It's Understandable: A Tronnor AU

33. Child

Cheryl Franta's body was free of any lead. The bullet had been removed, and she had healed quite successfully, the only reminder of ever being hurt as faint as a starburst scar, a bandage and a memory. She should feel fine. She should feel good. And she did, physically at least. Mentally? Emotionally? That was a completely different story.

She had been let out of the hospital five hours ago, but the durable, laminated patient band around her wrist was immaculately still there. Not in the slightest had she tried to pick it off, though she did play with it anxiously. Putting her finger between her wrist and the band, she pulled the bendable plastic taut and began to circle it clockwise. Laurelle Mellet's eyes were piercing and shockingly cerulean, just like her son's, but held much less friendliness than his. Her curt tone made Cheryl anxious.

"I'm sorry I pulled you into this." She tried to salvage herself, hoping Laurelle was handling understanding behind her unreadable face. Cheryl spun her band another couple times. "But thank you for not turning Connor away. Words can't express how much I appreciate it."

Laurelle kind of wanted to say it was her pleasure. She kind of wanted to say that it was with no worries, and that Connor was welcome in her home. She wanted to be her hospitable and tolerant self, but the recent past kept her frowning. "Does Connor know that you're out of the hospital?" It came out as a stiff accusation; Laurelle couldn't help it.

And that made Cheryl break eye contact almost instantly. She looked down at her lap, which she wasn't privileged enough to cover with a purse like Laurelle, and took a quivering breath. "Look, I know I'm being unfair. But it's..."

"Does Connor know that you're out of the hospital, Cheryl?" Laurelle repeated more sternly, all her care put towards her son's boyfriend, before she could even think about caring for his mother.

At the interruption, Cheryl lifted her eyes up slightly, glaring, feeling both sheepish and attacked. She placed her hands in a tight ball on the table. "No." She answered tensely, licking her lips, chapped to peeling.

"And what are you going to do when he finds out?" Troye's mother crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw slightly jutted, her lips pursed incredulously to the side. "He comes to visit you every afternoon, and you forced my son not to tell him what's going on. What happens tomorrow, when he gets there and you're gone and he has no idea why or where you went?"

"That's..." Cheryl sighed, pulling up the shoulder of her cardigan, covering herself up to somehow deflect the fog of censure being cast over her. She hadn't experienced a lecture since childhood, and it was making her feel like a kid again, on top of a total mess. Neither was what she'd expected when she called the Mellet household on a twenty-five cent payphone. Neither was what she expected when she convinced Laurelle to meet her here, or when she was sitting in the back booth waiting. That's why I called you in the first place. To fix this. She wanted to finish that way, but she felt discouraged. Like Laurelle wouldn't want to hear it after how she had handled the situation so far.

"This was a bad idea." She said instead, hiking up her too-big jeans and rising from the booth. "Thank you again, have a good night."

Blinking blankly, not expectant of this, Laurelle watched as this swaying sliver of a person hunched as she stood. This pinioned bird, tightening her muscles and fisting her cardigan in anxiety as she walked towards the door, body encumbered so obviously by disenchantment. The view made some of Laurelle's bitterness grow faint, and her motherly nature kick in desperately. "Wait." She called, standing and pinching Cheryl's sleeve as she passed her.

Cheryl turned, and her wide eyes were spheres within rings of shadow and pink exhaustion. Those eyes, those tired eyes, met those clean and painted with perfect lines of make-up, and found a little sympathy. It was only a pinch of pity, very quickly displayed in Laurelle's slightly softened expression, but it was enough for the American mom to open her mouth and untie the truth that clung to her tongue. The truth that had been choking her. "I don't know what to do, Laurelle."