aurora. Oliver had short, dark brown hair, smooth and cool like chocolate. His eyes were bluer than the sky on a warm day, life utterly pouring from his expressions. His nose was sculpted almost beautifully, small and slightly pointed, his jaw line rather strong and his cheekbones high, an almost elven look about his face. Thin pink lips almost always forming something akin to a grin, or a playful smirk, his eyes squinted happily. Though that could change in a second, extremely rarely, though it happened. Though eyes would blaze angrily, the sky suddenly cracking and freezing to a harsh ice like stone. The smirk would fall, teeth baring like a dog, full of rage and usually, protectiveness. That sculpted jaw would tighten, and resentment would pour out in waves. Oliver had these days. He swore he was bipolar, but things said otherwise. Some days would be sweeter than sugar, cool like an ice cube and going down even easier. But some days would just feel like razor blades, causing silver snakes to curl and coil along his skin, biting and infecting him with the hurt and pain. But this was only some days.

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Nicholas was tired. Tired of this, in a sense. No, he was lying. He loved the things he slaved through everyday. It was almost masochistic, the pride and dark joy he got from completing figurative mountain after figurative mountain of paperwork to just get closer and closer to what his father wanted him to do. He was a rare one, actually wanting to follow in his father, Mason’s footsteps to be the CEO of New York & Company, a women’s department store and company that permitted feminine fashion and accessories. It sounded dainty, of course, but it was a successful job that payed rather generously. Besides, his mother always wanted him to be like his father. Nicholas was the opposite of his brother and sister, who were eight years younger than him. Braydon and Jessica. Sweet kids, really. They hadn’t been exposed to all of this life yet.

Nicholas’ mother loved him very much. The poor woman. She had been cursed with female infertility, even women’s worse nightmare. She had always wanted children. Though the ones she could never have, she adopted, and at seven, Nicholas found himself being lovingly welcome into the new family from his hellish orphanage. Now at twenty-five, Shannon thought very highly of her son. She loved the male and often called the adult her baby. It was silly, but as long as Nicholas made his mother happy. Although that was just it; Mason and Shannon worshiped Nicholas, Braydon and Jessica. They were their pride and joy, but Nicholas supposed he could understand. Forced to grow up too quickly, he simply understood.

Nicholas was frightening. Twenty-five and a whole six feet and one inch tall, he had a dark aura that no amount of light could seem to outshine. With black hair that seemed almost as black as the nonexistent heart of his, and brown chestnut eyes that flashed with malice, he could make grown men cry with a glance. Well, perhaps Nicholas was over-exaggerating, but kids cried all the time when he came out to shake daddy’s hand. Although he made children cry and men feel intimidated, most women guiltily swooned over his good-looks and terrible charm. Charm wasn’t the word; Sarcasm was more like it. Anyhow, they admired the hard gaze and his tanned skin that seemed to gleam, he himself didn’t know. Not like he was interested in the first place. Sure, women were pretty, but he just didn’t feel like he could be in a relationship. Any sort of relationship. Though that was “love”, and Nicholas supposed he just didn’t understand. Twenty-five was still too young to understand.

Description
And just like that, Oliver’s dad was pissed again. Not pissed at anything in particular; Just angry. Although he did take it out of Oliver like it was his fault his car didn’t start correctly, like it was his fault he didn’t want to go to college. Perhaps it was, Oliver didn’t know. Perhaps he had been cursed somewhere in life to just piss people off with his pretty face and his smile that he wore with such pride every single day. Oliver himself wasn’t even sure. He just knew his dad was locked in the garage, grumbling to himself and yelling at the wall. Throwing stuff around, trying to fix his car. Riley Bentley was a confusing man.

And then there was Miranda, the stupid woman. Oh, sorry. Oliver didn’t mean to curse his mother’s name. She probably deserved it though. But then there was Miranda, saying sorry multiple times through the doorway and trying to get Riley Bentley to calm down and stop cursing their “beloved” son’s name. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bentley didn’t give two shits about this “beloved” son. Oh, sorry again. Anyway, not like they had wanted Oliver, right? Miranda worshiped the ground Riley spit on. Oliver didn’t know why; the man was a nightmare. But he supposed they loved each other. Riley still hugged her when Miranda cried, and Miranda still went to bed even after Riley had screamed for her to get out. Though that was love, and Oliver supposed he was still too young to understand.

Twenty was still too young to understand. Even at twenty, Oliver was poor. Most young adults were poor, but Oliver simply had his mind set on moving out. Once he was out, he was gone. He would go to college, he promised himself. But right now, he just didn’t have the energy. Mr. Bentley would ride him about his grades, his classes, his teachers, his status. Yes, his status. Oliver had one friend: A girl named Aurora. Real pretty, her curly brown hair and hazel eyes simply making his life a bit better. Oliver always looked out at life with a smile though. He wore it like he wore his heart on his sleeve, just so people could see his soul easier.

He didn’t know why he was so happy about living; Just the aspect, he supposed. Even while they were so small in this barren world, how amazing was their existence? Even if they were just ten-pound brains controlling slabs of meat, it was interesting to know what these slabs of meat could just do. Oliver thought too much, he thought. Long story short, he thought this life, this existence, was beautiful. It was a game. You could fail and make a bad score, or get the high score. Oliver played too many games. He was still a child, and children like games. It was almost funny, really. Except not.

Oliver Bentley was a stud. Well, putting it lightly, he was handsome. Probably would have been real popular if he spoke to anyone other than Aurora. Oliver had short, dark brown hair, smooth and cool like chocolate. His eyes were bluer than the sky on a warm day, life utterly pouring from his expressions. His nose was sculpted almost beautifully, small and slightly pointed, his jaw line rather strong and his cheekbones high, an almost elven look about his face. Thin pink lips almost always forming something akin to a grin, or a playful smirk, his eyes squinted happily. Though that could change in a second, extremely rarely, though it happened. Though eyes would blaze angrily, the sky suddenly cracking and freezing to a harsh ice like stone. The smirk would fall, teeth baring like a dog, full of rage and usually, protectiveness. That sculpted jaw would tighten, and resentment would pour out in waves. Oliver had these days. He swore he was bipolar, but things said otherwise. Some days would be sweeter than sugar, cool like an ice cube and going down even easier. But some days would just feel like razor blades, causing silver snakes to curl and coil along his skin, biting and infecting him with the hurt and pain. But this was only some days.

______________________________________________________________________

Nicholas was tired. Tired of this, in a sense. No, he was lying. He loved the things he slaved through everyday. It was almost masochistic, the pride and dark joy he got from completing figurative mountain after figurative mountain of paperwork to just get closer and closer to what his father wanted him to do. He was a rare one, actually wanting to follow in his father, Mason’s footsteps to be the CEO of New York & Company, a women’s department store and company that permitted feminine fashion and accessories. It sounded dainty, of course, but it was a successful job that payed rather generously. Besides, his mother always wanted him to be like his father. Nicholas was the opposite of his brother and sister, who were eight years younger than him. Braydon and Jessica. Sweet kids, really. They hadn’t been exposed to all of this life yet.

Nicholas’ mother loved him very much. The poor woman. She had been cursed with female infertility, even women’s worse nightmare. She had always wanted children. Though the ones she could never have, she adopted, and at seven, Nicholas found himself being lovingly welcome into the new family from his hellish orphanage. Now at twenty-five, Shannon thought very highly of her son. She loved the male and often called the adult her baby. It was silly, but as long as Nicholas made his mother happy. Although that was just it; Mason and Shannon worshiped Nicholas, Braydon and Jessica. They were their pride and joy, but Nicholas supposed he could understand. Forced to grow up too quickly, he simply understood.

Nicholas was frightening. Twenty-five and a whole six feet and one inch tall, he had a dark aura that no amount of light could seem to outshine. With black hair that seemed almost as black as the nonexistent heart of his, and brown chestnut eyes that flashed with malice, he could make grown men cry with a glance. Well, perhaps Nicholas was over-exaggerating, but kids cried all the time when he came out to shake daddy’s hand. Although he made children cry and men feel intimidated, most women guiltily swooned over his good-looks and terrible charm. Charm wasn’t the word; Sarcasm was more like it. Anyhow, they admired the hard gaze and his tanned skin that seemed to gleam, he himself didn’t know. Not like he was interested in the first place. Sure, women were pretty, but he just didn’t feel like he could be in a relationship. Any sort of relationship. Though that was “love”, and Nicholas supposed he just didn’t understand. Twenty-five was still too young to understand.