by Kat Catesby
“It’s really none of your business, Wilhelmina. Who I choose to see and who I choose to live with is none of your goddamn concern. When will you understand that you don’t get a say? My life, my choice. You’ve all crossed so far past the line, you can’t even see it anymore. Is it really a surprise that I’ve snapped?”
Tristan ignores my question and looks directly at Jackson.
“Mr. Smoak, given the familial nature of this conversation, I’d really appreciate it if you would say goodnight to Miss. Vincent.”
I’m not surprised that trying to fire Tristan resulted in a short cut back to being addressed as ‘Miss. Vincent’, I am surprised by how superior he sounds when he says it. As if I’m a child he’s responsible for.
“That’s Emilia’s call. I’ll leave when she asks me to, not before.”
As much as I want him to stay with me tonight and have my back when I face off against my parents tomorrow, he has to get back to Dartmouth and there’s also a part of me that’s afraid for him to see my screwed up family politics. I know he has more staying power and that it would take more than overbearing parents to send him running. But I’m only just allowing the depth of my feelings for him to be felt and I’d be devastated if I managed to scare him away. Even if it is unlikely.
I take his hand and we walk towards the front door.
“I’ll be outside – DON’T even think about following me.”
Once outside in the cool dark night, I turn to look at Jackson. His devastatingly handsome face inches from mine, but marred with worry lines.
“I want you to stay, but you have to head back to school and there’s no way traumatizing you with the psychotic drama that’ll be unleashed when my mom and dad arrive.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the backup? You seem really upset. And don’t worry about me; I’ve lived through worse trauma than crazy parents.” “I am upset, Jackson. I feel betrayed. Gotta say you don’t seem ecstatic by the turn of events either.”
“I’m not, but I’m also not the one being followed around and busted to my parents for living their life like every other twenty-two-year-old. Considering the idea of being watched sent you running from Dartmouth, and from me, I’m surprised you let the same thing happen to you here.”
I never thought about it that way. But it’s exactly the same; I’m being monitored for the benefit of others.
I’m not deluded; I know I’m not in any particular danger and don’t really need a security team. It’s my mother who benefits the most from this arrangement, from knowing my every move for her own peace of mind. Honestly, her anxiety would probably benefit from professional intervention.
“You’re right. I’ve let it go on for far too long, but I didn’t think my parents were updated on my movements to the extent they are. Tonight is a perfect example; I should’ve been able to leave my room for a night out with my girlfriends without them needing to be made aware of it. It’s not healthy, for them or me. And Tristan and Wilhelmina just indulge their paranoia because my parents are wealthy. Don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly and I know they love me, but their behavior is too much. My dad is the more relaxed of the two and it annoys me that he panders to my mom’s hysteria over my wellbeing. No one seems to give any thought to how this impacts me.”
“How you’re feeling isn’t unreasonable, Angel. So, my advice is to talk to your parents as calmly and as well reasoned as you’ve just explained things to me. If you scream and shout, they’ll just default to thinking of you as a teenager throwing a tantrum and you’re not.”
I nod in agreement, even if it would be more satisfying to shout at them.
“I have a question for you; were they aware of your heritage before you started Dartmouth?” Jackson asks.
“Yes. They did some digging into my background when I was young and turned to Wilhelmina for help when they found out things they didn’t understand. They’ve been consulting with her on my life ever since. Of course, I didn’t know any of this. I met her when my parents called her for help the day I returned from Dartmouth. I’ll be honest, I was in shock at finding out my nightmares where actually memories and that’s when they discovered I had a previous life; that was one thing their research didn’t turn up.”
“So they’re aware of our past connection,” it’s not a question.
“Yep. I doubt there’s much they don’t know about me, given their penchant for prying.”
“Then I have one last piece of advice for you, Emilia. Take it from someone who knows what it’s like to lose you, and I mean really lose you. Watching you run from me hurt like hell, but I knew where you went, I knew you were safe at Columbia and I knew that we would find each other again. But having to mourn you? That’s a pain I can’t even put into words. A loss like that can make people do crazy things and you’ve no comprehension of the lengths I would go to keep you safe. If your parents love you half as much as I do, the knowledge that you were once killed just for being what you were born to be, probably weighs heavily on their minds. Throw in the fact that you have an Avidite lover and you can understand where their panic, misplaced as it is, comes from. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with their intrusive methods, but you can’t doubt that it comes from a good place, so try to bear that in mind tomorrow.”
“Some of the worst atrocities in human history came from the ‘best intentions’, but I hear you. I also heard the part where you said you love me?”
Jackson grins at me. “Damn straight, Angel. For over a century now. Don’t panic though; I don’t expect you to say it back. And I know we still need to get to know each other better, but I’m pretty sure it’s written into our DNA.”
Hearing him talk this way makes me ache in strange places I’ve never felt before. I don’t remember the love we had – I wish I did – and I really hope my parents, my matron and my now ex-security team don’t prevent me from finding it again.
“I left a note with my cell number on your nightstand. Call me and let me know how it goes, Angel. I’ll be thinking of you.” With that, he pulls me into his arms for one last deep kiss, before heading off into the darkness.
Chapter Fourteen
After programming Jackson’s number into my phone and getting a few hours of fitful sleep – his sweater not working its usual magic – I’m rudely woken by the frantic arrival of my mother bursting into my room followed closely by my father.
I am not pleased to see them and it shows.
They talk (mom panic-shrieks) at me in unison, so my sleep-deprived brain can’t decipher anything from the cacophony.
Dee picks this moment to make the walk-of-shame past my bedroom and spotting my distress, somehow manages to wrangle my parents out of my room so that I can dress in peace and fill her in on all the night before.
“I can’t believe she walked in on you!” she gasps.
“I wish we could’ve pretended not to notice her and carry on, but she just stood there, killing the mood and demanding our attention.”
“No! Was it good, up to that point anyway?”
“Seriously good. I’m still pissed we didn’t get to finish. And then Price had the audacity to call Tristan like it’s somehow his and my parent’s business to know who I sleep with. It kicked off after that point and the icing on the cake? She interrupted us because Sophia was asking for me and with all the drama, I didn’t get a chance to check on her.”
“I saw her on my way in; she’s groggy but okay. I don’t think she remembers asking for you; she still looks pretty out of it. I can’t believe this all happened after I left. I should have been there to help protect Sophia instead of losing track of her, I’m sorry.”
“Dee, you’re not psychic. You can’t predict what’s going to happen so don’t go blaming yourself. You’re the only sane one kicking around at the moment and I’m going to need you this morning.”
“I can’t believe what a little badass you are; having a fight, exploding a roof, finally getting laid and then having a showdown w
ith Tristan and Wilhelmina.”
“Last night was seriously fucked up and judging by my mother’s hysteria, this morning isn’t going to be any better.”
Dee takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you want a wingman?”
“There’s no way in hell I’m going in Price’s office without one.”
Wilhelmina Price’s office is a traditional, old-monied, oversized space with hardwood floors and bookcase, and a dominating mahogany desk.
My mother sits on one of the light gray sofas that make up the sitting area; my dad has one arm reassuringly wrapped around her shoulders as she sniffles and dabs a tissue to her puffy, red eyes.
Wilhelmina sits behind her desk with an irritatingly concerned expression while Tristan and Philips stand guard on the wall opposite my parents.
The whole situation screams intervention and reminds me of the night I returned from Dartmouth; my irritation flares instantly.
I try to remember Jackson’s words about remaining calm…
That might be difficult.
“Thank you, Miss. Lauren,” says Wilhelmina, dismissing Dee.
“Dee stays,” I say firmly, staring her down. “I don’t like the five on one odds; it gives the impression you’re going to try and railroad me. And given that you all need to answer to me for your behavior and not the other way around, Dee stays.”
I’m as calm as I can be without giving them an inch. I glance at Dee and her eyes are steel and her face as cold as stone, but she gives me a small nod of encouragement. Don’t back down.
After an awkward silence, in which my mother shifts uncomfortably on the sofa and twists the tissue between her fingers, my father is the first to speak.
“Tristan tells us that you will no longer have him as your bodyguard?”
He sounds like he might be in a reasonable mood; Tristan, on the other hand, crosses his arms across his chest and stares me down. He forgets that I know him well enough to see the flash of hurt clouding his eyes. Well, that makes two of us.
“Do you remember the conversation we had the day I got back from Dartmouth? The one where I said you shouldn’t have kept things from me and that if you had anything else to share, now would be the time because I wouldn’t be a doormat? Well, I guess none of you were listening to me when I said that because I definitely should have been informed about how much you intended to spy on me. I agreed to a certain level of security to put your minds at ease, but you have gone way beyond what I gave consent for and your intrusive behavior is a gross abuse of my trust. As I’m not a minor either, your stalker-like activities are illegal. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”
“You’re our baby,” sobs my mother, pleading with her ‘innocent’ doe-eyed expression that I’m coming to resent. It’s the look that makes everyone cut her slack and indulge her whims. She’s a smart woman; this whole situation is beneath her. I always thought of her as strong, worthy of looking up to, a role model that I was proud of…where has all this neuroticism come from?
“Mom, I love you but I am not a baby and I hate that this compulsion you have over my safety is harming the way I look up at you. I used to admire your strength, your understanding, your compassion…your ability to be a rock for others. But now all I see is a woman who’s figured out how to get whatever she wants from people by acting like an emotionally broken, fragile waif who resolutely refuses to see the consequences of her unreasonableness. And dad, you let her…why is that?”
My mother just blinks at me, shell-shocked.
“You died,” my dad says simply.
Jackson was right; loss makes you do crazy things – even if I did die many years before they were even born. I guess knowing about the supernatural world is one thing, but learning the implications and accepting that existence is quite another.
“You might be surprised to hear that Jackson tried to explain that point of view to me last night. He asked me to bear it in mind today when I saw you. It might surprise you more to learn that his words came after Tristan and Wilhelmina insisted he leave. Perhaps holding a gun at point-blank range to his face now seems a little excessive?” I say the last bit to Tristan and can tell by the shameful expression on his face that he hadn’t shared that piece of information.
“Your death was a result of your relationship with him,” Tristan retorts.
“Over a hundred years ago! It’s fair to say that times have changed, Matthews.”
“You weren’t immortal, that’s why you died. Had you matured and reached your prime then you probably would’ve healed faster than you bled,” says my mother.
That’s always been the suspicion, but they throw this argument around like its fact.
“We did some digging after you told us about your previous life and we were able to confirm that you hadn’t reached your prime,” my dad says.
“Which is why you didn’t survive the attack,” says Wilhelmina.
“You knew as well?” I ask Wilhelmina and she nods.
“And none of you thought this was relevant information that I should, no wait, that I’m entitled to know about myself? Can’t you all see how twisted and damaging these lies are?” I’m losing my grip on calm.
“We have never lied to you,” my mother wails in a desperate justification.
“A lie by omission is still a lie; you have all wilfully kept things from me – twice – and manipulated my love and trust in you so that you could spy on me and keep an alarming level of oversight on my life. It is my prerogative to live my life how I choose and it should be my choice to decide what information I share with you when I see fit. I will not have you dropping into my life unannounced and uninvited, dictating who I can and cannot spend my time with. You do not need to stage some dramatic intervention because I slept with a man I happen to very much like.”
“This isn’t just about you and that boy; there was the incident at his club involving Sophia as well,” says Wilhelmina, while my parents sit disturbingly still and quiet.
“That’s a weak excuse for their presence and you know it. If anyone’s parents should be here because of that, it should be Sophia’s not Emilia’s,” Dee shuts down Wilhelmina’s feeble argument with such chilling authority that even the toughest ice queen would be envious. “Sophia’s parents are probably more stifling than Emilia’s, but I don’t see them descending on campus with bodyguards. I have to wonder if you’ve even bothered to tell them their only child was drugged and nearly molested?”
Wilhelmina’s wide eyes tell me all I need to know. “That’s despicable! You couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and call them so that Sophia could have their support, but you run off telling tales on me to mine? I’m beyond disappointed in all of you.”
“If Sophia wants her parents then I’ll call them for her,” Wilhelmina’s voice rises with her pathetic attempt to justify herself.
“So, Sophia can have the choice about whether to tell her parents, but me, a twenty-two-year-old woman, I get no say? How can you think that’s right? Do you think it’s healthy for me to have my parents suffocating me like this and for you to be helping them?”
“As a casual observer, I’d say the only people in this room who don’t need a therapeutic intervention are Emilia and I. Were my parents behaving like this and conspiring with my bodyguard and Matron to know my every move, I would probably cut all ties with them for several years until they learned their lesson,” barks Dee.
I love her so much at this moment, as her comment seems to strike home more than anything I’ve said; people are finally starting to look suitably ashamed.
“You do not have the right to spy on me and I will not allow you to do it anymore. From now on, I will not have Tristan protecting me. I understand where your fears stem from, so I will have a bodyguard, but I get to choose who that will be. Their contract of employment will be with me, I will set the parameters of that contract and they will answer to me, not you. Your needs don’t come into the equation.”
�
��I think this is something we can work with, although I would prefer it if you would still use Tristan but set the ‘parameters of that contract’ with him. We would also prefer it if you didn’t see Jackson Smoak,” my father says like he’s negotiating a billion-dollar deal.
“At what point do you think you still have a say over any of this? You are not in a position to make demands.”
“See reason, Em,” Tristan surprises me by using my nickname, “At least wait until you’ve reached your prime before starting anything with him. If you have any concern for your own self-preservation, you’ll see it makes sense to wait until you’re immortal before potentially putting yourself in danger. There are still supernaturals who see relationships between Guardians and Avidites as race-mixing – why paint a target on your back before you’re strong enough to weather the fallout?”
He has a point.
He knows he has a point.
I know he has a point…I hate that he has a point.
If I agree to this, how much damage will it do? How badly will I hurt Jackson? How badly will I hurt me? Would he wait? Would this just be another way in which I concede control to my overbearing parents?
I look to Dee for guidance.
“We’re in this weird maturity limbo; we can’t say with any finality either way, that we are or aren’t immortal. We may have already hit our prime, then again…maybe not. The six-year maturity guide line gives us a timescale we can depend on. What Tristan said makes sense in a very black and white way, but there’s a whole spectrum of gray area that exists where feelings are concerned. This is a decision that can only be made by you because you’ve come to your own conclusions, without biased input,” she says, looking pointedly around the room.
“Dee’s right. I can’t ignore the point you’ve made, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do what you want. The crux of this whole argument is my ability to choose without your interference or fearful prejudices; Jackson is another part of my life where you can have no say. I make that call, if and when.”