Clementine had become a wild child. Born in America but raised abroad, she now had little regard for the expectations of high society. But her reckless ways eventually catch up with her when she is kicked out of college in New York City and forced t...
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"Grounded. Do you hear me? Grounded!" Her mother was in hysterics.
Clementine couldn't actually find Ernesto, and as the cabby was waiting she had to go find her father in his study and ask for money really quickly, promising she'll explain later.
And so that later, her father pulled in her mother and - due to a real fear this time - Clementine caved and told them about the incident.
Now, she was seated n her father's study (which was increasingly beaconing one fo her least favourite rooms in the house), as her mother paced around hysterically and actually crying in a combination of fear and anger.
"Clementine," her father began, seated at the opposite end of the table, "your mother and I have tried to give you space. Freedom to the largest extent that we could. I know you have always been a risk taker, but this is starting to get out of hand."
She knew what he was referring to. If this was its own incident, she still could have been let off the hook. But considering it happened after New York, the chances were slim to none.
"I'm sorry," Clementine said weakly, "but considering everything that's happened, I would have thought you would have been more concerned for my safety than for my 'behaviour'."
"Of course we're concerned for your safety! This is why we're doing all this, to protect you."Her father said evenly.
And even though she had a hard time understanding it, she tried to see their side. She realized that it was them she was also protecting by keeping the rest of the story out of their view. Except that this time she went too far.
"What exactly are you trying to find?" Her mother wailed raising her hands, "is this not enough for you? First, you run away from me at the beach club, now this. Is there anything else you need to tell us?" With a mother's intuition, she peered at Clementine arching her eyebrows, putting one hand on Clementine's chair and leaving her with no escape.
This was it. This was the moment. If she was going to tell them anything, about her sneaking out or getting picked up, it would have to be now. Come clean now and drop it all, not having to worry anymore. Having felt that she somehow failed again, that Zico was never going to find her again, she could leave it all now.
"I..." But she faltered. Somewhere seemingly out of nowhere, a tiny voice of hope appeared somewhere inside of her, urging her to go on. To take this a little further, to see where it could go. That it wasn't over yet. "I'm sorry." She repeated herself, and also secretly apologized for not being able to tell the truth.
Her parents looked at each other silently, exchanging something that seemed to be only understandable between them. Something Clementine has always envied.
"Okay then, you're free to go." Her father said tight lipped.
"That is within the property," her mother reaffirmed. "We are happy you're safe, and we're going to keep it that way."
"What about my phone?" She asked both of them.
"We'll go pick something up tomorrow," her dad retorted. "But that's it."
And even as Clementine got up from what felt like a court hearing, and made her way across the marble floors into her bedroom, she couldn't help but feel guilty that Zico was the only thing she could think about in response to her mother's question.
