James Bryson lay in bed, his dark curls matted with sweat. He was trapped in a nightmare, reliving the horrific car accident that took his mother's life. He was just twelve years old and they were returning from her favorite concert show. The scenes were always the same - he was in the back seat, arguing that he never liked the show and didn't want to be dragged along anymore. His mother chuckled and shook her head and in annoyance he threw the bottle of water he held in his hand into the front seat.
Little did he know that mere act would haunt him for years to come. His mother ducked to pick up the bottle as the cap had come undone and was spilling water. In those seconds, she failed to see the incoming truck and swerved forward into its path. The sound of screeching tires and shattering glass filled his ears. He felt the same sense of helplessness, the same crushing grief.
When the paramedics came to the scene, and he was pulled out of the rubble, his mother's face was still smiling at him, her face battered and bleeding from every single facial hole. He tried to claw his way out of the medics' strong grasp to reach her but they were too powerful. Her last words uttered to him echoed as he was swallowed by the void.
As he jerked awake, his chest heaved, and his heart pounded in his ribcage. It took him a few moments to calm down, to remind himself it was just a dream.
It was just a dream, huh? he thought sobbing.
But the pain lingered, a constant reminder of the void left by his mother's passing. He blamed himself for her death. It was his fault. Yes, his fault.
If only I had been a good lad and shut the fuck up. He shook his head.
He never told anyone what happened, up till this day. He wondered how his father would react to learn that he was the cause of his mother's death. Or his brother.
"I should have died in that crash. I should have." He whispered quietly to himself. Then he was quiet. His breathing was labored and his eyes were still trying to adjust to the dim room.
"You don't want to be late for school," Mrs. Hamilton, the family's loyal maid, called out.
"Ah, yes. School." He remembered. It was the first day of the school year. The holidays had been rough. It might have been otherwise for any other teen, but he was not just any other teen. He was James Bryson, son of Markus Bryson, multimillionaire business tycoon of Morgansville and the CEO of B-Industries.
James spent his vacations dressed up in suits and attending meetings about nothing he knew of and with people he knew nothing of. His father coerced him into every meeting, stating that he was being groomed to take over the company. He was barely eighteen years of age and his father was already talking about handling the company.
Mrs. Hamilton comforted him each time he returned, tired and oblivious of whatever was discussed, and told him his father was trying to prevent the same problem that raised with Kevin.
James rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering anxiety. He tossed off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His king-sized bed, the posters of basketball and football legends on his walls, his massive collection of signed basketball jerseys next to his wardrobe, his gaming setup next to his television, yet he felt empty. The Bryson mansion had been his home since birth, but it had never felt emptier than it did now.
He thought about his family, the strained relationships that had developed since his mother's death. His father, Markus Bryson, had become a distant figure, always busy with work, never taking the time to connect with his sons. James' brother, Kevin, had rebelled against their father's expectations, choosing to pursue a career in music instead of following in their father's footsteps. This had angered Markus and the tension between them was palpable. Kevin began attending club parties and even hosting a few in the mansion, much to his father's indignation. He attended a few TV shows for interviews and started hanging out with other music stars in the industry. Markus felt he was smearing the family with his indecent lifestyle and the arguments grew.
James remembered the fights, the screaming matches, and the slammed doors. He recalled the feeling of being caught in the middle, of trying to please both his father and his brother. But it was a losing battle. The rift between them had grown wider, until it seemed insurmountable. His father cut down Kevin's allowances and a few months later, Kevin left the Bryson mansion to live alone. His older brother was always sympathetic and told him to pursue his own path and not be controlled by the 'old geezer'. But to James, he felt misbehaving or disregarding his father would have dire consequences just like with his mother.
On the day of her funeral, the pain and the guilt had consumed him more. To him, the family had died with her, cause she was the only one who truly understood Kevin and kept Markus in check, making sure he had time for his family no matter how preoccupied he was with his business projects. However, the family was strained and he couldn't help but feel that he was the sole cause of it all; his father's distant behavior, his brother's rebellion, and the emptiness that had settled over the Bryson mansion.
He resolved to make it better and that meant, supporting his brother's music journey as well as accepting reluctantly, the mandate of being the next in line in the family business. His father was overjoyed and his brother was appreciative and despite the fact that he couldn't bond both father and son, he was the only reason the family had a ray of hope.
Being the favorite son also had its perks as his father doubled his allowances and also gave him the privilege of driving any of his cars, apart from the Ford jeep he was given when he got his driver's license - Privileges that had been refused his elder brother. Most times he wondered if his brother resented him for it.
As he made his way to the bathroom, James couldn't help but wonder what the future held for his family. He pondered if everyone would be able to heal and move past their differences.
He flipped on the light switch, and the bright glow illuminated his reflection in the mirror. James winced as the light rays attacked his eyes. He squinted and examined his features: the strong jawline, the piercing blue eyes, and dark curls that always seemed to fall across his forehead in a messy swoop. His athletic build, honed from years of playing basketball and football, was evident even under the loose-fitting towel.
He splashed the water on his face and let out a deep sigh.