Electra Heart | Malum

Prologue

Electra Heart | Malum

Copyright © Ella Simpson, 2015.
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

 

“Un, Deux, Trois,” Calum uttered, barely containing a flinch at the sound of his own voice echoing between the walls.

                “Again,” His mother demanded. Her voice was fraying at the edges with age, and although her eyes began to crinkle at the corners, her eyes were still as sharp as ever.

                “Un, De—“ Calum whispered, his gaze downcast. The memory of a harsh sting on his cheek from glaring into his parents eyes was enough to deter him for the rest of his life.

                “No, no,” She snapped, a snippy sigh flaring from her nose. She shook her head, and Calum’s fingers dug into the soft skin of his palms nervously. “Calum, darling. Sit up straight—don’t hunch your back like that. Head up, talk loudly and proudly, dear. Come on, now, like a young man. If you want to pass, you must do it properly.”

                Calum resisted the instinct to flinch at the stereotype, and forced his monotone body to do as she said. She claimed he was a man, but here he sat, wearing a sweater printed with stripes, all different shades of pink, timid and shy, even around his own mother. She thought it was just another one of his odd quirks. If she saw what he was like when he went full-on with his ‘quirk’, she’d probably pop a blood vessel.

                His parents were terribly traditional. From a wealthy background, they’d both grown up in very trim and proper houses, with strict, religious beliefs, stereotypes installed to their cores—that men had to be real men and run the house hold, dress in suits and walk loudly, tall and proud. In their day and age, women were trained to be ladies. In-line, obedient and to simply look pleasant. His mother said that the first thing she was taught to do, save for walking and talking, was to cook and clean, and wave her future husband out the door as he left for work and she stayed home. The stereotypes made Calum sick to his core.

                And they were still stuck in their ways, passing it down to Calum as they went. It was just the way they were brought up, to act proper and dress primly, and live in the dynamics of a hundred years ago, when women were forced to be home-riddled and men were the providers. It was animalistic and disgusting that his parents still agreed with those beliefs, and tried to force them into the new generation.

                So, it was an understatement to say that they were strict. They were so strict that has been brought up in the confines of his home for most of his life. Home-schooled by his mother until he was fourteen, who was more than capable, he learnt English, Mathematics, Science, History, Geography and French at home. They’d tried his hand at Spanish around the time he was ten, but that had ended in tears, and they soon dropped it, and opted for his strongest language, French. For the longest time, Calum had begged his mother to teach him Music, Art and Cooking, let him sew and draw and sing and dance, but she’d told him those weren’t things a man needed for anything, and slapped him across the back of the head.

                When she wasn’t home, Calum secretly learnt new recipes and tried his hand at baking, and danced and sang along to music at the top of his lungs. Those were the few times when he was happy.

                When he was fourteen, and he had to go into the high school department of his education, Calum’s mother couldn’t teach him anymore, and so reluctantly, she’d let him attend a fairly high-maintenance high school. It was just as strict as his household and full of even bigger stuck-up personalities.