Medical Bills

Panting frantically, the teen woke from his nightmare. Another clusterfuck of spiders crawling on his slender body, the body textured alike to a tree trunk cracked open, the arachnids entering each crevice. The same night terror.

Conrad Jonathan Amato was relieved. More than relieved he wasn't trapped in another hell that wasn't his homelife with his alcoholic mother. One hell was enough. Every night he had to worry.

Now, Daphne Amato(née Smith) wasn't a woman with putrid intentions. She was burdened by her abject loss of her husband, Antonio Amato. "He was meant to be a crooner, not a fucking gangster." She had often reminded her son between swigs of hard liquor from the bottle. "All he wanted was the best for us."

Conrad understood entirely what his mother had meant by those things. He had only known his loving father up to a mere eight years old before the man's life was taken by the repo man of another gang. They had gotten wrong man. The wrong suicidal communications lead to his ultimate death. Tony had always played Russian roulette with his life. Who was to blame?

Conrad also understood his mother was a danger to herself and others when heavily intoxicated. She could slip down the long staircase. She could smash lights over her anger at what had taken place, which could lead to a fire. The teen was glad he had no siblings to have to protect from Daphne, who was crazy, unfortunately.

He had the funds to move out. His inheritance was a single request away, a deposit into his bank which he hadn't bothered with asking from Daphne in the whole eight years his father had been deceased. He ethically wanted to wait until he was eighteen to no longer have a reason to stay.

Conrad wanted nothing more than sanctuary. He was a pussy whether or not he desired such, as every man who had been raised via silver spoon. His father had provided massive amounts of money for his wife and son, Conrad left to wonder how much dejection it costed. Over the years as his intelligence grew, he knew he should have feared Tony more than he often overlooked his obviously dangerous aura.

The teen had no fucking clue what the man had been through. He often wondered how absurdly selfish Tony had to be. How ruthless. How filthy his hands had gotten everyday of his life. He didn't resent his father. He just felt deceived by him.

—

1984

Tony's home was a brothel. His father was accustomed to the culture of rounding up prostitutes, kind-hearted Marilyn Monroe imitations, accepting money to bend over with their panties between their thin ankles. Right there in the living room.

He didn't believe in a God after his mother overdosed on heroin and was left to choke on her last breaths. In the same house, where hookers now scampered around like infants. Every creak of the floor reminding him of a quieter place called the past. His mother would cradle him when his father was on a drunken rampage, breaking things in the kitchen and cursing unpleasantly. A quieter place meant less people. He wasn't a ghost to dysfunctional dynamics. It was all he had known.

His mother was a nameless Latina who didn't speak English, who his father often called "putana". Tucker Amato was an enforcer in the mob. And a bastard of a man. He bribed policemen as a job. Had the innocent thrown in prison. He meddled with lives through the law whilst running one of the mob's most successful prostitution rings in the comfort of his home – where all who weren't him were tortured by his presence.

Tony often felt stomach pains from the sheer anxiety he felt from five to eight years old. It wasn't until a harlot dropped dead in front of him that he snapped out of his fearsome outlook. He was nine years old.

"What the fuck?" the boy had said.

"Not paying her medical bill. Get her out of here," Tucker commanded, waving his accomplice over. "I want you to take this body an' sell it for parts. I don't care where, just bring me every cent back. I'll chop your fuckin' head if you don't come through for me."

He was a fortunate man to operate off of the power he had over those who feared him. Every day, Tony knew he had to get away from him or get on his good side. The man practically ignored him, though it was for the best as his day of abandonment was coming. Did the man even care about him? Would he pay his medical bill?