"White noise contains all frequencies and is frequently used to mask other sounds…"

Whenever the cold creepy mist of the fall kept dipping the city in a ghastly mist, it almost looked like a ghost city. No one would believe that people were still busy in the long narrow streets forty-eight stories below. Not even the countless slights in the windows of the huge buildings all around Manhattan were hardly visible from time to time; a state that he liked to refer to as eeriness of the mind. Because even though he consciously knew that all this was just in his head; that the bustle would continue no matter what and the lights and the millions of sleepless hard-workers, the traffic and the anonymity of everybody were still there, he kept forgetting it and started to imagine no one else was still living in New York City apart from him.

Maybe it was a way of diving into some darker mood even more, but making up scenarios like this made him feel more comfortable whenever that heaviness hit him. Maybe because not adapting to it was too tiring; too far from what life actually was. And maybe adapting to that very gloominess - in a way just knowing this is how it was; how it always would be - was the only way to cope.

He leaned his forehead to the cool glass of the window, just staring into the abyss below him. Little drops of water formed on the stained glass as his breath blew warm air to the chilly front and it slowly made its way down in long uneven lines. He smiled witnessing them. They somehow just made their way towards their destination, no matter what obstacle. It was free. It was independent. and nothing in the world would have been able to stop them.

The little smirk in the corner of his mouth vanished when he heard that thought inside his head becoming louder and louder. He could almost feel that dark shadow evolving above him and covering his face inside. He had started to look bad months ago and now he could almost determine the exact moment when this would happen.

A door opened. He heard the metallic sound of the elevator on the corridor and immediately the city was forgotten. And the mist and all the people not existing down there. His body stiffened and he quickly swiped over his face with one hand to eliminate any of the treacherous signs these thoughts left there every time. Quickly he adjusted his shirt and the satin long waistcoat to not show any sign of creases he knew would be the cause of punishment. It took him not longer than a second to roll down his sleeves - another hated example of his corruption - and only had enough time left to stripe his hair back once before he heard those clicking footsteps on the marble floor.

There was no sign of casualty left in him when he turned around; his face blank and his chin up high. He always wondered if his eyes gave away too much. If they were as numb as he felt or if they reflected that constant fear for everyone to see. He could feel the gray eyes of that man on every inch of his body. Yet, he didn't dare to look up. He only held himself perfectly still, trying his very best to demonstrate through his body language how inferior he was - the only thing that pleased him after all.

"There is a driver waiting for you outside," he heard the raspy voice and knew immediately he was addressing him.

"Yes, Sir," he answered almost not audible and not moving a bit. But then the man stepped closer.

For a split second he held his breath and clenched his fists by his side so much, he felt his arms were almost cramping.

"There will be a meeting tonight," the man continued. "I want you to look reasonable. So there will be a hairstylist meeting you after your chores… Did I make myself clear?"

He looked up in surprise. Their eyes met.

"What?" he whispered, but couldn't even finish to notice his own surprise for the man in front of him raised his hand and in less than a second slapped him across the face hardly.

He almost stumbled backwards but managed to hold his balance the last second and tried not to move a muscle. His cheek turned hot immediately and a stabbing pain shot through his body, filling his eyes with tears. But he quickly swallowed everything - the pain, the embarrassment, the far away memory of a city he could be invisible in - and turned his head again to face his father without daring to blink. He knew he would never tolerate him throwing a tantrum or even speak one word about this. He lowered his watery eyes and felt more miserable than ever before. It didn't make a difference. All his dreaming away, all his wishing for something else or even his imagining there could be something close to a bond if he behaved exactly as was expected of him… It didn't miraculously turn everything around. It didn't change who he was. A Nothing. A burden. Someone so far away from a parent to be proud of. Someone trapped in this life. A life he would never be able to change. But at least this was his. The only thing he owned; the only thing that he couldn't decide for him. The only thing he could grasp: the certainty that this was his place in life.

"Never dare to contradict me again," the man spoke calmly and quietly, but his cold gaze burned into his hole being even though he wasn't able to look up.

"Yes, Sir," he only whispered back.

Thus, without another word his father turned around and left for another huge oakwood door, followed by his league of schmoozers who only cast incomprehensible looks at him.

"I think this company you foster at school doesn't do you any good," he stopped without turning, his bony hand on the filigree carvings on the doorframe. "So you will come home straight after school from now on. I think your education needs more of your time than those slackers."

He only dared to lift his head a little now, being absolutely sure his father didn't see the shocked look on his still red face. He didn't say a word though.

"Mr. Andrews will escort you in the mornings and will pick you up right after lessons," the old man continued. "And Scott?"

His head turned slightly in the direction of his father but he still wasn't able to move.

"I expect a proper apology for this disgrace you've just shown!"

Without another word he opened the door and vanished inside the huge conference room. He felt like crying. He had to hold his breath to prevent himself from doing so. He could never allow himself to show any weakness or he would regret it. That much he had learned.

And only after the clicking of the huge door falling shut echoed through the cold and empty hallway he was able to slowly let his head fall and close his eyes.

This was his own fault. He misbehaved after all. And he knew the punishments getting more and more. And wasn't he right doing this? After all he was his successor. He would inherit this empire and couldn't allow himself to misbehave or moody. His father had had a good reason. And yet, he was afraid of him. Had been all his life…

And those thoughts kept on coming. They crept inside his brain more and more lately. Something about all this felt just plainly wrong to him. a fact he would never dare to tell anyone. Well, who should he tell anyway? With no friends and no life of his own, what exactly was there to doubt?

He turned his head one last time to look at the city lights breaking through the mist like ships at sea. And this mist - although outside - slowly found its way into his soul too. There was one thing he felt deep inside he didn't own and probably never would: A future…

He was nineteen years old…

It started too soon.

So early in his life, he didn't even know when it had ever been different.

When he was younger, much younger in fact, he'd always thought the only place he loved to be was home. He always had a warm feeling thinking about the times his parents picked him up from kindergarten and how excitedly he told them everything he had experienced that day. All the adventures his friends and him had had. All the games they had invented and all the joy he wanted to share with no one more than his family. And even though he had been way too young to really grasp the concept of a family back when, he always knew somewhere deep inside this was where he was supposed to be. These were the people he belonged to and he - as every kid - could not feel anything else but unconditional love for them. He knew home was where he was safe, where he could be everything he didn't even dare to be in front of his friends and no one would judge him.

But then something shifted.

He was way too young to really name what it was, but even now - he was around seven years old - he still remembered his Dad coming home from work with the most worn out look on his face he had ever seen. He remembered hearing stories about people - fantastical creatures mostly - who kept on sleeping for months, years; even centuries. And he wondered why his Dad didn't just go to sleep. He was sure it would help him getting rid of that horrible tiredness, those black lumps under his eyes and that look that yelled 'sorrow' at him.

He had been excited - as he had always been when he knew his father would come home - and had waited the whole afternoon on the window of the little apartment in Brooklyn they lived in. His mother had put a huge soft pillow behind his back for him, so he wouldn't be uncomfortable leaning to the window frame. It had been a game for them. She had called it his throne and indeed he had felt special occupying it. He had sat higher than ever before, felt grown up and encouraged each time and sometimes his Mom would set up an old foldable table next to him, serving self made cookies and a huge glass of fresh milk to make sure he was able to wait properly.

But he had noticed something had been different from the moment he had seen his Dad walking up to the apartment block. He had run to the door as he always had done and excitedly had jumped up and down. When the keys in the lock turned he had stretched out both his arms to hug his father tightly. "Never go anywhere without showing your affection to people you love," his mother had always said and the truth was, he had always loved his Dad around. He had something strict but also admirable about himself that Leo always wanted to inherit somehow.

His father had usually greeted him with a hug, asking him about his day and then patted his head once before turning to his mother and mostly ignoring him the rest of the evening.

"He works very hard for us," his mother had explained to him years ago. "But he loves you. He is just exhausted."

And Leo had accepted it.

That day though, his father had entered the tiny apartment and had walked straight past him, not even looking at him. It had been then Leo had noticed how right his mother seemed to be. How tired he looked and how worried somehow.

He had run to his room and had grabbed a tiny plush bunny which looked like its best days had been over decades ago. But he had it ever since he could remember. His Mother had told him it once belonged to her. She had given it to him when he was born to always have a companion in the scary midst of nighttime. When he had grown older, he had wrapped it into a blue baby blanket his mother had used for him as well, so his little friend wouldn't be cold at night. But now, he couldn't think of anything better to make his Dad feel good right now than this. So he had quickly unwrapped the stuffed animal from the blanket and had hurried towards the ancient armchair his Dad had just collapsed into. Slowly he had approached him and softly had pushed his lifelong friend onto the lap of his parent. His father had not moved for quite a while. And Leo had smiled at him silently for all that time.

"It had been when he dared to softly touch his fathers arm, he lifted his head and looked at his son.

"He helps you sleep," he had said proudly, pointing at the bunny.

But his father had stared at him in a cold way he had never seen before. it would have made him slightly uncomfortable if he had been able to hold that stare. His Dad then had jumped up from his seat and had thrown the bunny through the room, where it had hit a shelf of picture frames. and as they had fallen and loudly shattered on the ground.

"Take that boy away from me," he had screamed at his wife and his mother had hurried him inside his room, trying her best to calm him that moment.

He didn't remember much from that night. Only that he had heard them screaming at each other half the night. Something about personnel reduction at the job - he didn't know what this meant back then - and his mother constantly asking about what they would going to do now?

"I don't know, okay?" he had heard his fathers voice. "Don't ask me stupid things like that. We never should have started this here…"

"What do you mean?" his Mom had asked.

"This whole happy family idea was yours," he had screamed back. A loud cracking noise had thundered through the apartment and even though Leo had been inside his dark room with the blanket over his head, he knew his Dad had just smashed a chair against a wall. He hardly ever lost his temper but when he did this wasn't unusual.

"I mean all this," he had screamed again. "This apartment, this city…this kid!"

"Leave him out of this," his mother had replied.

"He was a mistake!" His father had interrupted her. "I never wanted him in the first place…"

Leo had grabbed his baby blanket tightly that night, crying into his pillow. He had tried hard not to listen to them anymore and wondered whether his mind could take him some place else. Some place he would feel wonderful again. Some place everything would be just like it had been before that night. Somewhere he was still able to pretend he hadn't heard those words which had anchored inside his heart that very moment.

Little did he know that this had just been the beginning. That those words would never leave him again…

He had known since he was around the age of twelve. He was different. He was not like the other boys he'd known back then. Which kind of made it harder in a weird, pretentious way. Because he learned quickly he had to disguise it. In front of others at least.

But there was one thing he never did and that was handing who he knew he was.

His mother had seen right through him.

"You shouldn't hide it," she had told him over and over again. "It is who you are. Who cares what people think."

She had pressed her forehead to his and he had felt her warm and tender hands in his neck.

Sometimes when he sat somewhere on a boulder in Central Park, scribbling tourists or the amazing sight of that park into his sketchbook he would suddenly feel that touch out of nowhere. So it happened this day as well. He let his pencil fall and turned around, but after finding no one behind him, he closed his eyes and had to smirk slightly. He had never told this to anyone but he was certain these moments were moments of his mother thinking about him. It is said you could feel loved ones from time to time and he and her had such a strong connection - aways had - that this was the only logical explanation he could make up. And it usually dated the moment he would pack his stuff together and start his way back home.

He loved Central Park in the mornings. And he loved roaming through the streets, which always felt a little sleepy still on beautiful Sunday mornings like this. Sometimes he would turn into smaller side streets, stroll over some tiny market and buy some vegetables or sweets fruits for his mother to bring home with him.

And so he also did this time. He payed the seller behind the small booth and loosely swung the bags over his shoulder before climbing down the stairs to the subway he used to get to Soho where he lived with his mother and siblings in a small apartment.

When he entered the apartment he knew immediately something wasn't right. the atmosphere seemed gloomy and as he entered the kitchen to greet his mother and serve the goods from the market he could tell something had happened.

Dave and Cynthia, his older brother and younger sister, sat on the small table in the corner of the old tiled room looking at him grimly. His mother spotted him and within a second lightened up. Warmly she approached him and gave him a long embrace.

"Sweetheart, how was your morning?" she said and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Hi Mom," Roger answered tenderly and pattered her back slightly. "I got you some strawberries from the market."

He held ups the bag and his mother kissed him once more. He loved seeing her brighten up and was always secretly proud to have given her some joy in these worrying times. Yes, he knew they had problems. He knew the rent was high and the money tight. He knew his mother was too old and too fragile to get yet another job. She was working during weekdays as a maid in a noble house on the Upper East Side and his brother and sister kept trying their best in their jobs but both of them also tried to save some money for their own futures. Futures they kept speaking about. Big dreams which didn't include their old mother or Roger for that matter. They've argued about them so many times, Roger had lost count. For him, it was unimaginable to abandon their mother just like that. The old lady was his everything. She had been there for all of them when they had been in trouble. She had been there throughout their childhoods and she had made everything in her power possible for the three of them, even though she suffered enormously when their father left them right after Cynthia was born to start a new life with a younger secretary he had been cheating on her with for years. Roger had known. And he knew even Dave had known, but somehow none of them had ever had the guts to tell her; to break her heart just like that. She had to find out one Christmas morning when all she could find was a note saying he'd left and an enormous pile of unpaid bills she kept working double shifts for… Yet she had never cried in front of them. She had never tried to show them when she hadn't known how to continue. She had never spoken a word of their father again let alone one bad word. And she had always stood behind all of them even though she must have noticed how much his siblings loathed this place, their lives and everything in it and wanted to break out. She, in fact, was the one pillar that held this little broken family together. Roger would never abandon her in any way.

He had caused her worries and troubles and he knew it.

His paintings didn't sell too good and the money he brought home wasn't exactly much but he always tried to remind himself that this wasn't for him, but for her.

She also was the only person he had ever dared to speak openly to about his weirdness. His quirk. His…

"Having been around with your fairy friends again?" he heard Dave attack him from the corner of the kitchen.

His mom turned quickly towards him.

"Stop this, will you?" she interrupted him immediately. "He has been trying to work to help here."

"Yeah, just ask yourself as what," Cynthia replied, not looking up. /

"Exactly," Dave agreed by pointing at her and letting his hand fall into his lap while sitting back provokingly.

"Sweetheart, you don't know what you are talking about," their mother tried to calm them, while filling their cups with more tea.

"No, Mom," Dave got up quickly. "You don't understand. This is perverted. What he does is just sick and he needs to see a doctor."

"And it is illegal," Cynthia now looked up and nodded approvingly towards Dave. "And a disgrace. If people find out, we're doomed."

"Now, listen to me," their mother stemmed her arms to her hips and suddenly appeared much taller than she was. And in a way a lot more intimidating, for his siblings immediately backed away slightly. "He doesn't do anything alike. and you would do well if you stopped talking about anything inappropriate in this house. I don't wanna hear it."

"Mom, don't you see what he has become?" she pointed at Roger, who pressed himself more to the cupboard than before.

"He is your brother," his mother yelled now. "And you should start to care more about your family. Because once I am gone - Oh don't look at me like that. This day will come… And when it does all you have left are your siblings."

Dave grunted shortly and got up, his hands balled to fists. /

"I don't need this kind of shame in my family," he mumbled and rushed out of the kitchen furiously. Cynthia followed him immediately, stopping shortly next to Roger, who looked down to the floor not daring to lift his head.

When she had vanished though he looked up and saw his mother heaving her tired body onto one of the kitchen chairs.

"Mom?" he said softly and approached her. He put his hand gently on her back and she immediately patted it maternally.

"Don't you worry, Darling," she said and smiled at him. He could see she was close to tears but as usual she would never let him really see it.

"You shouldn't have," he continued silently. "I know this is wrong."

"Oh shush," she hushed him. "They have no right to say such horrible things to you. You are a good boy and they will understand."

"But mom," Roger started anew. "I know this is risky. Maybe they're right. Maybe I need help."

"Darling," his mother reached out and gently stroked his cheek, making him look up all the same. It was amazing how she always used that nickname for him when she wanted to make him feel alright again. "I don't know why you would believe that. There is nothing wrong with you."

"But.."

She just continued to shake her head. "Love, my Darling, is never wrong. Men or Woman…what's the difference?"

A soft smirk appeared on Rogers face that moment.

She was being so nice. So kind. He had had troubles understanding that the world wasn't like her when he was younger and now, as he began to see it more clearly every day, he didn't care much about himself if he was honest. But he wanted to give something back… Not only to that woman, he admired and looked up to, but also to all the people living in fear for being who they were…

"I am not allowing this kind of connection for a son of mine," his father screamed the day he told them.

He was furious. He was steaming. And in his despair, Max looked at his mother for help but she looked at him as if he was a worm. A worthless insect that needed extinction right away. And what did he expect? He didn't think they would embrace this idea. He didn't think anything apart from their plan for him would be good enough for them. But he surely didn't expect the monologue his father held now for over half an hour. And slowly but surely he felt an unknown anger arising inside of him.

"No son of yours?" he asked then and noticed immediately how his voice got louder too.

"You have been promised and you know that," his father yelled and came so frighteningly close that Max bent away a little to still be able to duck in case he would reach for his belt, which he sometimes did. "What will people say if we step back on our promise now? What will happen to us? Think about the talking. About the heritage? What about the family name?"

"A name doesn't change a thing," Max yelled back now, wondering why on earth his father made him so angry now. He knew them for as long as he could remember. He knew how they were; how they thought. And he knew from the beginning even the appeal of something outrageous as refusing an arranged marriage was something that could cost him everything. But he couldn't help it.

""What dod you dare to say there?" his father's face went red with anger now.

"You've always prided yourself on your name but face it," Max screamed now, not thinking a bit. "No one cares about the old Bialystocks anymore. Your money is the only thing that interests people and nothing more."

"How dare you?" His mother lay her hand on her chest acting scandalised.

"You will take back this affront immediately!" His father pointed his finger at him threateningly now.

"No," Max jumped to his feet and dared to step towards him. "I have had it. This is all you want. Just because you cannot take it people might think something bad about you and the ways your family had lived over the past hundred years. But the truth is, this is a different age, Dad. Arranged marriages are not the common trend anymore. And I don't care about money or reputation. If I ever marry I want it to be out of love and nothing more."

"Oh my God, did you hear that?" his mother acted as though she was about to faint. "This is this bad influence of that literature. Ive always told you not to let him read. It is a bad influence on for the fragile mind."

"I am not fragile. Will you stop that?" Max yelled at her now. "But I do want my life to be happy… Not…"

He stopped himself in mid sentence though, because he had enough decency left to know this was going to be hurtful for them. and as much as he wanted to break out of their pretended nobility, he couldn't find the heart to hurt them on purpose. If only the would understand him. At least if they tried.

"Not what?" his father screamed. "Not like our life? Thats what you wanted to say right?"

Max looked down immediately and bid his tongue.

He could hear his father inhale sharply and he also knew, his body language gave him away just that moment. Sometimes it was hard to conceal that he thought so differently. And he had o idea how to make them understand.

"Now, listen to me young man," his father started, dangerously silent. But his voice grew louder and sounded more and more like thunder with each word he spoke. "Let me make this clear once and for all. No son of mine will marry a nemeses slut he has found somewhere in the street."

"Don't you dare talking like that about her," Max's head literally rocketed in the air. He felt his body shivering in anger right now.

"You don't even know her. And do you really think we haven't seen you two outside, trying to hide next to the door? Don't you think a lot of other people have too?" his father didn't stop. "That dirty, uncombed whore… Who knows what she is after. Who knows what diseases she could bring into this house."

"Shut up!"

Max felt numb that moment. He could hardly recall thinking anything hearing all these horrendous things leaving his fathers mouth that moment. He couldn't really remember having felt any pain when he lifted his fist and hit his father as hard as he could. All he could remember was he wanted him to sit up. to never dare to say another word again. To hurt him exactly the same way he just did by tearing everything that was so dear to him to shreds. /

He did remember though the white shocked face of his mother and the deafening silence in the house when he stood there over the body of his father, looking down at that man with the biggest load of hatred he had ever felt in his life. He remembered the look on his fathers face when he slowly wiped away the blood from his nose while not taking his eyes away from him. And he remembered the sentence that would change his life forever. And the feeling of a light happiness; of triumph; of freedom arising slowly inside of him.

"Get out of here! I don't have a son anymore."

-*- to be continued -*-