Reliant ~ [John Soap MacTavish]

XXI. No Celebrating

"Callum, callum, wait up!" Carter wheezes, nearly tripping over his own feet as he gets up. "We still have to sing you a song!"

Callum grunts, cracking his back before turning away once more. He can't seem to hide his grin too well, though there's a hidden uncertainty behind his icy blue eyes somewhere. "I'd rather you don't. Besides, my birthday is in two days. Not today."

"Why not?" I stand up, turning around to grab a small cupcake we managed to steal from the cafeteria. "Come on now, Cal. You know they only have these on Wednesdays," I lift up the cupcake a little higher.

It looks pathetic. Flavorless. Like everything else here does.

Callum hesitates for a moment, but the puppy eyes that Carter and I throw his way prove too much to resist. With a reluctant sigh, he nods in agreement.

We form a tight circle, huddled around the sad, flavorless cupcake adorned with a tiny candle. Carter, though his voice wavers, starts to lead us in singing the birthday song, and I chime in to bolster the pitiful serenade. Callum, although still with that shadow of uncertainty, can't help but crack a small, genuine smile at our off-key rendition.

But our meager celebration is abruptly shattered by the door swinging open, revealing my father standing there, his brows furrowed with anger and disappointment.

"What the hell are you all doing?" His voice is sharp as he demands, "You should be training or learning, not wasting time like this."

A collective tension blankets our group. We cast uneasy glances at each other, our once-vibrant camaraderie now replaced by a palpable air of fear and anxiety. We stand in silence, waiting for what comes next, unsure of how to justify our small act of rebellion.

As the seconds pass in the tense silence that follows, our small, brave act of celebrating Callum's upcoming birthday feels like a distant memory. My father's presence looms heavily in the room, his stern gaze boring into each of us, one by one.

His sharp voice breaks the silence again, this time addressing me specifically, "I raised you to know better, Alexandra. Up. Now."

My earlier smile vanishes and I offer a weak nod. "Yes, Father."

My mind races, contemplating the repercussions of our actions. The anticipation of Callum's birthday quickly dissolves into a pervasive feeling of dread.

It was my fault. I should have known better. We do not celebrate. Ever.

But it's Carter who decides to test the waters, asking hesitantly, "Sir Heart, surely we can allow Callum a bit of a celebration for his eighteenth birthday?"

My father's expression only darkens at Carter's plea, and his response is colder than ever, "No."

The weight of his words seems to press us all down further. I glance at Callum, whose face has paled as he struggles to keep his composure.

He's scared.

Scared of what will happen when he does reach the age of eighteen.

The water turning a colder temperature pulls me out of my own brain immediately, and I realize the fact that I had been staring at the shower wall, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been in here for that long?

Callum.. Keegan..

I remember that day clearly now, and I remember even more vividly what happened after.

One day after my father had barged in, I wanted to stay up till midnight to wait for his actual birthday, but he had refused. He did not want any of us around. At first, I thought it was because he didn't want to celebrate it. He had never been a fan of birthdays, and it made sense back then.