Chapter 18: Sarkon's Rage

"What do you mean she didn't show up?" The secretary nodded. "I've waited for two hours, Paris. She didn't turn up as you said she would." Paris swallowed a sour lump in his throat. He never made such mistakes. There had to be something wrong with that Maria Davis. Yes, it had to be her. The weird, crybaby country girl. His hands balled into tight fists in his pockets. The same hands relaxed again. "She may need more time, I guess." A smile spread across those handsome lips. "I thought so." He would have to have that talk with her again. This time he would bring a towel to cover her face if she cried. A rock song crashed the peaceful atmosphere. The secretary apologized and answered his phone. Paris watched calmly as the boy uttered a few words in whispers, raised his brows in a shock, and turned away. "What do you mean 'postpone?' It's just a drum set, Mother! I'm sure we can afford one f*cking drum set… Dad lost some shares? How did it happen? No, don't tell me. I can guess. He got greedy again, didn't he? I told him not to do it. He's not smart enough and fast enough." The secretary removed the phone from his ear as "Mother" continued blaring her explanations and ended the call. He then faced Paris again. "Sorry about that. Family nonsense." Paris flashed an empathetic smile. "I understand. If you want to talk, I'm all at ears, friend." "It's nonsense really. My dad did day trading again. Some people just don't learn." "Did he lose a lot?" "A quarter of his shares." The secretary sighed and shook his head. "Can I go, Paris? I need to.... punch a wall." The student president patted his friend's back and nodded. As the secretary stalked out, Julie stormed in. Her pretty face was a steaming tomato. "Paris! Where did you go with that country girl yesterday?" Her squeaky voice demanded. Paris relaxed his face into a blank expression and sauntered toward the coffee machine. Wide-eyed at being ignored, Julie charged toward her man. "Where did you take her, Paris?" In his own calmness, the attractive man in white added a sugar cube into his coffee. Julie stamped a foot on the ground like a spoiled brat. "Paris!" Paris lifted his gaze at the blue sky outside the window and breathed coolly. "I don't talk to hooligans, Julie. When you've calmed down, we'll talk." He took his cup and strolled to the couch and sat. Julie took her seat beside him as he swirled the spoon serenely then placed the cup at his lips and took a slow sip. After another sip and an exhale, Paris put down his cup and crossed his legs. "Ready?" Julie nodded. Paris crossed his fingers and rested them on his stomach. In his usual soothing voice, he began. "That girl was crying non-stop. I had to do something, Julie. I'm the student president. I can't just leave her like that. You know I have a soft spot for crying women." He reached out a finger and tucked a loose strand behind his audience's ear. Immediately, the frown disappeared from Julie's face. Her eyes softened once more with sheer admiration for him. "I'm sorry, Paris. I didn't realize. It must have been hard on you." Her voice was the gentlest whisper of sympathy. That b*tch. I'll wait for my chance to teach her a lesson. Instantly, the hand removed itself. Paris stood and exhaled with a grin. "It was nothing. I did the talk and convinced her to join the student council." Julie looked up. The frown was firmly back in place. The sound of trumpets blaring a war tune stopped her from confronting Paris once more. After tapping on the green button, she placed the phone at her ear. "Dad? What the hell!" She screamed into the phone. "Why did you do it again? You promised! Don't you know anything about protection?" The feisty princess removed the phone from her ear and ended the call. She then turned to Paris. Her eyes were crimsoned and moist. "I have to go home, Paris." Her lips trembled in anger and disappointment. The student president placed a hand on the sunken shoulder and flashed his warm smile of sympathy. "He did it again?" Julie nodded. "It's the same old sh*t every time." "You know that the contract doesn't really work. The child will still be born, and they will still talk." Paris shoved his hands back into his pockets. Who in Lenmont didn't know about Julie's immature, philandering father? God knew how many children he had fathered out there. "I got to go," was all Julie could say. She was gone in a flash. Funny, Paris thought silently as he was back on the couch sipping his coffee. These guys seemed to have more trouble at home recently. It was almost like someone had manipulated the events. ***** A strong fist jammed into the punching bag. Sarkon panted heavily at the black cylinder like it was a shard of glass, the sharpest and the cruelest, piercing his already aching heart. Images of Maria in another man's arms flooded his mind once more. A thundering roar escaped the beast's throat, and more punches shot the cylindrical bag. Jab, jab, right hook, left hook, right uppercut, left uppercut… This afternoon, Karl showed him the latest photos of Maria on campus and only one caught his fullest attention. Maria was hugging a guy all dressed in white. All Sarkon could see was another man's arms around Maria. His insides blew up like an atomic bomb. Rage tore his rationale into millions of pieces. He crushed the photos and headed straight to the gym. He had been there ever since. Jab, uppercut, cross. Pow, pow, pow! Sanders shifted his specs while staring at the giant throwing punch after punch non-stop at the black punching bag. He raised his wrist and checked his watch. "Three hours." "Going onto four." Karl pressed his lips in a serious line. "He'll be the first in human history to burst a punching bag." "That's not possible," Karl breathed. "Wanna bet?" "No." They continued watching their young boss whacking the shaking bag harder and harder. TWANG! The cylinder bag flew off its hook and landed on the floor. THUD! The bag wasn't punctured, but it sure looked like a limped, lifeless body. Sarkon towered over it with a killer's glare as if the bag was that guy from the picture. How dare he touch what's mine. Yours? A tiny voice crept up in his mind. Those fierce blue eyes widened in shock. They blinked a few times at the punching bag on the ground. Sarkon raised his hands and stared hard at the boxing gloves. He couldn't feel his fingers. The numbness spread rapidly through his arms and biceps. Suddenly, the ground felt uneven. He tumbled backward slightly. Karl and Sanders took a step forward. Sarkon held up a firm hand, and they halted. He heard his heavy panting and realized he had lost it. All the years of training so he'd be in the calmest state of mind even in the worst situation had gone down the drain. All because of one photo. She's not yours, he chastised himself in silence. You told her to find a husband, so she did. Why are you complaining? Maria will soon have a family of her own. Kids with her beautiful green eyes and bright smiles running in the field of luscious green under the golden evening sun. She'd be playing with them and laughing alongside her husband, a kind and diligent man who would always be gentle to her. That man will never be you, the voice inside his head rebuked. You don't deserve her. You killed her father. Something stung his eyes. He couldn't tell if it was his sweat or tears. His head fell back, and he stared at the bright ceiling. He closed his eyes to push back the warm liquid flowing from his eyes. When he opened them again, the cold emptiness was secured in his gaze. Sarkon looked down at the beat-up punching bag and stepped toward it. This will be good for her, he repeated silently. He jumped onto the black cylinder and continued jabbing punches at it. "When am I meeting Betty Loller again?" the beast panted furiously. Sanders replied in a dull tone, "Tomorrow. Dinner." "Keep an eye on the guy hanging out with Maria." Sarkon gave his all into the last punch. With his fist still on the bag, he growled, "He doesn't look like a good guy." "Sure, Sarkon." Karl nodded, his mouth still in a grim line. He had already told the eye to do so. He needed to be sure that Maria was safe. The giant beast stood and stomped menacingly toward his men. Washed in hard, warm sweat and reddened with displeasure, Sarkon ignored the towel from Karl and glared at him. "Cut him out if there is the slightest wrong in his bio. No mercy."