"Truth hurts. Because being in a light too bright hurts just as much as being in the dark."

❛❛「₪」❜❜

ED'S P.O.V.

"So, have you been practicing or researching about your job?" Fiona asked as we walked down to a place, entirely unknown to my little feet. I thought I could lie and say that I have been doing some research, but then I figured that it would just push me into a trap, for I knew not much in detail about the job.

"Not really," I replied honestly.

"I see. So why this job, specifically?" She asked. And before I could even think of an appropriate reply, I heard her father snarl.

"Oh come on, Fiona. Cease talking and move faster. I am starving here."

"I," Mrs. Blanchet interjected, "do not keep you hungry. So stop making a fuss for your petty fetishes, you old little man."

"Alright, at this point, you've got to decide if I am little or old."

All Mrs. Blanchet did though, was wave her stick in the air.

"Geez, mom and dad, stop. We're on the streets, get a move on!" Fiona said, and so they did.

As we continued to walk, Fiona apologized to me for the fight. "Never mind them. It's just their usual."

"Oh, no. These banters bring an unusual smile on my face, honestly." I told her.

She snorted. "I wonder why that is."

"Reminds me of my Mom and Dad."

"Oh." She paused for a while. "Left them behind?" She asked.

"Left my Mom, yes." I replied. Somehow, it reminded me of the day I had learnt the truth of my birth.

❛❛「₪」❜❜

"Honey, we thought it was important for you to know this." My mother said, as she stroked my hair. Usually, I wouldn't let anyone do that. But today, a strong feeling held me from stopping her. A feeling, that told me I would regret doing so later on. She looked in pain. It wrenched my heart.

"Know what, Mom?"  I asked her, getting hold of her free hand, in an attempt to soothe her.

"Promise me you'll-"

"Oh put yourself out of this agony." My father said, looking frustrated and nervous. My father was a very expressive man. It was easy to determine his mood from his body language. At that very moment, I saw him sweating and noticed him fiddling his fingers. That was enough to know he was very nervous about something. Such a behavior form my parents was unusual.

"Is someone going to explain me what is happening here?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.

"Maybe I can." Elvis' voice echoed in the room that was dead silent a second ago. All three heads turned towards the door, where Elvis stood. A nineteen year old boy, who had been taught a lot of manners, but chose to ignore each one of them deliberately. He liked to hurt others for no reason at all. Seemed like he would might as well turn into a sadist in the near future. Wearing a weird combination of denim jacket, a jersey, and leather pants, all borrowed from his rich friend, thinking of himself as the most stylish person on Earth, Elvis leaned against the entrance wall of the room, with his hands folded to his chest and his face covered in an ugly smug, which made me want to puke. We had never gotten along. At least not since the day we were eavesdropping, and had been caught by our father. I had gotten away, but Elvis had not. It was a weird reason to turn into one hell of a brother, but then it was Elvis. What could one expect of him?

"Elvis, inside your room, RIGHT NOW!" Father shouted.

"Who are you to command me? I'll stay and enjoy the show while it lasts."

"I am your father. I can tell you to do whatever I damn well want to!"

"I am an adult now, father." Elvis replied, calm as ever, as if not wanting to waste his energy on petty shit like this.

"Can we not start this right now, and get back to the point!" I shouted, frustrated.

Everybody turned to look at me. A frown formed at my parents' face, as if preparing themselves to say what they were about to say. Elvis, however, still had that smug on his face, his eyes conveying some evil little imagination that was going on in his thick head.

"Stay if you want to but not a word." Dad told him, his body firm and his eyes looking at Elvis as if telling him, "I am not tolerating any of your non-sense."

Elvis shrugged.

"Ed you-"

"Wait!" My mom intervened. "Ed, do you love your mother?"

I nodded, as the sound of Elvis snorting echoed along with the tension in the room.

"And you'll never leave me? Leave us?"

"Mom why would I-"

"Oh come on, just say you'll leave, you bastard." Elvis rolled his eyes.

My father seemed to have lost all his patience, and he turned around to scream at Elvis, when my mother stopped him. They had an entire conversation through their eyes. I had never seen them like that. It was like the fantasy Elvis used to speak of, about the times mom and dad used to be like lovebirds, always smiling and laughing with joy. Elvis said they changed after I came into their life. It made them like strangers. I, however, refused to believe that.

"Ed." My father, all serious.

"Father." I replied, anxious. My father handed me a small photograph.

The blacks of the picture had faded, the whites had turned into a shade of yellow that looked as if it was a photo that had been taken ages ago. Three out of four corners were folded inwards and the edges had little tears on them. The piece of paper was no more stiff. It was soft, bent and weak, like the spine of an old man, bent with age, after going through a lifetime of ups and downs. It was strange how sometimes the littlest of things could represent the journey of life.

The photo was so old, it was almost impossible to make out the content. I brought it close to my eyes, and a face, disturbingly similar, formed its shape in my eyes. 

I had been to her funeral. And everybody there had said that the woman had died a miserable death. I didn't even know her back then. I still didn't.

I raised my head to look at my father, my eyes questioning him about everything that was going on. His eyes responded, 'have patience and don't lose your strength.' I obeyed.

"That, Ed, is your birth mother. Isn't it father?" Elvis said. I whipped my head towards his face that still had a smirk stuck to it, disgusted by what he had just said. But then I turned to look at my parents. My mother's eyes welled up with tears, my father's head bowed in shame. They were both silent, unable to give an explanation. And I knew it was the truth.

All of a sudden, everything made sense.

❛❛「₪」❜❜

"And your father?" Fiona asked.

"He passed away . . . last week."

Fiona prayed, probably for my father's soul.

"Is that why you are here? To move on?" She asked.

"It's a tad bit more complicated that that." I smiled, knowing that it was actually way more complicated. A father who had cheated on his wife. A mother who was a whore and had abandoned her son to his biological father. A mother who had not given birth to the child she had accepted and loved him like her own son, despite the fact that the child would be a constant reminder of the fact that she had been cheated by her own husband. A half-brother who had overheard the truth of his little brother's birth while playing one day, and had hated him ever since. A disease that had eaten his birth mother first, then his father, and was now feeding on him. A family that was never his, a family that had to be left behind. It was complicated. Very complicated.

We stepped into a café, and seated ourselves. Fiona's father sat beside her, shooting me a look as if I was a pervert.

Mrs Blanchet, however, sat in the seat faced opposite to them and invited me to sit beside her, a wide grin on her face, as if to tease her husband. They were like kids.

"So, what do you want to eat?" Fiona asked.

"I'll see what's available." Her father replied, and got up to order. His wife followed, probably because she didn't wan to miss the opportunity of annoying him. 

"So, why did you chose this profession?" Fiona asked, as if she was assigned to take my interview and report it to some news channel.

"I- I like to be around children." I lied. I started fiddling with my fingers, an action that my body performed each time I lied. 

Fiona's eyes fell to where my fingers rested, still fiddling. I stopped.

"You're lying." She said confidently.

"No am not." My fingers started fiddling again, from under the table.

"Never mind." She laughed. "Its not like you are my lover that you've got to share everything with me."

"I could be one." I said, taking a sip of water.

"What? Lover?" 

"Mhmm."

"Yeah, no." She laughed. That, however, made me frown.

"Why not?" I asked, when I noticed her father heading towards us. She noticed it too, and told me, "Why don't you try convincing my father then? I am sure that's possible."

So she asks her father before dating.

I laughed inwardly. It was't like I wanted to date anybody at the moment, but I wasn't going to sit back, while I had been challenged to ask her father.

As he sat, and passed everybody a coffee, surprisingly for me as well, I decided to talk to him.

"Mr Blanchet." I cleared my throat as all faces looked at me curiously. "I wanted to talk."

"What?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Your daughter and me, we are fond of each other." My words were followed by yet another fiddling of fingers. Fiona choked on her coffee, as if of all the things, this was the last thing she has expected me to say.

"Fond of each other?" Mr Blanchet asked.

"Y-Yes Sir."

"So you're saying that my daughter is in love with you?"

"Not in love, sir. We are just fond of each other."

"I see. So my daughter wants to date you?"

"Yes sir." 

Mr Blanchet looked at her daughter. Unlike me, she had a huge grin covering her face. Mr Blanchet eyed her suspiciously, and shook his head in disappointment, to which she stopped smiling.

"That's not possible. I don't see why she'd choose you." He said, scratching his beard.

"Dad!" Fiona said.

"Plus," Her father added, "My daughter is not really into men." He said, clearly trying to hide his discomfort.

My eyes widened. So she had been playing games with me.

"Dad, the word is lesbian. L-E-S—"

"I know, I know. Doesn't make a difference, Jesus Christ!"

Author's Note

Hewwo :3

First off, I tried a lot to, y'know, insert images but it didn't work :")

Secondly, what do you think of this chapter?

TPWK.
Vreha x