The Darker Exterior

Chapter 21

I curled into Atticus' arm as the TV blared in front of us.

"Ford Madison, 23-year-old tycoon, and billionaire is on trial today for a tragic drunk-driving accident that killed two young women, ages 21 and 20, and landed him in critical condition in the Besmuth City Hospital last week. He has recovered well, but his team and lawyers declare he will not be making a public statement about the event, or the newfound evidence that has come out about his workplace," the woman on the TV blared.

"I can't believe he killed two people like that," I whisper, "It's almost like a sick joke."

Atticus was quiet beside me, swirling his drink in small circles, his grip vice-like.

"Do you want me to turn it off?" I ask, sitting up a bit straighter.

"It's alright," he stood up and padded into his kitchen, dumping the rest of his drink down the sink, "you know we weren't on good terms, Aurelia."

"He's still your son. Maybe," I correct, wincing.

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. He could have said that on purpose to rile me up, but I hope the mistreatment comes forward. Between that and the accident, he should be put away for a long time," he said, leaning on the counter, crossing his arms.

I turn away slightly and look at my lap where my hands sit, empty and upturned.

"Are you alright?" Atticus asked, looking over at me, concerned.

"Do you," I look back up at him, "do you think this is all my fault?"

Atticus walked over to where I sat with a hard sigh and pulled me onto his lap gently, "Baby, why do you think it was your fault?"

"Well," I leaned into his chest, "if I didn't make him feel like that about everything, maybe he wouldn't have gotten drunk, and maybe he wouldn't have hit those women."

Atticus sighed, "Those are all what-ifs. He made his own decisions. You did the right thing, and those women's lives are not on you. I wish it never came to this, but he did this to himself."

I nuzzle my head into his chest gently, "You really think so?"

Atticus ran his hand under my chin and tipped it up so my face met his, "I do, baby. I do."

****************

As I smoothed my hand down the bodice of my dress, I let out a tight sigh. Atticus had taken me to get my nails done, bought me a new dress, and took me out to dinner at a restaurant that wasn't his own for once.

So of course, he must be proposing, right?

Wrong.

So here I sat in the passenger seat of Atticus' car on the way home from dinner. We didn't even get ice cream after.

And sue me, maybe my knees were pointed away, and maybe my arms were crossed.

But I have good reason to be mad.

"What are you pouting about over there?" Atticus asks, attempting to place a hand on my left knee. I adjusted it ever-so-slightly and his hand fell.

"Uh oh, I'm in trouble," he said gruffly.

"What do you have to be in trouble about?" I ask, looking out the window.

"I'm not sure, but I must have done something wrong," he replies, turning to look at me slightly.

"Watch where you're going!" I exclaim.

"Alright, jeez," Atticus said with a hint of a laugh. I'm not sure why he found my anger so amusing.