Julius Caesar

"What do you mean you cannot find him, William?" I hissed angrily, clutching my phone harder to my ear and twirling in my office chair so I faced the view of the city through the huge glass wall behind my desk.

"We went to every possible place he-"

"His Mustang-" I added angrily but got interrupted.

"It was parked under the woman's house- Audrey, Sir-" He replied monotonously as I clenched my left fist and took a deep breath.

"You know what happens if you don't find him?" I threatened.

"Sir, we are working-"

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you all!" I growled and hung up.

I got up furiously and slammed the phone on my office table. How dare he? How dare he leave? And where on Earth did he go?

I lit a cigar, inhaled deeply, then exhaled, coughing vigorously. My head snapped up at two light taps on my office's door. I stared at the door for a while, then sighed.

"Please come in," I said calmly, regaining my composure, before returning to my desk and sitting on my leather chair.

Philip walked in, past the long meeting table, to stand right in the middle of the office, arms by his side. He looked immaculate in his navy-blue suit and white-speckled, combed hair.

I liked a man who took care of his appearance.

"Yes, Philip. What do you have for me?" I drawled, bringing the cigar to my mouth as I let my gaze travel along his length.

"Not good news-" He said quickly as I noticed him take a deep, shaky breath. I shook my head, unsatisfied.

"Today is 'bad news' day?" I raised my eyebrows and studied him under my heavy gaze.

"Sir, there are no accessible records on that girl. Uh- Sam-" I inhaled sharply at his confession before glaring at him.

"I gave you her name and university. Why, bless you, couldn't you find a thing about her?" I pressed, feigning composure.

"I'm trying. We all are-" He said slowly and I got up, approached him, and he daren't flinch. He was standing like a plank of wood. Lifeless- a push away from...falling.

"Well you aren't trying hard enough," I said, patting his cheeks twice. "Tell me, Philip. Do you know what's going to happen to you if you don't find that girl? Or do you need me to go on about the boring theatrics of what will happen?"

He shook his head subtly and I smiled.

Although I hated to admit it, I did feel lost without Julius who could've easily helped if it weren't for his stubbornness that appeared out of nowhere. I wondered if that girl- Audrey- was behind it. I was quite certain that he was stronger than heartbreak.

I didn't raise my son to be pathetic. I didn't raise him to be lured and seduced by women and pathetic emotion like love.

Yet. Yet, my dear friends, he acted like it.

His crinkled eyes widened and his upper lip twitched as I smiled satisfied. I lived on implanting fear in people's heart. And whenever I wished, I'd water those seeds and see them sprout and grow into controlling beasts.

"Find her. Find her. That's easier." I smirked and backed away from him. "Now, get out. And I don't want to see your beautiful face unless you have something about her or my pathetic excuse of a son. And that better be soon."

Philip looked down, turned on his heels and left. I returned to my desk, sat down, and smiled to myself in satisfaction.

Time to call my son. Not Julius, no.

But Augustus.

He'd better pick up.

Julius' POV.

I woke up with a jerk, accidentally hitting my plastic bag covered left arm with the tub. I winced, pushing myself up and out of the freezing water.

I had miraculously slept. Without any nightmares, or dreams for all that mattered. And I preferred dreamless sleep because, in a dream, one couldn't be in control of anything. Not his thoughts. Not himself.

And losing control is scary.

I quickly showered, wrapped a towel around myself, got out of the bathroom, and checked the time. It was one in the morning. I got dressed in the same outfit and made a mental note that I'd need to buy some more clothes if I'd be staying here for a while.

It was clear that this wasn't going to be as easy and fast as I expected. People here had emotion beyond my comprehension. They took their time to think, to let unnegotiable facts 'sink in', to cry, and make a big deal out of it. So it was going to take time. And I knew that if I had to disguise properly, I'd need to act like them. I'd need to show care and help others. Both, as pathetic as that sounded.

I wrapped my jade-green scarf around my neck and headed outdoors. I got slapped by the icy wind first thing, but still decided on going to a nearby pub where I could vomit out some memories and negative emotions. I felt like I got nothing else to do but that. Because I didn't have anyone or anything to occupy my mind except for Father, Audrey, and Sam. Only this damned cycle.

It was unpleasant, having to think about them twenty-four seven. It was even more preferable to suffer in a stuffy pub just to forget for a while or pretend to forget.

I took a taxi that drove me to a nearby fancy pub into which I entered. Used to the smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap, asthma-inducing perfume, I made my way through the sweaty bodies that were pressed against each other, making sure my left arm didn't get smacked into somebody.

I took a seat at the bar, ordered four margaritas, and lit a cigarette.

"Superkings." A voice said from next to me. "Nice choice, mate."

I turned to the source to find a guy, no older than nineteen talking to me. He had deep-blue eyes, platinum-blond hair, and pale skin with thick eyebrows framing his face, making him look fierce and handsome in the dim lighting of the bar.

I smirked. "Want one?"

"Yes, please." He smiled widely and I almost rolled my eyes. I was in no mood (and was honestly tired) whatsoever to engage in a conversation with an apparent amateur.

So I quickly took a cigarette from my cigarette box and handed it to him to shut him up and get him to piss off.

He raised the cigarette a bit then mouthed 'thanks' before placing it between his teeth and lighting it up. I turned away, but he continued talking.

Well, I could've punched him in the face and told him that I wasn't the kind to converse with but that might risk blowing my cover. Or...I could be nice. I didn't know how to be nice.

"You know-" He exhaled smoke as I narrowed my eyes on him. "Back in school, we took how dangerous those little boys are on our lungs." He paused to draw another cigarette breath. "But they are so, so precious."

I chuckled nervously...because that was supposed to be a normal response when someone tried to be funny?

"It's sad," I added dramatically. People loved drama here. "When did you start smoking?" I asked, drawing in a breath myself.

"Nineteen."

I nodded not saying anything.

"You?" He asked, looking at me with curious eyes and raised eyebrows.

"Seventeen." I replied, remembering how Father convinced me that smoking made one 'look' like a man and 'feel' like one.

The four margarita shots were then placed in front of me.

"Can I have some?" He asked almost instantly, and I raised my eyebrows with an easy smile.

Amateurs fall under two categories. Amateurs-amateurs and amateurs-matures. The former isn't to be alarmed of or worried about. The latter, however, is very dangerous, because they feign immaturity to get what they want.

"Yes, sure. Help yourself." I studied him more as he took one and gulped it down. He then looked at me making a horrid face which made me smile.

"So? What's your name, my friend?" He asked and I thought- which name should I give him?

He sure seemed like a harmless amateur, but it was dark in the bar and I couldn't read his body language properly.

I was taught that it was better being safe than sorry.

"Romeo. Yours?" I replied.

"My name's Augustus. Which I know is a horrible name. But it was Dad's choice-" He rambled casually.

"It's a nice name-" I complimented randomly.

Oh, also, people loved compliments too. A lot, apparently. I remembered that from occasionally flipping through the TV channels. I didn't usually watch TV back in Glasgow where I'd constantly be busy studying someone to perfect his kill. I'd do that, work-out, train for shooting, go horse-riding, go to the pub or fuck (that was before Audrey, really).

"Nice name my smooth arse! It's bloody ancient!" He shook his head and hair. "I wanted to be called something new like Dean or-or Matthew or something."

I raised my eyebrows with a smile.

"You don't look like you're from around here-" He said, narrowing his eyes on me, and I nodded, feeling my back for my gun.

Just to locate it. In case.

"I'm not." I retorted solidly.

"Ha! Knew it! How old are you, though?" His questions were irrelevant and I questioned my need for a gun. He was clearly not following any plan or strategic scheme.

I decided that I was just being insensibly paranoid about Father. Anyone around me could be one of his men.

"Guess," I said, gulping down a shot.

"Twenty-three?"

I chuckled. "Twenty-five. Close one though. You?"

You might think that giving my age was stupid. But in fact, it was quite the opposite. I was young. And people almost always underestimated me. Watching them do that was fun.

"I am twenty!" He was too enthusiastic, made me smile. Maybe it was something that made him happy or proud.

"You look quite young," I commented.

"That's cause I rejuvenate my skin every day." He said in a feminine voice, pointing at himself. I thought he was drunk. Augustus.

I snorted, shaking my head with an involuntary smile

"I wa-" He started, but was cut off by his phone ringing.

He took out his phone and suddenly sobered up. I eyed him curiously and watched his demeanour change completely after receiving this call.

"Is everything okay?" I feigned concern.

He nodded slowly. "Yes, mate. Don't worry 'bout it. Just gotta take this call though."

I nodded slowly as he got up and made his way outside the pub. I sighed, killed my cigarette, got up, and went outside too, a little while after Augustus left.

Augustus was obviously nowhere to be seen. I shrugged and looked at the darkness of the night. A silly part of me hoped that I'd feel a pistol at the back of my head, then I'd turn to find a masked woman with very beautiful eyes. She'd tell me to raise my hands and turn around. I'd do that. Then I'd see the black, silly ring on her pinkie and my heart would melt. She'd then take off the mask and kiss me only to punch me and scold me for not talking to her when she was away for almost ′three weeks, Caesar!'.

I hoped that to happen so much. So so much- God...that its impossibility brought tears to my eyes, killing me a little on the inside.

I missed her dearly.

I used my good hand to wipe away my eyes, then walked across the empty streets to nowhere in particular.

I remember feeling tired from walking aimlessly before I took a cab that I found miraculously at three in the morning and returned to the motel.