Prologue:
Bryant.
His parents named him that because to speak his name your lips would for a full circle. He had his father’s blue eyes, his mother’s ebony hair and the sky-scraper height that ran in the family. Pushing six feet before he was fourteen, with skin that tanned easily due to his partial native heritage and a romantic streak that came from his father’s Italian ancestry, Bryant was stunning.
By the age of fifteen he had dated every attractive girl in the Welsh Jr. High, and by his sixteenth birthday he was MVP on the Varsity basketball team, with a letter in baseball and basketball.
His father was transferred to Eastern Washington State, near Seattle, at that time. Bryant was fine with the change. He loved to explore new realms of opportunity. After all, he would have to be well-rounded if he was to take over his father’s marketing company someday.
Starting his Junior year with an accumulative grade point average of 4.2, with a clean room, made bed and breakfast with all of the nutritional necessities, Bryant was perfect. As perfect as any sixteen year old could ever be.
Too perfect.
So perfect, it was downright scary.
1.
“You have issues,” Natasha, Bryant’s girlfriend of eight months, said as she whacked him playfully in the back of the head. She grinned, and leaned against him, feeling a sort of comfort in the warmth of his lean, muscular body.
Bryant smiled half-heartedly, and nodded. “Sure I do, babe,” he replied, eyes half-closed. You have absolutely no idea. He was driving his ‘06 Beamer down the road to Natasha’s trailer-park home, the dim streetlights flickering grimly.
“No, really though. Who gets an A+ in Trig? I didn’t even know that was possible. The teacher, Mr. Thomas is a butt.” She smirked and popped her bubble-gum, twisting it over her fingers.
Bryant shrugged, both to answer her question and to squirm his way out of her death-hold. Why am I even dating her? He asked himself. Because she’s beautiful, he answered.
It was true, even Bryant, (picky as he was) had to admit it. With that thick, shoulder length brunette hair and those deep amber eyes, Natasha was as close to perfect as he had seen. (Besides himself, of course.)
Of course, it wasn’t her fault she was trailer-trash. She gushed and cooed over his six story mansion for hours upon her first arrival. Bryant bought her pretty things with his father’s money-diamond necklaces and designer jeans, just to keep her up to par. If he was going to be seen with a beauty, best make her a well-dressed beauty, so everyone could stare with cold, cruel jealousy.
“Anyway here we are,” she said as he pulled up to her house. She smiled teasingly, blew a bubble, and kissed him. The gum-ball machine 25 cent crap spread all over Bryant’s face, who would no sooner eat that cheap gum than bathe in crocuses.
“Gorgeous, Tash,” he said in a low growl, peeling bits off his face. She giggled, and bobbed her shoulders.
“Later, babes,” she said, and grabbed her Louie Vaton purse he’d given her two months ago for her sixteenth birthday.
“Later,” he repeated, sneering as he pulled out. Why couldn’t the rich girls be pretty? How could he have possibly stooped so low as to date a trailer-trash piece of garbage?
But with all of the money he’d spent over her over the months, Bryant had quite an investment on Natasha.
“She’ll turn out,” he said decidedly, peeling bits of gum from his mouth. “With time, she’ll turn out just fine.”
***
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