By My Side - Sam/Aomaris Fanfiction

1) The Anderson Name

Silence fell. The graveyard was filled with mourners clad in black, myself and my family amongst them. People who claimed to know my grandfather, who declared to have been great friends or even lovers. They could claim all they wanted, but I didn't believe that anyone truly knew my grandfather. Not my parents, not me, not even my sister. Mika had her eyes closed tight, trying and failing to prevent the tears from escaping. As the mass of people moved towards the cemetery's gates, I simply gazed upon my grandfather's grave without really seeing it, trying to ignore the expression on my father's face that screamed nothing but boredom. I could hear him sighing and tutting impatiently, waiting for us to be ready to leave. Of course, he put on the 'mourning son who just lost his father' act in front of the rest of the attendees, but in reality, I knew he didn't care. If the event wasn't a business one, he'd usually make up an excuse not to go.

The sound of the rain splashing off of the grave was broken by the soft footsteps of a man in a smart black suit, carrying a matching umbrella that was doing little to prevent the downpour from soaking his clothes. He introduced himself as Harold Anderson's lawyer before sending a small and sympathetic smile in the direction of me and Mika. I'd forgotten about this, although I had no idea how. Before he died, my grandfather left some very specific instructions for how his funeral was to be run. The reading of the will was to be in front of immediate family only, which caused no issues. The problem arose when my dad found out he wasn't allowed to turn the funeral into a big spectacle for media attention. It would've made front-page headlines. "Philanthropic toy-maker dead! Mourning son takes over company!", the headline would've read. Anderson Family Toys was established by my grandfather several years ago. A worldwide business that earned my family more fame and money than we knew what to do with. Grandfather was modest and humble; he donated tons of money to amazing charities and the only thing he bought for himself was his estate. My father was the exact opposite. He revelled in fame and bought stupidly flashy things for himself, his wife, and his daughter. But not me. I was nowhere near them for most of my life.

Mika and I were twins, but not identical ones. She looked exactly like our parents. Long black hair, jade-coloured eyes, and all three of them were pale as hell. I, on the other hand, could not have been more different. I inherited my grandmother's genes, a woman who died long before I was born. My hair was light brown to the point it was almost blonde, but that changed as soon as I had my own money. It had been a rainbow of solid colours from sea green to raspberry pink, but my most recent experiment was my favourite. My hair was streaked with a gradient of purples and blues that overlapped and blended together. It had been short for a while, but I'd been growing it out and it was down to my ribcage now. My skin tanned easily and was covered in freckles, and my eyes were so dark that you could see your reflection in them.
My parents had a preference and it's shown since we were born. Mika has always been showered with pretentiously fancy things. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle in England when I was a baby because my aunt and uncle had wanted another kid, but my aunt couldn't have more of her own. The excuse that Dad gave me in later years was that 'anyone who works for the company has to be cultured'. In reality, when I was old enough to start calling bullshit on Dad's words, I quickly figured out the real reason, and then I just had to be diagnosed with Autism. Being the young child I was, I believed my dad's lies for a while, and either way, I didn't know what Autism was when I was diagnosed. It became all too clear as I got older though, and I started to notice how different I was from everyone else I met. I got no help, though. No medicine, no therapy or counselling, nothing. I was only rarely allowed home to Chicago during the summer holidays if ever my aunt and uncle were busy with things I couldn't be there for. It was during those times that I could tell I was growing further and further away from my 'real' family. My mannerisms and accent were perfect examples. Despite being born in America, I was English, through and through.