The Bar at the End of Time
#3 of How Did It Come to This?
Loved writing this chapter! A shorter chapter this time. I was thinking about how I wanted the bar scene to play out all day. It's been quite fun to write in this way for myself, it's quite freeing. It's exciting to plan how this will all link, and I think I've got a good narrative I can't wait to finalise.
As always, thanks for reading!
My father had grounded me for leaving, which was something I had become accustomed to. After all, there wasn't a lot of difference between being locked in a house and being locked in a room. I ate my meals on my sofa, slept through most of the day, wrote a little poetry in a notebook, and read for hours. Oh, and of course, I thought about him. The feeling of loneliness was always something I embraced, and I had indeed learned to entertain myself, but this new feeling of angst inside of me was fresh and fun. It was like the first turn in an otherwise straight road.
A few days of imprisonment later, my father entered my room and lowered my book gently so that I was staring straight at his blood-red eyes. He was, in essence, a hellhound.
"Well, Fritz, I think you have suffered enough. Come with your papa, I am taking you out for a treat," he said with a cold tone, something like evil rejoicing. His smile was foreboding. His paws forcing down my book were unfriendly. I knew his demeanour was askew, but I was hardly in any position to refuse.
"Sure," I said as I was pulled onto my feet reluctantly.
My father led me in a caring manner towards a limousine; the sound of its powerful Rolls-Royce engine was humming loudly in my ears before I even saw it. No matter how brightly he smiled, or how much he spent on me, I saw through his pretence. I hoped others would too.
We drove towards into outskirts of the city, where the buildings weren't as anxiety-inducing, and the houses had the comfortable blend of rural simplicity and urban advancement. The rain pattered calmly on the roof of the car. My father didn't speak to me once. We travelled through tight streets and main roads, weaving around the web of the city, before parking outside a small bar and walking in.
Inside, a short lamb was talking merrily behind the bar to a hyena, who was wearing a vest that read Bouncer on the back.
"You are so lazy, Ade, it's just a spot of rain. You know the boss would kick your ass if he were here right now?" said the lamb with the most teasing, amused giggle I had ever heard. She was polishing a few beer mugs from under the counter as she leaned over to talk with Ade, the hyena.
"Realistically, I don't think many people will be coming here on a Wednesday afternoon in the pouring rain. I can take a five-minute break, Liz," replied Ade with a confident smirk. "Look, it's probably just Jim on his--"
His expression fell quickly as he realised who had just entered and he sprung to his feet like a soldier standing to attention. His ears were flattened as he smiled feebly.
"Mr Furfaro, sir, I..." he stammered. The lamb was also staring over at us now, and she looked on with a raised eyebrow. It was evident they were shocked by my father's presence, and as their banter stopped, the bar fell into an eerie silence. One of dominance.
My father waved his hand at them dismissively and led me to a booth by a window that was covered in notes and posters, and all the text was backwards as it shared its messages with the bustling city. I could make out the skyline as I stared out, and I began counting the skyscrapers, desperate for some sort of miracle to occur, for a nuke to crash or something.
"Now, son, you might be wondering why I brought you here?" he began with a loud, booming voice. He was putting on that stupid public persona where he tried to overcompensate for his authority. I thought it just made him look stupid. "Well, it is because, after Sunday's little fiasco, I assumed you needed reminding of your privilege, my boy. You carry the Furfaro name, and you are my heir. You need to realise your responsibilities."
His droning was rampant. It never stopped. He would go on and on, spiralling into tangents about oil or finance or politics or why he was the best fox in the world. I couldn't help but yawn at him rudely.
"Boy..." he said, pausing for a moment as he calculated what to say next, "you never listen to me. Your father loves you, so you could show him some respect, hmm?"
"Yeah, right. Respect is supposed to be a mutual thing, you know?" I said spitefully as I turned to stare at him. His nostrils were flaring as he began to get himself worked up. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ade and Liz cowering behind the bar. Ade had his phone out, discretely hiding it in his jacket so just the camera was pointing out.
"Yes, that's right. And it is also earned, Fritz. You are the least grateful son in the world. I do everything for you, and all you do is mope about and run away. That hurts me."
"At least you can go for a walk when you're hurting. At least you can make yourself a coffee. At least you can visit Ma's grave," I replied, starting to feel my own anger boil over at his stupidity.
"Do not bring Grace into this, boy. I am warning you."
"Why shouldn't I? She was a better parent than you ever will be, and I knew her for five minutes. That says a lot, Karl."
"Do not call me Karl, I am your father for fuck's sake Fritz, what the hell is wrong with you? Where have I gone wrong to raise such a pathetic little runt?" he said, standing up to tower over me. He was getting livid, and his breathing was shallower with each passing moment.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," I said, glaring up at him grumpily.
Before I knew it, my head was batted into the window, knocking off a flyer. My father had just smacked me, hard, on my cheek, and I felt it trembling as the blood rushed back into the impact site. I chewed my tongue softly as I rubbed it, and it stung heavily. He had left the bar by now, and I was left alone sitting quietly on the chair.
"Shit, you got all that?" said Liz in the background. Her voice was a faint murmur compared to the pounding in my head. She was anxiously looking over at me as Ade grasped his phone tightly.
"Yeah... it's already uploaded... Jesus!" he replied, looking mortified at the situation. He pulled his jacket a little higher over his shoulders and he looked like he was ready to find my father, but then he hesitated and turned to look over at me too.
"You okay, Fritz?" he asked gently.
"Yeah, fine," I lied. I was not okay. I had just been hit by my father over some petty argument about me finally living life. I had been hit over running away. Over feeling free, and happy, and finally appreciating what it meant to be alive. He was mad about me expressing myself, and loving the fine details about the bittersweet summer night--and of course, about meeting him.
Needless to say, my life was about to get a lot worse.
The video Ade had recorded initially remained in the paws of him and his friends, but it wasn't long before it made its rounds over the internet, coursing into social media feeds and onto the news; the coverage was devastating. Karl Furfaro, the tyrant, was an abuser. That was where they drew the line, I suppose. Resultingly, his stocks plummeted as his investors revoked their bursaries and he grew more agitated and paranoid every day.
Yeah, a lot worse.