IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE I have seen papa. I spent a week with him, just remembering the good ole days living a good ole fashion life.
Until he came for me. It was exactly seven days, one week gone that Vincent came to my father's penthouse.
I've never seen him so disheveled as he was that afternoon.
I still remember it as though it was yesterday.
I was sitting in my bedroom when I heard a commotion. My long jersey barely enough to cover the tops of my thighs.
Running toward the shouting voice I stopped, my mind aghast with the vision before me.
It was Vincent, he had stubble on his jaw, his eyes bloodshot, his hair unkempt and I just stood there in my father's foyer.
I wouldn't have left the safety of papa's penthouse if not for Vincent's words and the little stick he held in his ha
