The Victorious [BxBxB] ✓

Let's Talk About Victor

Victor lifted his hands to his face and pressed the tips of his fingers over his eyelids. James understood him; Victor didn't know what to do with his anger besides break something or let it tighten around him like a noose.

"I don't care if he has lovers." Isabella shrugged. "I don't care if he likes men. He can do whatever he wants. What do you want me to say? That I don't love him? I don't. There, I said it, happy?!"

"Mom," Victor said it as an accusation. It was obvious he was stretched thin, and he was about to snap. Or break. Or crumble. "Mom, it's not just about his - his - his fucking lovers. You- you just refuse to listen to me."

"Because I don't care about that!"

"Bella, darling, stop shouting at him," Emma placed her hand on Isabella's shoulder. "He's your son, stop being so stubborn."

"I know he's my son!"

Victor walked around the table, slowly. He stopped in front of his mother for a few moments, then grabbed her arm.

"Come with me for a second," he said, guiding her away from everyone else.

Isabella followed him, frowning. She was confused, but James wasn't; he already knew what was going to happen. James watched Victor lean close to her ear, and his heart dropped. Victor was pulling out his last resort; he was whispering it to his mother. James could see her face. The way her eyes opened widely, the truth slapping her back to reality. He could see realization washing over her, cold and unmerciful.

Seconds passed slowly, but her shock remained frozen on her face. This was it, though, if this wasn't good enough to force her into helping them, nothing ever will. He felt guilty. He should've punched Mason right in the throat if this was the price they had to pay.

"No," she said.

Victor didn't budge.

She started crying. "You don't mean that," Isabella continued.

Victor didn't speak; he didn't look away from her. Isabella hugged him and buried her head in the crook of his neck.

"I'm going to ruin that man," she said, sending chills down James' spine. "I'm going to kill him. No, no, that's far too kind. He's going to rot in jail. He's going to be afraid for his life until the day he dies."

"I – I don't care about that," Victor said.

"Don't worry about school." Isabella pulled away and cupped Victor's face; then, she fixed his hair. Her eyes were bloodshot red. "Don't worry about anything, ok? I'm going to handle everything."

She wiped her tears and took a deep breath. "Everything is going to be ok."

"Mom, I don't want to go to the police," Victor said, "I really don't. It's going to turn into media bait. I don't want that attention."

His mother rubbed his arms. "He needs to pay, and he will." She kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I should've listened."

"Maybe next time I try talking to you, you won't call me a liar," Victor said. "And maybe you'll listen without me having to - to expose some tragedy to get your attention."

James almost laughed out loud, not because he thought it was amusing.

Victor walked away from her and dropped on one of the chairs next to James. He was pale. James touched the back of his head, rubbing his thumb across Victor's skin. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Do you want to leave?" James asked, feeling his throat dry.

"I do." Victor nodded. "Mom, is dad's office still locked?"

"Yes," she said, "I keep the key in my room. Do you want it?"

Victor nodded. They waited in the living room for Isabella to return with the key. She gave it to Victor, and he took a few seconds to look at it, before getting up.

"I want to grab something from there; then we're going to leave. I don't want to be around when Mason comes home."

"Are you sure? I can call and make up some lie that I'm throwing a party." Isabella said. "He doesn't like them." She walked next to Victor and touched his head. "You can stay the night."

"No, no, I'd rather not." Victor shook his head, twisting the key between his fingers.

They walked upstairs, towards the mysterious office where Victor had last seen his father. James remembered the story, short as it was.  He remembered the blood on the wall,

"Vic, I'm sorry," James said, watching him insert the key in the keyhole.

"You did nothing wrong." Victor opened the door and walked in.

James followed him, unsure of what to expect. He was surprised to see that his father's office was different than the rest of the house. It was white, minimalist, organized, and full of natural light, and not at all suffocating or overwhelming. He looked around, at the big, black chair that used to belong to Victor's father, at the desk, and the two smaller chairs placed in front.

Victor dragged his fingers across the desk as he walked around it, wiping off the dust.

"I haven't been in this room for years." He picked up a pen and put it in his pocket.

Oliver walked up to him and hugged him. "It's been a difficult day; let's go back to my place. Dad can call the school and tell them we're going to be missing for a few days."

"Can we afford that?" Victor was playing with one of Ollie's curls.

"I think we have to. Not to be negative, but - "

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," Victor grunted. "I don't like this at all. I don't. And I don't want to think about it now."

"Vic," James started, "do you want to - I don't know, do you want to talk about your dad?" James wasn't sure what gave him that impression. Maybe it was the melancholy he felt while being in that office. Maybe it was Victor's sadness. Maybe it was the obvious fact that Victor never got the change to properly mourn him.

Author's note<3:

We almost solved James' problem, and now we have another one? I'm not sure Victor is very keen on talking about what happened to him.

Any words of advice? What should he do?!