Daniel
"Seeing the outcome of that particular incident, we propose sending Owen and Daniel to therapy with a highly recommended local therapist."
Gran's weathered, normally jovial face is a mask of sorrow. She clasps her wrinkled leathery hands together, pressing her pruned lips together, yet another hard line creasing her face. I cringe horribly inside. The whole half hour we've been here, I haven't looked once at Owen, who probably looked like a fine bruised peach, or his guardians, or Gran, so as to not see the contempt on the women's faces or the disappointment on Gran's, only keeping my eyes to Mrs Crestdale (or was it Whitlock?).
Mrs Whitlock
Gran begins to stutter. Mrs Crestdale/Whitlock smiles kindly. "Mrs Miller, there's no rush. It is merely a suggestion, which you can consider over some time. I've looked at the fee, and they charge around $100-150 per session, two days a week."
I blanch visibly.
Hell no. There's no way we have funds to spare for that.
Gran's eyes widen hugely. Her mouth drops open. Even she knows how large the chip in my shoulder is, but... "M-Mrs Whitlock, I-I'm afraid, even if I wanted to, there's no way I c-could possibly provide..." My grandmother's hands quiver as she raises her hands to her face. A hot flush rises to my cheeks. I'm so ashamed of myself, that my dear grandmother has to go through the humiliation of telling her benefactor we can't afford therapy for my issues. Issues that could've been properly managed if, if only, I...
Mrs Whitlock shares a glance with her husband, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world, smiles gently and rests a hand over the older woman's liver spotted one.
The ringing in my ears intensifies. I watch through blurred vision as Mrs Whitlock says something I can't hear to Gran, whose shoulders sag with relief, and starts to cry tears of gratitude.
I already know. Mrs Whitlock's paying.
"...is that alright, Daniel?"
I don't even know what she said, but nods numbly.
I don't even check to see Owen and his guardians expressions right now. Disgust, unjust, because they're the ones supposed to be getting the pity. I'm the one who beat the shit out of their ward last night, and here I am, getting funded for therapy and being consoled by my benefactor. Jesus.
You don't deserve this.
The voice in my head sneers disdainfully.
No, I don't.
I stand from my chair abruptly, pushing the mug of tea away, making liquid slosh over the rim and the chair legs scrape back against the marble tile.
I swallow hard. "Please excuse me for a moment."
Without waiting for an answer, I quickly stride across the room and hightail it out of there, closing the door a little too loudly behind me. I sink to the floor and grip my hair, pulling it tight against my scalp.
Daniel Miller. There you go again, running away when things get hard.
-
Evangeline
I pop downstairs to get snacks from the kitchen, due to the twins moaning about our homework draining their energy and making them ravenous. Frankly, they're just bullshitting so they dont have to go don to get the stuff themselves, but I don't mind.
I stop short as I see Daniel, crouched in the fetal position in the corridor outside the living room, shoulders shaking. I hurry over, squatting in front of him. Unsure of how to make him aware of my presence, I tentatively lay a hand on his forearm, sandwiched between his bent knees and forehead, partially covered by his mop of russet curls.
"Daniel," I murmur softly, so as to not spook him. He looks up, meeting my eyes with his heartbreaking chocolate ones.
"What can I do to help?"
I don't ask if he's alright, or okay, because I know he isn't. The most important thing in question is, what I or anyone else can do to make him feel better.
Daniel's throat bobs, eyes shimmering at the corners with wetness.
"If you like, you can come upstairs and see the twins?" He shakes his head silently like a petulant child. I sigh softly, deciding to try something else.
"You know, you're really brave."
He looks up at me then.
"How?" His voice is a rasp.
I take his hands, resting one on each of my palms, circling my fingers around his wrists. The movement feels strangely intimate, yet I go on with my story.
"Being able to tell the truth." I smile softly. The whole day, I simply couldn't get the mere through of him being in love with Lana out of my head. Now, the months spent fretting over the various run-ins with my stepbrothers feels like nothing. Instead, it gives me a warmth in my chest. Asher loves me. Lucas knows. Max and Chris? They might now know, but I hope they feel how much I love them, and appreciate every second spent with them.
Thank you so much, Daniel Miller. You might not know it, but you've given me so much hope.
Hope that...
I continue, pushing out the words sticking in my throat. "I hope you keep on telling the truth, even if it's difficult." My eyes flick to the closed door behind him. Owen's in there, with Ora and Penny.
Maybe, just maybe, there's a possibility that my stepbrothers and I could freely be together sometime in the future .
