Gibson McMillan ? Is that a bloody joke ?!

I quickly turn my head to my sister. I make her lose her smile when I glare at her . The young man, next to her, seems very ill-at-ease. I push back the chair on the stone floor and leave the table. I go to the backyard. Nobody protests in the dining room. I hear Mercy calling me, but I don't turn around. I am so mat at her that she shouldn't provoke me.

The fresh air of London whips my face and I have to admit that makes me feel good. The hasty steps of Mercy gets closer and she stops, leaving a certain distance between us.

- Hero, she murmurs.

- Keep silent, frankly, don't say another word, I warn her without turning around towards her.

She sighs and turns back. I take out a cigarette of the pocket jean and light it to calm my nerves. The white smoke scatters immediately in the air when I spit it out. I can't believe that she did that. To believe that nobody takes into account what I say ! And moreover, how she was able to contact him?

A male silhouette comes next to me, silently. By turning my head, I notice my father, the look riveted towards the distant. He remains silent. His face is impassive. If he thinks that I am going to break silence, he is wrong.

He makes some steps in front of me and sits down on one of the garden chairs. He invites me, of a wave of the hand, to do the same.  Still silently, I take a seat next to him, around the round table.

- What's wrong, Hero? He asks me, worried, by fixing the wood of the table.

- I am going to twist Mercy's neck ! I grumble. Frankly, sometimes, she irritates me ! She dared to contact this guy, while ...

- Why did she do it, according to you? He cuts me, his tone still so quiet.

- Because ... Because she never listens to anything she's told! I explode. She should have understood last time that ...

I break off. My thoughts go too fast and the words don't come out quickly enough of my mouth.

- She spent the week speaking with this young screenwriter and we thought that it would be preferable that you meet him, surrounded by us, he explains me by raising his blue eyes towards me.

I open wide mine, surprised by this revelation.

- What? So, if I understand correctly, you are all in cahoots ? I rebel.

I get up, outraged. I throw the rest of my cigarette in the grass before going into the house. My father follows me closely, ordering me to stop. Before reaching the dining room, he catches me by the arm and stopsmy wild race.

- Listen, I understand that you feel betrayed, but if we did that, it's because we know that you are not happy. Since you're young, you dream to be an actor so, I don't understand why you persist in staying here, in exercising a job you don't like. You have the opportunity to take your chance and you let it go? Why, son ? Why?

- Because it is what I deserve! I exclaim,  my eyes filled with tears. I screwed up and very badly. I ruined the life of a girl who'd asked for nothing because I thought that I could make everything and anything, without caring of what could happen. I thought I had the worldat  my feet and I just had to snap the fingers to have what I wanted. So, now, and for last time, if you could all stop pissing me off with that, I would largely be grateful to you for it.

I had just got it off my chest. I had not planned to display everything like that, but that pressed me for too long. My father eventually releases my arm and shakes the head. I rush into the dining room. My mother, my brother and my sister look at me silently, while I pass in front of  them. I stop in front of the coat rack to take my jacket and storm out of this damned house.

I am back in the apartment. I drop on the sofa, my jacket always on my shoulders. I sigh noisily. I am still in shock of what has just taken place. I don't really know what to do...

I remove finally my jacket. Walking through the streets of London, even when it is cold, warms you faster than you think, especially when you're irritated. I go to the kitchen to get a beer. I hope that this time, the message will have passed.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. I blow, not wanting visitors around. It certainly had to be my sister, or my mother or maybe even all the family... I only wanted to be alone.

The noise is louder a second time. It starts to get on my nerves. Then a third time. This time, I get up to open the door. If they think they're wearing me out... I open the door wide, ready to blow, but I'm stopped when I see Gibson McMillan on my doorstep.

- Great, I sigh, looking up at the sky.

- I'm sorry to bother you. Your family gave me your address.

- Of course they did, I groan, cutting him off and nodding.

- Your... your sister sent me several e-mails and told me that you would... possibly... be interested...

He carefully chose his words. His voice became increasingly acute. His head fits between his shoulders as he continues his sentence. Perhaps he is realizing that Mercy served him a web of lies to attract him here. I decide to put an end to his ordeal.

- I am sorry if my sister has told you lies. She has an annoying tendency to meddle in things that are none of her business... Thank you for thinking of me for... this role, but... I can't.

No. I can't. For reasons beyond the comprehension and understanding of others. The writer smiles at me.

- I understand... It's a real shame, he said. It could have been nice... Anyway, thank you for giving me some of your time.

He holds out his hand to me, which I resign myself to shake. I feel a little guilty for sending him away. He went all this way for nothing.

"How about a beer? I ask him.

He seems a little surprised by my proposal, but accepts it with a big smile.

******