Blue | Rafe Cameron

i

'There's a storm heading straight for Kildare and you're deciding to jet off and leave me here?' My tone was harsh, dripping with raw sarcasm and a hint of hurt.

Even after all these years it still stung. You'd think that I would have learned, but apparently not.

My mother scowls, dropping the folders in her delicate hands with a harsh thud onto the oak table before snapping her eyes up at me. She sighs, her ageing skin tightening and the lines creasing as she fully turned to face me.

'Aurora- '

'You're leaving your sixteen-year-old daughter, your only child, to fend for herself while you vacation... where is it this time?' I muse, scoffing as I fold my arms over my chest. 'Hawaii? Barbados? I hear that Europe is lovely this time of year!'

'Aurora please' My mother beseeches and even despite the simmering anger and hurt gnawing at my heart, I relent, biting my lip, and averting my gaze to the wall beside her head.

Silence envelopes us for a few moments and while it appears that I'm enthralled by one of my father's old overpriced and underwhelming paintings, I'm actually trying to stop the familiar burning behind my eyes.

For as many years as I can remember my parents have done this- jetting off here and there, millions of miles away for some business meeting, or deal or some other adult crap that just means that they can be free of me and each other.

This time seems no different.

'Aurora' My mother calls her voice a whisper, dancing in the silence of the room and with a deep exhale, I steel my nerves and face her yet again. I take her in, knowing it would be a while before I saw her again.

It was like looking into a time machine, that's what everyone always said to me.

I was a carbon copy of my mother, from the nut-brown pin-straight hair to the wide, doe-eyed amber eyes that could steal a person's heart. Her complexion ran lighter than mine- where hers was creamy, I took after my father, the olive and bronze tones of my skin enhanced by the constant sun that reigned in the Outer Banks.

Carolina Huntington was not just renowned in Figure 8 for her beauty, no, her brain and wit were easily the best parts about her. Descending from a long line of settlers, a vestige of famous real estate and landowners, the Huntingtons were big fish on this island.

So big that my father, Daniel Walton, changed his surname to Huntington after the wedding because woman or not, Carolina would never forsake the legacy and name that were rightfully hers.

Too bad she wasn't as fiercely protective of her daughter.

'You know that I don't want to leave you, sweetheart,' She says, her red-bottom heels clattering against the floor as she steps closer, stopping only a few inches from me. I frown, lifting my head to reach her eyes.

They were so bloodshot, the rims red and puffy, with dark circles marring them. It was unlike the usually pristine and perfect woman I had grown up with, though I suppose that my mother has been through far more in these past few months than the woman she was before.

As have I.

'But this meeting is important, this deal is important' Her hands grip mine, wrapping into my palm and tightening like a vice and I bite my lip, frustration itching within me.

'Every meeting is important' I hiss, shaking my head 'Every deal is important. It's the same crap again and again.'

'I know-'She stops, inhaling a shuddering breath and I can't help but furrow my brows, my anger washing away, overtaken by alarm. 'I know that you must be upset, and I know you feel as if I am abandoning you too- '