The Secrets Within Pages

Broken

There were moments in life where you had to let go and allow circumstances to naturally solve themselves. Well, at least after you've done as much as you can.

This was one of those moments. I sit on my bed staring at the wall as though it'll give me answers. Waiting on Sonders to update me and having no classes, I didn't know what to do. It was ridiculous. I was free, I could do anything I wanted but instead, I was sitting here thinking about work. To think, whilst having jobs to do, we complain about it, stress about it but when we don't have anything to do, we complain about it too. 

Such insatiable creatures we are.

Leaning down, I claw under my bed for the cork board. Analysing it, I cross out incorrect leads and add any new information we've collected. As I occupy myself with organising the evidence board, a sharp, composed knocking, sounds from the door. 

A grin grows on my face, it must be Silas. Eagerly, I jump toward the door. Flinging it open, my heart sinks, smile fading into a shocked almost distressed expression. 

"It's good to see you too, Eleanor." My father's slow and flat voice speaks ad he stands before me, stern and critical as always.

"F-Father." I stumble, shaking off the petrified look on my face. 

"Aren't you going to let me in?" He asks, quirking a brow.

"Right. Ofcourse, come in." I let out, forcing myself out of the paralysis his unexpected visit caused.

Striding in, he stands in the middle of my small dorm. His crisp and elegant suit trickles with propriety, putting everything in here, including myself, to shame. I stand awkwardly near him, words failing me. His censorious eyes scan every inch of the room before settling on the evidence board that sits on my bed.

"What, pray tell, is this?" He questions, looking at me, unimpressed. 

Shit. 

Desperately searching for a lie, I give up, knowing my father well enough that he'll see right through me. "It's an evidence board." I say, settling with the truth.

"I'm not daft, Eleanor. I know it's an evidence board. What I'm asking, is why do you have it?" He explains, raised brows pushing me to answer. 

"I've been working with the police to solve the series of murders in which my professor was a victim." I reply, mustering up as much courage as I can.

"Right. Tell me, Eleanor, do you major in criminology?" He asks, his blatant sarcasm painfully obvious. "No, I didn't think so. I came all the way from London because when your mother told me of this... situation, I suspected it would be hindering your education. One that we worked so hard for you to excel in and worked even harder to secure a position for you in a prestigious university."

One, that I excelled in. One, that I worked excruciatingly hard for in order to get into Oxford. Not him, me. 

I said nothing to him. 

"And for that, I will not let you throw it all out for some ludricous police investigation that requires nothing from you." He proclaims, staring at me. "I have arranged for your transferral to Cambridge. I know some people there that are willing to move somethings to make room for you. It wasn't easy, Eleanor. You're lucky you have a father that is willing to cover up your mistakes, time and time again."

It was in this moment that every redeeming quality of my father I had constructed to justify his parenting or lack of, shattered and I saw him for who he really is. 

A broken man who can never be pleased. 

His words were needles that pricked my heart but overtime they evolved into a dagger that no linger pricked, but stabbed, relentlessly.

I looked at him now and scoffed, "You will never be pleased with me, will you?"

"I beg your pardon." He says, offended at my words. 

"No matter what I do or say or achieve, you will never be proud of me. All you do is take and take and take. My whole entire life, I lived it for you, so that you may be happy with me. I've sacrificed everything! My childhood, my peace of mind, all of it, for you. So that I'd hear you say the words, "I'm proud of you, Eleanor. I love you." But you never did, not once. Always a frown, always a disappointed grimace." I shout, releasing years of built up anger and grief, not caring if my words bruise. After all, he never did.

His face, unreadable almost emotionless. "Selfish girl, I'm trying to help you!" He shouts, face reddening, body losing its composure as he points an accusatory finger at me. 

I shook my head slightly, realising that arguing was no help. He would never change. His words meant nothing to me now because it was hopeless. I stare at him before saying, "Get out." 

"I am your father, do you hear me?!" He yells again. 

"I may share your blood but you've never been my father." I say, my voice quiet in comparison to his yelling but my words were loud.

Everything about him loosened, at that. His jaw unclenched, raging brows relaxed into shock, eyes looking at me in a way he never had before. My own imploring his, searching for why he was the way he was? Why couldn't he just love me? 

Looking at him, at everything that just happened, I fought back tears, biting my lips in defiance but it was no use. Tears poured down my cheeks, I hated myself for what I said but I hated my father more for exacting this out of me. I hated him because I still loved him, but that was not enough to redeem him. Not now. Not after years of mental anguish.

His gaze has fallen to the ground, biting his lips he finally says, "Call your mother. She misses you." Before walking out the door, without looking at me.

I fall to the floor, holding myself as I sobbed. Tears blur my vision, my heart aching, the hole in it all too present. 

"Eleanor!" A familiar voice shouts from behind me. I don't turn around, not being able to.

Rushing to me, he doesn't say anything. Just falls to the ground with me, folding me into an assuring, warm embrace. Balled up together on the ground, Silas moves away strands of my hair as I cry. Limp, I move into him as he holds me, not questioning me or asking incessant questions, just being there.