Spencer Ackermann laid on his soft, deep blue couch, his legs thrown over the armrest as he rested his head on two stacked gray patterned pillows. He traced the golden swirls and patterns on the fabric with his finger, his thoughts going blank. His eyes followed his finger unconsciously. He gave out a small sigh, his eyes coming back into a clear vision from their blurry state. He looked away from the fabric and rested his head onto the pillows, looking up at the white ceiling as his finger mindlessly continued to trace the patterns blindly. He silently listened to the fireplace crackle and occasionally pop. Though he was a few feet away from it, the fire's rays reached his robed body, the black robe making him warmer.
Every now and then Spencer could hear the sounds of shoes hitting the carpeted floor outside his door; though it was very faint due to the door being a good two inches thick. He adored the calmness and quietness of his sleeping quarters; and that’s coming from a man that doesn’t adore much.
Spencer was all of a sudden startled out of his long daze by a thumping on his door. He looked over at his spruce door, hearing a familiar voice on the other side.
“Spency! Can I come in?” the muffled feminine voice said. Spencer grumbled in response, it most likely not being heard from the person on the other side. He knew who it was, and right now, he didn’t want any company from anyone in the whole mansion, not even a simple phone call or text.
“You can come in once you stop calling me that hell of a nickname, including your other ones you pulled from your magic hat.” he responded. He closed his eyes and rested his arm over his face as he listened to his door open. He groaned as the sound of shoes clicking on the floor came nearer, until they stopped right next to him. He laid there for a long moment, the sound of breathing hinting the silence like peppering a food dish.
“What do you want Marie?” he asked, clear irritation in his voice. He heard Marie give out a small sigh, followed by a faint and small crack coming from her knee due to her crouching down. He uncovered his eyes a bit as he focused his eyes onto the dark toned girl standing above him, arms slouching on the edges of her knees as she tilted her head. He could see the clear confusion on her face, worry hinting at her eyes. His eyes slipped from her face to her black, long-sleeved turtleneck. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing more of her beautiful walnut skin. He looked back up at her face, immediately retreating to the safety of his arms cover. He could practically feel her hot pink eyes burning into the side of his head with concern.
“What’s wrong, Spency? Are you getting your migraines again?” Marie asked, concern edging onto her voice. Spencer groaned. She wasn’t wrong, his migraines have been regaining their strength and started jabbing at his head again after weeks of freedom from their attacks.
Marie took both his groan and silence as a “yes” to her question. She shifted down onto her knees, so she was eye level with the man. She slowly raised her hand to his head, hesitating as she lightly grazed his hair. She placed her whole hand onto his natural silver hair, gently petting it. Her ears perked up as she heard a small exhale of relaxation slip from Spencer's mouth, which he most likely didn’t intend to do, a small smile tugging at her lips as a response.
“Or is it because you aren’t wearing your glasses? You know that can affect your migraines even more Spencer.” she said, getting a quiet “shut up” from the man, annoyance creeping into the two words. Marie took his comment and shut up, silently continuing to gently play with his hair and rub his scalp. Spencer's painful migraine started to feel at ease as his loyal right-hand teenage woman caressed his head. If she were to be a new member into his mafia, she wouldn’t be able to get even a few feet close to him unless he needed her, which she was at one point in that position, but surely enough she became pretty much the only person he trusted enough to be able to have access to rubbing his head, really to have any physical contact. He honestly didn’t mind her rubbing his head. At one point he requested her into his office just to lie and tell her to rub his head due to him having a “headache”. It always eased his migraines and normal headaches when he was younger. His parents always rubbed his head when he had them, but after he turned thirteen, he began growing distant and didn’t allow anyone to touch his head anymore.
Spencer’s train of thought was sucked away into the back of his head as he felt Marie's hand disconnect from his hair. He gave out a small whimper at the loss of contact, him immediately tightly shutting his mouth in hopes to stop the sound from leaving his lips longer. He knew he failed to do so once he heard a light chuckle come from the black haired girl next to him.
“Someone seemed to like their little head rub.” Marie chuckled. Spencer shot her a glare, though she couldn’t see it due to his arm still over his eyes, she could feel his blood red eyes piercing glare pierce her skin. She was used to his now ineffective glares at this point. She named it as one of his “hobbies” as a joke.
“So,” Spencer began, shifting. “What did you want to tell me? Or was that just an excuse to bother me like the annoying brat you are.” he spoke.
“Thanks for the nickname, but there was actually something I came here to tell you.” she said, adjusting into a more comfortable position for her knees, the fluffy black rug surrounding her kneecaps. There was a long moment of silence, besides the fires crackling.
“Well, are you going to tell me, or are you just going to sit there?” his deep husky voice made Marie jump, putting her attention onto her boss. She cleared her throat before speaking.
“Your parents request that you meet them in the main room at eight p.m.” she stated. She watched as Spencer gave her a both annoyed and confused look.
“Why?” he asked, sitting up so his elbows were giving his body support. His parents haven’t been here for four months and now they just show up?
Maries eyes shifted onto his now openly clear eyes. Spencer's eyes were an almost haunting bright red. His left eye didn’t help with the eerily feeling it gave off. His once white sclera was now pitch black, almost seeming as an endless void; though if you really studied the sclera, you could see faint shadings of purple and grays. Her eyes shifted onto his long, thickly healed scar that ran up from his collarbone to his forehead with former stitch scarring faintly noticeable. It went crookedly parallel across his eye. His scar honestly made him look like a character from a horror movie. She thought it made him unique. She thought his whole personality was unique.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I honestly don’t know, they just told me to inform you about meeting up with them.” she truthfully stated. Spencer stared forward for a moment before turning to her, his ruby eyes staring into her bold yellow ones.
“What time is it now?” he asked, using one hand to rub his eyes, being cautious where he placed his thumb around his scar. Marie lifted her sleeve and looked at her watch. “It is seven thirty-two, so I suggest getting ready so you're not late.” She said, standing up from the soft comfortable rug and stretching out her back. She began walking towards the door, hearing Spencer groan as he fully sat up. When she reached the door, she heard Spencer grumble “I’m never late...”, which made her chuckle under her breath.
Spencer watched as his right-hand woman left his room. He sighed once he heard the clicking of her shoes hitting the floor disappear. He weakly swung his legs off the arm rest and had his sock-covered feet hit the soft rug-though he couldn't actually feel its comfortable fabric-, his heels hitting the spruce wood floor gap that the rug and couch left open. He let out a yawn, more out of exhaustion than tiredness. He stood up, taking a moment to stretch out his body. He went back into a slouched stand, his eyes gazing into the fire before lightly rubbing his eyes into focus. He walked away from the couch and to another spruce door. As he gripped onto the doorknob, he looked at a painting next to the door frame. It was a magnificent painting of a redwood forest, the painted sun rays making the trees look extraordinarily realistic. The shading, shadows and blending of the bark and forest ground just filled him with, what was the word, a comforting internal aura. Trees always had a calming effect on him ever since he was a toddler; including the short stories and information his parents had given him when he was too young to even remember playing hide and seek with his father.
He looked away from the painting and opened up the door, a cool change of climate rushing into his body, tickling his open skin. He sucked in a breath of the newly closeted air as he entered the dark room, the main part of his bedroom lighting the room faintly. Once his body stepped into the room fully, he lifted his hand next to the door frame, finding a light switch, he flicked it on. The room brightened suddenly, making him squint his eyes, a short and quiet grumble erupting from his throat. Once his eyes adjusted, he walked forward into his walk-in closet, shutting the door behind him. He stared into his racks of clothes, his closet giving him a good ten foot wide area, a square cushioned seat in between the two racks that were lined with clothes. Spencer slowly walked to the left clothes rack, his fingers grazing all the fabrics as he observed the ones he had passed. Just then, his eyes set upon a dark gray shirt. He pulled it out to discover it was a partially baggy turtleneck. He took a firm hold of it as he separated the hanger from the piece of clothing. He put the clothes hanger into an empty shelf he had yet to fill with most likely new clothes or shoes. He draped the turtleneck over his arm and took a few steps before crouching down above floor-level drawers. He pulled open a drawer and it revealed pairs of jeans. He pulled out the first black pair he saw, which was on the top of the multiple stacks of pants he had crammed into the drawer, quickly snatching up a pair of boxers before fully standing up. He sat down on the cushion and untied his robe, letting it kindly slip off his shoulders. He carefully but quickly pulled on his boxers, being wary-though he had no reason to- of the scars that scattered his legs, his pants coming on right after. He glanced up at the mirror, only to meet himself, as he slipped his arms through the sleeves. The shirt slid over his head, blocking his eyes' view of his scarred body that added a somewhat handsome look to his well-muscled body. His mother always worried for his safety ever since he got the giant scar trailing down his face, which he found awfully irritating. He knew his scar was severe, it hurt like hell when he got it, his sclera turned black for christ sake! He didn’t know what it was about or on that blade, but it sure did fuck up his eyesight in his one eye, but it's not like he didn’t not have bad eyesight to begin with. That's beside the point. He doesn’t need his mother treating him like he is a wailing child that scraped his knee on a driveway.
Shit, now that I think about it, where are my glasses? Spencer thought, walking out of his closet as he adjusted the actual turtleneck part of the shirt, feeling satisfied once it felt snug around his neck. He closed the door behind him and walked to the small couch and chair setup. Looking at the table he searched for his glasses, but his eyes couldn’t lock onto their target. He walked over to his bedside tables, not picking them up there either.
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Marie trotted down the hall, her black boot heels clicking on the hardwood floor, headed towards the main room, which was on the bottom floor, of the mansion. Along the way she passed a couple of the other mafia companions she had met with her good but exhausting two years of being here. She received smiles, nods of acknowledgment, and simple waves and “Hi’s” from them. She was known as the ‘joy in the mansion’ to most people, when in reality, she was actually sometimes really arrogant and closed-off, but that didn’t stop her from making peoples days more ‘entertainable’. And by that she means most of the time pranking Spencer, which pretty much every time gets her in trouble, but if she’s lucky to escape from Spencer's hands of death she’d be considered extremely lucky, like lucky to get out of death row lucky. Let's just say, Marie didn’t enjoy Spencer's “repayments” for her successful but also failed pranks.
Her thoughts were cut to an end as she reached her destination. She opened the right dark spruce door to the main room. She closed the door behind her and quickly walked down the flight of stairs leading to the floor. She walked to the main door, her eyes going straight to the old couple that sat upon a dark blue cushioned couch. Their eyes went from either a book or a simple thing surrounding them to Marie. The woman smiled warmly at her, closing her book and setting it next to her, the man doing the same with his wandering red eyes.
“Your son is getting ready, Mr. and Mrs. Ackermann.” Marie stated, sitting on a couch across from them, a glass table separating them.
“No please, just call us Caroline and John.” Mrs. Ackermann insisted. Marie chuckled in response and nodded.
“Wow. I'm surprised Spencer even agreed to meet with us.” Jonathan said, leaning back in his seat. Caroline shoved his shoulder, giving him a look, but also shrugging in agreement.
“I am too. He rarely ever wants to see us. I wonder what made him decide to see us today.” Caroline said, crossing her leg over her knee, making sure to cover the bottom view of her empress teal dress.
“He’s probably just looking for something interesting in his life besides sitting in his room all day and working his ass off.” Marie said, a small laugh slipping at the end. Caroline and John chuckled, Marie finding joy in her comment.
They talked for what was going to seem like several treacherous hours as they waited for Spencer to arrive; Marie entertaining the Ackermann’s with her ranting about stuff that had been lodged in the back of her mind while she could.