Misbegotten

Fourteen

                 

I was shaking with either anxiousness or anger - or maybe both - when I had finally found the courage to knock on Declan's door. I had hidden most of the day in my room claiming I had a headache,once again running from my problems which seemed to work just fine until I realised that I was ultimately only making things worse. So I changed into a fresh tank top and new pair of shorts and marched - reluctantly - over to Declan's room. I had stood in front of it for about two minutes, which consisted of me wanting to back out, but giving myself a mental pep talk that resulted in me finally knocking on the door. He opened it a few seconds later, a smile plastered on his face, but his eyes said it all and I knew right there and then that I wasn't leaving here happy. I walked past him and into his room without saying a word and immediately turned to face him when he closed the door.

"Hi," he said. "Do you want something to drink?" I almost scoffed, now who was running.

"No thanks," I said anyway unable to stop the bitterness that crept into my tone.

"Okay," he said before sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at me as if preparing himself for whatever was going to happen next. It was only then I realised I had come into this without a plan of what to do or say. I was hoping he would just apologise and tell me to never listen to his mother again, but as I sat there watching him I realised that was the last thing that was going to happen right now.

"I spoke to your mum today," I began. He nodded confirming that he knew. "She spoke to you too, I'm assuming?" I asked. He nodded once more. "When?"

"This morning, before she spoke to you," he answered calmly which bugged me even more.

"Did you know she was going to speak to me?"

"No I didn't," he replied, but I couldn't tell if he was being honest. I didn't know what to believe with him anymore. He took a breath and looked at the ground before looking up to me again. "What did she say to you?"

"Basically that she wants me out of your life because I'm a bastard, a burden and an array of other lovely words," I spat.

"I'm sorry," he said but he made no move to tell me that none of it meant anything and wouldn't affect us.

"So?" I questioned. He looked up to me hesitantly before standing.

"I'm sorry," he started but I held up a hand shutting my eyes. I attempted to swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the knots growing in my stomach before opening them again.

"You don't get to do this," I muttered shaking my head at him.

"I'm sorry," he tried again.

"Stop saying that," I yelled at him becoming frustrated.

"They're my parents, I'm their only son, they have a plan for me. I can't disappoint them," he tried to explain.

"Oh I'm sorry, I knew I was a burden to my own family but I didn't realise I was to yours as well," I cried out.

"You're not a burden Sofia, but I can't go against my parents wishes."

"Why?"

He stumbled over that answer. Opening his mouth before immediately shutting it again. He sat back down on the bed.

"You don't understand," he explained eventually.

"Then help me to."

"It's always been just me and them. They've always told me that when I took over the business it would be the proudest day of their life. But they also always told me it would be tough but that they would help. So, I've always listened to them, about everything: what sports I did, what grades I had to get, where I applied to university, who my friends were..." he trailed off. I got the idea, but it still didn't explain to me why he always listened to them. He had just told me yesterday that he didn't even want to run the family business, and that he wanted to be a photographer instead. I rubbed a hand over my face, a real headache was forming now and I could feel my heart beating through my chest.