Secrets of the Millionaire's Mind

Cora Stace.

Nobody had the slightest idea where Abbott was. He had gone on a trip to find his sister and hadn't returned yet. During the summer vacation, I got a part-time job that allows me to help my parents pay the bills. Mom is unstable, and inconsolable. She hasn't wanted to do anything since she found out that Dad slept with another woman. When I found out, I was paralyzed. I couldn't understand how the man who gave me life had cheated on Mom. I used to see Derek, my father, kiss Mom on the forehead in the mornings, take care of her, and cook for her when she was sick. All those affectionate gestures confused my mind and made me believe in something that didn't exist.

I used to look at them and say, "In the future, I want a relationship like theirs." Abbott always made fun of me for wanting a relationship like my parents. He would tell me it's foolish, that a marriage never goes perfectly. And I think he's right, now I believe it. Since they decided to divorce, my father has been packing up everything he's taking with him. The money is his. My mother doesn't work; she has always taken care of the household chores. He insisted on leaving us a portion, but she refused. She felt indignant, frustrated, and disappointed. She didn't want anything to do with him or his money.

In the morning, Derek tried to talk to me. He urged me to convince Mom to accept the money. I couldn't look him in the eyes; I didn't want to. And I also refused. I think the decision Mom made was the right one. It's like she's paying for what he did, to erase it, or maybe to compensate for his mistake. But sleeping with another woman and seeing her do the same things you do with your wife and pretending everything is fine has no price. And I'm not going to make it easier for him.

"If you want to talk to my mother, do it yourself," I said curtly and left that room as quickly as I could.

Julian is my coworker. He always comes to pick me up from home so we can go to the pizzeria together. We handle the deliveries. Sometimes we entertain ourselves by talking and sharing anecdotes. He told me about one of his exes who is a bit crazy. Whenever he has a soccer match, she goes to see him and starts screaming as if they were still together. He has told her countless times that she doesn't have to do that, that it makes him uncomfortable, and that their relationship is over.

I always laugh when he tells me a story about her. I think we've labeled her as "The Screaming Crazy." One day, I wanted to accompany him so he wouldn't feel so alone, and the screams of the girl next to me were tormenting me. I thought it was someone else; I hadn't stopped to look at her. But when I saw her clearly, I knew who it was. From the verbal description Julian had given me and the enthusiastic screams she let out, there was no way I could be mistaken. It was her.

I decided to talk to her woman to woman. I was polite and straightforward. She listened to me attentively for the first few minutes, but then she started saying that she loved him, that love was like that, and there was nothing I could do to interfere in their romance. That night, I ended up with the milkshake all over my clothes. I hated her. I wanted to hit her, but the match had already ended, and I hadn't noticed everything that was happening with the girl in front of me.

When I opened my mouth to protest, Julian appeared by my side and shouted at her to leave him alone. He even insinuated that he and I were together, at least, no one sitting there knew anyone, it would have been embarrassing, not in a bad way, but I don't want people on the street thinking I'm dating a guy.

When I met him, he seemed like a reserved person. He always has short hair, is dark-skinned, and wears colors between gray and white. Sometimes he goes for a dark green and combines it with beige or similar colors. I thought he was strange, but if I think about it, he must have thought and believed that I was strange too. My hair is wavy and copper-colored, I have green eyes, and I'm as pale as paper. It's not just that. My eccentricity starts with clothes. I like to wear colorful clothes and a black headband; most of the time, I'm wearing it. I tie my hair in a high ponytail and put on the headband. If not, I leave it loose and use the headband as an accessory.

The first time I saw him, I was wearing a neon green dress, and black high heels, and had my hair down. Over the dress, I was wearing a beautiful white jacket.No one had the slightest idea where Abbott was. He had gone on a trip to search for his sister and had not returned yet. During the summer vacation, I managed to get a part-time job that allows me to help my parents pay the bills. Mom is unstable, and inconsolable. She hasn't wanted to do anything ever since she found out that Dad slept with another woman. When I found out, I was paralyzed. I couldn't understand how the man who gave me life could betray Mom. I used to see Derek, my father, kiss Mom on the forehead in the mornings, take care of her, and cook for her when she was sick. All those affectionate gestures confused my mind and made me believe in something that didn't exist.

Most of the students at my university would like to have a part-time job and skip classes because "their boss" has called them. It's not as simple as that; none of the spoiled kids who inhabit those facilities have any idea what it's like to work late and come home tired. If they want something, they get it, whether it's from their parents or because they have enough money scattered around the house. I've seen that many times, more times than I would like.

Morgan, a friend of mine, invited me to her house to finish the work for the first semester, and I accepted without hesitation. I had never seen her so interested in a project as she was that day. Her house is enormous, filled with crystal lamps and TVs bigger than a wall. I didn't mention anything about her house because I didn't want to seem interested, nor did I want her to hate me for my comment. On that same day, she asked if I was hungry after seeing me writing an essay for more than three hours, which, of course, she wouldn't do. She said she would pay for it and told me to consider it as a token of appreciation. I felt frustrated and wanted to kick her, but I managed to handle it better than I thought. I accepted her fake gratitude and watched her search for money throughout the house; she seemed crazy to me like she had lost her mind. Amid stress, I asked her what the hell she was doing.

She laughed and told me she was looking for money; undoubtedly, that made me frown. "If you don't have money, why did you order a pizza?" I asked, and she shrugged in response, saying, "My parents always lose money, and they don't care. I know there's something around here."

Her response got me thinking. My father had money; that's why I studied there, with them. But he has never behaved superficially. My mother, married to a millionaire, had attitudes that I hated, that I detested many times. When she saw people of lower means, she would laugh under her breath, and I would always roll my eyes at her, but I don't think she realized it.

No matter how much I tried to make my mom change, she never did. Until now, where she has no one but me. Where my father has left her with nothing, that's what we both see, that we have been left with nothing. I know that Dad will continue to pay for my university; he promised and he will. But nothing more, now it's my mother's turn to go out to work, and I know that it will cost her more than anything else.

I opened the fridge to get some food, and there was nothing. Yesterday, I gave my mother the money I earned this month at the pizzeria. What had she done with it? And speaking of her, she entered the kitchen with a new piece of clothing.

"What the hell did you do?" I growled.

"Why do you say that?" she complained. "What are we going to eat today?"

"Nothing! That's precisely it, there's no food in the fridge," I shouted angrily. My mother shook her head and started crying desperately. "You have to stop doing this."

"I can't," she sobbed. "Your father has ruined my life."

"He hasn't, you're still alive, right, Mom? So go and get a job. I'll eat at the university," I demanded.

I stormed out of the house, slamming the door. My father was arriving at the house; I imagine he was looking for the last things he has left here. It wouldn't be bad if he took everything with him at once, maybe Mom would realize it's a reality and not some crazy dream she had.

I was dying for all of this to end, for both of them to realize that it was not a bad dream. My father stopped when he saw me and grabbed my arm to prevent me from running off.

"Did something happen?"

"There's no food in the fridge," I stated.

"I'll buy something, okay? I'll go right now, leave everything in your room, and then I'll leave."

"It's not necessary; Mom has to learn."

"I deceived her," he sighed, holding back the urge to cry. He let go of me and put his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "I owe her."

"Do whatever you want to ease your conscience, Dad, but that won't change anything. Tell me, are you going with her?"

"With whom?" he asked, not fully understanding my question.

"With the woman who made you abandon Mom and me."

"I'm not going with her, Cora. I'll rent an apartment near your university so that I can be close to you and come pick you up whenever you allow me to."

I decided that continuing to listen to him would be a waste of my time. I would be late for university; Most of the students at my university would like to work part-time and skip classes because "their boss" has called them. It's not as simple as that; none of the spoiled kids who inhabit those premises have any idea what it's like to work late and come home tired. If they want something, they get it, either from their parents or because they have enough money scattered around the house. I've seen that many times, more times than I would like.

Sometimes I like doing it, but not so frantically. When I'm arriving at the university, I see Floyd Jane's car, the richest guy in the college. He's handsome, with black eyes that penetrate you like the night. We've only exchanged words once, and it couldn't be considered a conversation. It was more like a snobby comment from him and a grunt from me.

I lowered my head so he wouldn't see me and felt footsteps behind me. First, I tightly held onto my bag, trying to sneak a glance, but I couldn't see anything. So, I started running. I felt the footsteps running behind me, and I turned into the alley near the university. When I realized I was alone and in the middle of nowhere, I got scared. Why did I come here?

"Cora," he said. "I'm Abott. Why did you run?" he muttered. I opened my mouth to say something, but I stayed quiet and burst into laughter. His hair was disheveled, sticking up in different directions, with some strands falling messily on his forehead. His hands clung to his tired, bent knees, and I leaned forward, extending my hand.

"I thought you were a killer trying to murder me," I said seriously. "By this point, I was already formulating in my mind how you were going to kill me. I thought you'd be some old nail or maybe a desperate, bloodthirsty woman. I thought of many possibilities," I rambled.

"You should stop watching those series, Cora. They're damaging your mind," he scoffed, taking my hand. I let go, and he fell on his butt. The laughter that erupted from my throat didn't take long to come out. It was fun to see Abbott with his rear on the ground, complaining about what a bad friend I was.

He got up, picked up his backpack, and made an annoyed gesture for me to walk behind him. I didn't know he had come to town. He hadn't communicated with me since he left. His sister was suffering from cancer, so they had her in a hospital outside of there. The treatments were difficult, and Abott's parents were always traveling back and forth. When he called me in the early hours of the morning, crying while telling me he had to leave tomorrow, my heart sank. I thought, "Ana has died, will I lose my best friend?"

Until he started telling me she was doing better, that they would bring her back home, and finally, I could meet her. It made me happy to hear that. He always talks about how amazing his sister is, how well she knows how to do makeup, how beautiful her nails are, how much fun they have when they're together, and how cheerful she is. I always told him she sounded like an incredible girl, and everyone must want to meet someone as special as her.

I glanced at him and puffed out my cheeks like a baby, but he didn't even flinch. He's such a complainer, so he must be upset about having to run and get tired.

"Aren't you going to speak to me?" I asked.

"I have nothing to say to you."

"How is your sister?" he tensed.

"Ana is dead."

The rudeness with which he blurted out those words made me feel frozen, made me feel like a bad person, a bad friend. I had been laughing at him and didn't bother to ask how he had been or why he disappeared for so long. I had been acting like an idiot. I'm starting to understand that Abbott isn't mad at me for laughing at him or making him run. Maybe he is to some extent, but more so for not showing concern about what happened.

"You didn't tell me," I whispered, running after him. He stopped at the entrance of the university, and suddenly, I felt small. Everyone was passing by us without paying much attention. He looked at me sternly and furiously, his neatly organized curly hair no longer seemed adorable at that moment. And his light brown eyes pierced my soul in a way different from how they usually do.

"You didn't ask me, I thought I wouldn't have to talk about it. In fact," he scoffed, "I thought you weren't interested."

"It's not that," I replied, "Damn it, I was born with the memory of a goldfish. I just wanted to lighten the mood, wanted you to relax a bit, and then I planned to ask you."

"Cora, we know each other. You're lying to me."

"We know each other," I repeated. "I'm not lying."

"Fine," he started walking. "Are you going to ask something?"

"I want to know what happened. She was supposed to be fine. It's impossible that she got worse overnight. I... I thought I was going to meet her, that the three of us could laugh together."

I was talking so fast that I saw Abbott scrunching his face in irritation. I know how much he hates it when I start rambling when we're talking about something important. People around us started to realize something was happening-some staring as Abott furrowed his brow and tried to breathe, others laughing at what I was doing-and he got agitated.

"That's enough," he shouted. The onlookers turned, and I blushed. "I'm sorry... damn it, I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"I started it," I admitted. "I don't know how to handle these things. I'm not very sentimental about this stuff, and I'm nervous. I'm sorry for what happened with your sister. I was so scared when you disappeared."

Calmer now, he took my arm and walked quickly so that no one could see what we were doing or hear our conversation.

"My dad lied to me, the doctors lied to me," he said, clenching his hands. "My sister was dying. That's why they wanted me to bring her here, so she could spend her last days here."

"About... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. You know you can talk to me whenever you need to, right?"

"That's not all," he tried to relax and started walking towards the classroom. "She died in my arms while we were on our way here."

I stayed there, thinking about what to say, how to act, how to react, or if I should offer my condolences. Few young people offer condolences to their friends. I had never dealt with a situation like this before. I know he's hurting, although I can see in his eyes that maybe not as much as he should be. I wondered what Abbott did while he was gone. If it was as he said, it means that when his sister died, he got lost in a country to distract himself, to escape the pain, to try not to drown in tears.

"You don't have to tell me anything," he continued. "I know you're sorry, I know you care about me, and I know you're already wondering where I was." He paused and looked directly into my eyes. We were standing in front of the chemistry classroom, and I knew he wouldn't talk once we entered the class. He held my shoulders and relaxed. "I stayed in Mexico to find some release. I explored places, and when I was okay, calm, I came back. My parents understood what I did. They cried, but they didn't punish me. Everything is fine."

"Where was she buried?" I stuttered.

"In the cemetery near the central park, it's close to us. She always wanted to be near it."

"You're very strong."

"I'm not," he concluded.

Abbott ended the conversation and entered the classroom. I stood still for a moment, thinking about what he had said. If he doesn't believe he's strong, he's crazy. He's the strongest person I've ever known. I wouldn't have been able to handle it; maybe I would have left. But I wouldn't have come back, wouldn't have wanted to relive the moment, feel like it was my fault, that I was holding her when she left this world.

Is that fair, to see the person you love die before your eyes? With everything that had been happening with Abott lately, I made the decision not to let him go for a while. I refused to leave him adrift, to let him dwell on what had happened. I wanted to distract him, make him feel free, and make him understand that his sister died in the best way possible.

In his arms.

As the chemistry teacher spoke, I would glance at him to see how he was doing. However, Abbott behaved normally. He raised and lowered his head to take notes, listened to what the teacher said, and laughed at her jokes. Seeing him as he always was shocked me. He acted natural, as if his sister were still in the hospital and alive, even better than that.

The class ended, and I ran after him again. I always seemed to be chasing him, and he would get annoyed when I did it too often.

"Cora," he muttered. "I'm fine, you can stop following me."

"I don't understand. How can you be fine? Are you pretending? You shouldn't do that. I assure you that letting out everything inside is better. Do it, Abott, it will help you. I'm here to listen, I promise I'll listen to everything you have to say and give you the best advice I can."

"You talk too much," he teased. "When I was in Mexico, I saw a psychologist every day, that's why I'm fine. It hurts, but I've accepted it. And I don't want you pestering me about it, okay?"

"Okay, I think I got it."

"Great, because you were acting like a pain in the ass."

"Sure, Mr. Perfect. I'm going to work now."

"Behave like a professional writer," he chuckled, trying to hold back his laughter, and opened the door of the university that led to the exit. "I hope you hear what you just said because it was ridiculous."

"Fine, I'm leaving."

"Are you working?"

"I am," I assured. "I'm a pizza delivery driver. Where do you think I know Julian from?"

"From around?"

"From around," I repeated. "He's my coworker. My parents are getting divorced."

"Don't mess with me, Cora. Why didn't you tell me? What happened?"

We walked to the street and stood by the university. Abbott looked at me with desperation, waiting for a response from me. He has always been the stronger one, the one who faces problems seriously and can diplomatically talk to others. I'm the complete opposite of that. I can't argue with someone because I start crying or feeling bad, and I end up crying. When I'm really upset, sometimes I shout despite the tears. And I hate that part of me. I don't like people seeing that they have affected me, that they have had some kind of control over me.

"My dad cheated on mom. We don't have food. I work, and mom does nothing, and it's stressful."

"Mrs. Stace is great. I don't understand how your dad could cheat on her. What a waste of a woman," he blurted out, looked into my angry eyes, and laughed. "Sorry, your mom is lovely."

"Oh well, she's also useless because she hasn't gotten out of bed and gone to buy food. Instead, she spent it on a nice set of crap."

"You should relax. Everything will be resolved, and if you need anything, you know where I live."

"I know," I sighed tiredly. "Your mom likes me more than she likes you."

"I'm sorry to say you're right," he closed his eyes, pretending to be in pain.

I laughed at his antics and waved goodbye. The pizzeria wasn't far from the university, so I could walk there and distract myself by listening to music. My father has always told me that one of my flaws is that I don't like people staring into my eyes, at least not for too long. I've always hated it when they gaze at me while we're talking. That's why I always avoid physical contact, even though they think it's easy or that it's just a silly thing of mine. It's not. It makes me nervous, it provokes anxiety when they do it. If only they would stop, I would feel better.

When he started telling me, I didn't understand why. To me, it was just like any other quirk. Until he explained to me that people in love like to gaze deeply into each other's eyes. I was scared at that moment and shouted "no" in desperation. He laughed loudly and told me that it was true. Men like to do it, and it provokes unimaginable sensations. I'm not sure what sensations my father was referring to. I've had two boyfriends in my life, and neither of them has made me feel that. I cared for them, but not to that extent. One of them was named Tommy. He was the weird one in high school. Everyone told me to stay away, that he did strange things when no one was looking.

What was considered strange to them was usually normal to me, so I didn't listen to them. Our relationship started progressing, and I noticed that the boy would talk to himself when he thought no one was watching, and that he would move his leg anxiously when someone spoke to him rudely. I thought I was going crazy, that I was paying too much attention to what people said about him.

But it wasn't like that. Something was wrong. One day during recess, I approached him to kiss him and let him know that I would be going to a friend's house. I needed to work on a project. I spent hours talking to him about how annoying my study partner was, how much it bothered me that he made so much noise while eating, and how detestable his way of speaking was. He used to spit a lot and it disgusted me. He listened attentively, always. Everything I said stayed in his brain like a robot. That should have been a warning sign too. But to me, it was attention, and I liked it.

After finishing my rant and seeing that he wasn't responding, I asked if something bad had happened. He was looking at me a lot, and I started feeling bad, isolated. He told me not to go there, that if I did, we would be over. I accepted. No one was going to deprive me of my freedom, and with all the things going on in my head, I didn't care what he tried to do. After a while, he started following me. He was crazy, always wherever I was. My parents had to change my school, and we moved houses without him knowing. It was difficult for me to get him out of my life, to leave behind everything I had built for a worthless person.

I opened the door of the pizzeria and smiled at the guys. I left the coat I was carrying on the rack and went inside to greet my boss and Julian.

"Mr. Gilbert, how are you?"

"Doing well, sweetheart. You need to deliver a pizza to this address," he handed me the slip, and I nodded. "I was going to send Julian, but he has more orders than you tonight, so you'll do it for him. The house is enormous, make sure to provide excellent service to the customer. We can't afford to lose a customer like that."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure the order leaves them satisfied."

"Perfect."

My boss walked away down the hallway, and I smiled at Julian knowingly.

"So, you have a lot of orders, huh?"

He laughed.

"That guy is unbearable. I would hate to set foot in his house again. I remember delivering a pizza to him once, he treated me like crap. He slammed the door in my face! That idiot made me so angry. I told Gilbert everything went well, but it was a lie. I don't know how he came up with the idea to order another pizza."

"You always exaggerate everything. I think you're doing it again. Relax. I'll do it right. He's going to love me."

"We'll see," he sang.