Shawn Wayne

Shawn's P.O.V

Knock knock

"Rise and shine, Mr. Wayne!" Julie's cheerful voice pierced through my bedroom door, shattering the remnants of my restless slumber. A new school is not what I need right now but I have no choice and my crime was what exactly, watching another guy on top of my girlfriend, ex-girlfriend I mean (sighs) I hate you, Sara White. I'm glad I picked an outfit last night cause I don't feel like doing anything right now, I just want to lay on my bed all day.

"Mr. Wayne!"

 "I'm up, Julie! I'm up!" I bellowed, throwing off the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed,

"Good! just checking, your dad will be expecting you at breakfast in fifteen minutes. Don't keep him waiting!"

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, already dreading the confrontation.

"I'll be there before him," I muttered, more to myself than to Julie,

 "Better be, Mr. Wayne! Better be!"

As Julie's footsteps faded into the distance, I couldn't help but think, gosh, what an aggressive young lady. I headed for the shower, craving the solace of warm water and solitude. For a moment, I let the stress of the day ahead melt away, but the thought of my dad's disapproving face brought me back to reality. I couldn't afford to be late – not today. I pulled on my trusty black cargo pants, a white baggy t-shirt, and my favorite black Nike Air Force 1s, then the silver chain my mom got for me before she vanished (sighs), I gazed into the mirror, and my mom's face stared back at me – a haunting echo of what could never be again. "Wherever you are, Mom," I whispered, the ache in my heart still raw, "I miss you". $LÅZENGER, I hope I find something about you soon and when I do, I'll make sure y'all pay for taking my mom from me. I combed my hair and went down for breakfast, luckily, I got there before dad.

"Morning, Dad," I said, watching him fold his massive 6'8 frame into his seat. Good thing baldness wasn't genetic, he started in on me right away,

"Someone's been running their mouth, so expect paparazzi at Angels High. But don't think for a second I'm sending your bodyguards with you. You embarrassed me..."

"How did I embarrass you? Sara freaked out, and you're blaming me?" I cut him off, my anger flaring.

"I wasn't finished." Dad's face darkened.

"I've heard enough, Dad," I shot back, my voice rising,

"You're more worried about your reputation than how I feel. Sara cheated on me, used me for her own gain... and you're still taking her side?"

"You lied about Mom..." I bit back the words that threatened to spill out, the accusation that would change everything, no, I couldn't say that, not yet.

"I lied about what?" my dad demanded, his voice rising in defensiveness. I clenched my jaw, biting back the truth.

"Nothing, never mind," I muttered, trying to brush it off.

"I'm just upset you didn't check on me."

I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and walked out, leaving my dad staring after me. For the first time since the wedding, I'd snapped at him. I knew he was hurt, but I didn't care. Not right now.

I stormed back to my room, emotions swirling inside me like a tornado. I felt like I was losing control, like I needed to break something or punch something to release the pent-up rage.

And then, I saw my mirror. For the second time, I smashed my fist into the glass, shattering the reflection staring back at me. The sound of breaking glass was cathartic, but it didn't ease the pain inside.

Julie burst into my room, her eyes blazing with exasperation. "What's wrong with you, Shawn?!" she demanded, surveying the shattered glass.

"I've told you a million times to stop taking out your anger on innocent objects!" She rushed over to me, grabbing my hand to examine the damage.

"They're not alive," I muttered, wincing as she cleaned my wounds.

Julie shot me a withering look. "That's not the point! I'm the one who always has to clean up after you. What if I get hurt in the process?" Her voice was laced with frustration.

I shrugged, feeling a twinge of guilt. "Gosh, Julie, why are you always so mean?" I teased, trying to deflect her anger.

But Julie wasn't having it. "Get a punching bag, Shawn! Or better yet, hit yourself since you're the only one who gets mad!" She glared at me, her hands on her hips.

I knew she was right. I needed to learn to control my temper. But it was hard when everything inside me seemed to be simmering just below the surface, waiting to boil over.

"Time to go, Shawn. Jimmy's waiting," Julie said, her voice firm but gentle.

I gazed at her, feeling a surge of gratitude. This twenty-nine-year-old woman had been my rock since I was ten, patiently enduring my tantrums and outbursts. Only she could tolerate my bad temper, and I was thankful for her unwavering support.

My mom would have been the one to calm me down, but she wasn't here. Julie was all I had, and I appreciated her more than she knew.

Memories of that chaotic night after Mr. Steve's wedding flooded my mind. I'd come home seething, my dad yelling at me, and I'd lost control, smashing and breaking everything in sight. I'd hurt myself badly, too.

But then Julie had stepped in, her face stern, and slapped me hard. It was the wake-up call I needed, a shock to the system that snapped me out of my destructive frenzy.

"Are you crazy?!" Julie exclaimed, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and concern. "Take a look at what you've done!"

I was taken aback by the force of her slap, my face stinging from the impact. But Julie didn't give me time to react. She grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs, pushing me toward the balcony.

"Look down!" she ordered, her voice firm.

I gazed out at the chaos below, my heart sinking. The house was in shambles, furniture overturned, and debris scattered everywhere.

Julie's voice was laced with sarcasm as she clapped her hands. "Bravo! You need an applause!"

Her words cut deep, but it was what she said next that hit me like a ton of bricks. "Do you think your mom would be proud to see the kind of beast she gave birth to?"

Something inside me snapped. I lunged at Julie, my hands closing around her throat. "Go ahead and strangle me if you dare!" she spat, her eyes flashing with defiance.

But Julie's words kept coming, piercing my anger like a dagger. "If I was your mom, I would be so disappointed. I would regret birthing you, because this is not the person she raised. This is not the child she carried in her womb for nine good months!"

I released my grip, Julie's words echoing in my mind like a wake-up call. She was right. I had lost control, and it was time to take responsibility.

Julie's words still lingered in my mind, a stern reminder of my behavior. "If you want to be upset, be upset. But think before you act. You're making my job impossible!"

Her frustration was palpable, and I knew I'd gone too far. "I've told you before, Shawn. Be considerate when you're angry. Get a punching bag, for goodness' sake!"

I stormed out of the room, tears of anger and frustration streaming down my face. I missed my mom so much, and the pain of her absence felt like a fresh wound.

But as I walked away, I could still feel the sting of Julie's slap. It was a harsh reminder that I needed to get my temper under control. I didn't want to break anything else, or anyone.

So I did the only thing that seemed to calm me down - I took a long, hot bath. The water enveloped me like a soothing balm, easing my tension and calming my mind.

That was two weeks ago. And now, I was facing a new reality - a new school. But I still didn't understand why. What did the incident have to do with me changing schools? The question swirled in my mind, unanswered.

"Good morning, Jimmy," I said, standing beside my sleek Tesla Model S.

Jimmy, my driver, raised an eyebrow as he took in the sight of my bandaged hand. "You broke your mirror again, didn't you?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I shrugged, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. "I couldn't help it," I admitted, shoving my hand into my pocket.

As I slid into the back seat, Jimmy's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. I could sense his concern, but he didn't push the issue.

The thought of starting at a new school made my stomach twist into knots. I let out a deep sigh, feeling a sense of dread wash over me. This was not how I wanted to spend my day.

As I stepped out of my Tesla, the paparazzi swarmed around me like vultures, their cameras and microphones thrust into my face. Dad had warned me this would happen.

"Mr. Wayne, how do you feel about attending Angels High?" a lady in a pink shirt asked, her voice shrill.

"Why do you think Sara White broke up with you?" a blonde reporter chimed in, her eyes gleaming with sensationalism.

I bit back my retort - I was the one who'd broken up with Sara, and she was the fake one. But I kept my cool, knowing that losing my temper would only fuel the media frenzy.

"How do you feel about the incident at Mr. Steve's wedding?" another reporter asked, pushing the microphone closer to my face.

I felt my frustration boiling over, but just as I was about to lose it, a commotion broke out. Jimmy was yelling at a girl around my age, who'd just smashed the windshield of my car. The paparazzi scurried after her, eager for a new scoop.

The girl caught my eye and tilted her head, signaling me to make a quick exit. I didn't need to be told twice. I took advantage of the distraction to slip into the school compound, grateful to escape the chaos.