𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧, young royals

Chapter 20: Wilhelm

Star Shopping,  Lil Peep

20: Wilhelm

It was a week after the fair.

One full week, and we weren't speaking.  Not entirely, at least.

I called in sick on monday, and then on tuesday and wednesday.

Somewhere in the night stretch between wednesday and thursday, I woke up to a text from Simon:

I'm sorry. Come to class tomorrow. I need you, it read.

I called in sick on thursday, too.

I avoided my mother's phone calls like the black plague. She sent me some texts, updating me on the August situation, which I read and never issued an answer to.

And then suddenly, it was friday, and I didn't go to class then, either.

On saturday, Mom summoned me at the palace for the weekend. "To discuss important matters," as the headmistress had put it.

So now there I was, back in that same room they'd put me in after the jubilee, my mother and father seated right across of me.

"Wilhelm," spoke my mother quietly, "we've heard from the school that you haven't been to class in a week, and the staff is worried about your performance."

"I was sick," I replied.

"Don't lie to us," said my father.

I said nothing in response.

Today was a sort of rainy day.

Instead of ocher-cast sun rays, a bleak, ashen light issued from the windows.  Outside, the trees were buried in a mizzle, and rainwater gathered on the windowsills.

A little gloomy, for a summer day.

My mother breathed in thoroughly.  "The end of term is around the corner, Wilhelm.  You aren't to be distracted and negligent with your work."

She reached out and grabbed my hand.  I cooly wrung it away.

She pretended not to notice.  "You chose this life for yourself, Wilhelm," she stated. "Now, if you can't handle it, I suggest you simply end things with Simon."

Yes, it'd been my choice to come out. I guess I'd thought I was ready to face what was coming. I guess I'd thought we could take it.

But would I take it back?  No; not if it meant hurting him any more.

I glanced up at her.  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I only want what's best for you," replied my mother plainly. "You're skipping classes, your grades are slipping... and we're worried about you, Wilhelm. None of this is good for you."

"Do not," I hissed breathily, "try to tell me what's good for me."

My mother stared back at me, eyebrows knitted together.

"Wilhelm—"

"You don't care about me," I cut in, eyes slitting. "You only care about what's said of me and what's thought of me. You only care about this family as a corporation that flaunts to your bidding."

"That is not true," she retaliated, stung. "You are my son, and it is my duty to guide you through your life, especially with your position. That doesn't mean I don't care for you."

Standing upright, her meticulous gaze followed me, and I held it.

There was a burdening silence, tense and unbroken.  In her eyes, inquiries seemed to come to life.  What a puzzle it is, motherhood, I thought.  Perhaps it was one she'd never quite put together.