15 Chapter XV

The head was killing me. Seriously, I was feeling suicidal.

"Good morning sunshine!"

Her voice almost exploded my brain.

"Van...can you like, not talk right now?" 

"Nope."

I grunted and rubbed my face. She sat down on the armchair and stared at me with an excitement in her eyes. 

"What?"

"What do you remember from last night?"

"Uh, I was at the party. I got drunk and then..."

My eyes widened. All came back to me. The coming out, dancing, Taron, drinking, some guy, Audi, Lukas.

She handed me a glass of water that I drank instantly. 

"Lukas brought me here."

She smiled wickedly: "He sure did. Nice of him, don't you think?"

I gave her the nastiest look I could. 

"He obviously doesn't hate you as much as you claim."

I didn't say anything.

"Why did you drink that much anyway?"

"I came out. Accidentally."

"What? How do you come out by accident?"

"Some guy almost beat me up, because he taught I was hitting on his girlfriend, so I let it slip that I have a boyfriend."

"Was the reaction as horrible as you thought or was it as I said it will be and no one cared."

"I think Lukas went around making sure no one dared to say anything."

"Seriously I don't understand why you hate the guy so much. He seems smart, can obviously handle you and he's pretty easy on the eyes."

I gave her another nasty look.

"Don't give me that shit. You were pretty handsy with him last night."

"OH MY GOD, I WAS DRUNK!" 

"Sureeee, make excuses."

"I hate you."

"You could at least try getting along with him."

I frowned. 

"You've met him  five minutes ago and I've been dealing with his shit for almost a year now, so don't think you know him."

She rolled her eyes: "Don't be bitchy. I just think you hate him, just for the sake of hating him."

I didn't know how to respond to that, because I'm not sure if I do still hate him. Maybe a little, but definitely not as much as before.  

She stood up and only then I noticed her wearing work clothes. On Saturday.

"Are you going to work?"

She checked her watch: "Yeah, they have a problem. A security breach... or something."

"How do you still have a job?"

"Because I'm good at what I do."

I was this close to saying: I'm the best there is at what I do but what I do best isn't very nice, but she was quicker.

"If you say that stupid Wolverine quote I'm going to get the dog whistle."

I smiled and nodded, which only made my head hurt harder.

"Are you going anywhere today?"

I would have laughed if it didn't cause me so much pain.

"I don't think I will be standing up today."

"As you wish. Want me to bring you anything?"

"Fries. Like...a shit load of fries."

"Got it. Have fun."

She closed the door softly and I grunted. I always craved fries while hungover-ing. Is that even a word? I don't really care right now. Maybe it was something that stayed from my teenage years. From the Sommers, I partied almost every day. Or more accurately, every night. That was when we stayed in our England house and no one ever dared to deny my 15-year old self, the entrance to any club. I don't know if this was a cry for attention or just my ˝rich idiot kid rebelious˝ stage. In those two Summers, the only days that didn't start with a hungover were those with our parents at home.

When dad found out about my nights out and drinking, he flipped. He didn't want his son to throw away his life and well, his liver. If he didn't I would have probably become an alcoholic. He forbade me from leaving the house, but honestly, I didn't care. I got the attention. And locks never presented any difficulty for me.

I learned how to pick locks at a very young age. No one knows about my summer activities, not even Vanessa. When she asked how come I can handle so much alcohol without getting insanely drunk, I just shrugged.

Around my ˝party-child˝ time, Margo started stealing. Just small things, pickpocketing usually, to annoy mom. This was her version of rebellion. Later on, she thought me how to pickpocket as well, when dad refused to give me money. I still do it sometimes. But usually just for fun. Or if Lukas annoys me.

From time to time I take something from his desk or suit pocket and then put it somewhere completely different. He always looks so hilariously confused. I stopped hardcore stealing at 17. That was not a fun memory. I still don't completely understand why I needed to steal in the first place. 

I buried my face in a pillow when my phone rang. Jesus fucking shit has it always been this loud. It was laying on the floor, so I just answered without having to move anything else except my arm.

"Yes?"

"Hi, Aron."

It was Kara. Her voice was quieter and it seemed to be shaking.

"Kara, what's wrong?"

She was crying.

"Can you...can you have Tim over today please."

"Of course."

"It's just, um, I was sure that I could make it this year, without...without-God I'm so pathetic."

At that moment I wished I was there with her. To comfort her. I can't believe I forgot.

"No, no Kara, listen, you're not. It's completely understandable. I am more than glad to do this. You know that."

I could hear her trying to steady her breath, so it didn't quiver. 

"I know! I know. But what kind of mother has to send her child away, because she can't... be around him?"

We have almost the same conversation every year on this day. I can't believe I forgot. 10th of December. She could never handle this day very well. And seeing Tim always made it even more painful. 

"You just need more time..."

"It's been 7 years!"

"You've come far. Stop torturing yourself. No one will judge you if you're not on top of your shit  once in a year."

She chuckled. 

"Thank you, Aron."  

"You don't need to thank me. I love you both and I would do anything for you."

"Still, thank you."

                                                                                            X

"Mami was crying," Tim said out of the blew while we watched Spongebob.

"I know."

I was afraid where this conversation was going.

"Zakaj?"

(Why?)

I sighed: "Your mom just feels sad today. You feel sad sometimes don't you?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's no different than that."

He stared into my eyes for a few seconds and then bit the inside of his cheek (I like to believe he picked up that from me), but said nothing further.

I hated not being able to explain it to him. Kara and I have the agreement that we wouldn't tell him the whole truth until he is old enough to understand. I have no idea how we will explain it to him. I mean, how do you tell a child that he came to be in the worst possible way. That his father was an awful person, who neither I nor his mother even know the name of. Over the years I thought that the memory will fade out a little, maybe became blurred, incomplete. But I still remember. Every last detail. Like it has only been a few days, not seven years.