Private Fears in a Public Place

Chapter 8

Voice

A gentle burp escaped me, a consequence of having emptied the remaining bottles, and I playfully nudged the shoulder of the person beside me. "They all passed out," I chuckled, my words accompanied by the haze of alcohol. The response from Mr. Théoden came, "You're also close to passing out. Where's Torvas?"

I scanned the area to locate Torvas, only to realize his absence. A distant sound of retching reached my ears, and I nonchalantly pointed in the direction. "Probably there, vomiting the liquids off," I quipped, my smile feeling somewhat awkward as I stood there, halfway in to the embrace of intoxication.

As he hurried off to check on Torvas, Marc came to engage me in conversation. "You know, you're too lucky to have a life like this," he remarked, his arm finding a temporary perch on my shoulder.

I shrugged, genuinely curious. "How come?"

A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he raised an eyebrow, placing his arm more firmly on my shoulder. "You, being able to do whatever you wanted to. Being all alone in here, capable of everything. Despite all these things, you still managed to ace the major subjects." He sighed, after revealing the difficulty of his own circumstances. "Unlike me, who has someone with me inside the house... Well, I may not have my father anymore, at least I have my mother with me, right?"

His words carried the weight of unspoken struggles. "But why can't she at least teach me such things?" he continued, frustration etching his voice. "The time our adviser announced the ones who had marked A+ in their science, I was hoping for my name and yours. Because we're seatmates. And I know in myself that I'm learning from you, that you're the one who can clearly explain every curiosity of mine."

His candidness exposed the void in his education and the yearning for guidance. "And if I don't understand your explanation and ask you to repeat it, you'll do what I asked you to, unlike my mother who'll hate me until I'm all beaten up, which I don't understand, because I'm now all grown up, you know? Yet she's still having the guts to beat me just like that."

The vulnerability in his words resonated, and I found myself absently playing with his hair, offering a comforting presence. "Maybe because of the thought of hers that I'm no one in the house but a lost cat. I was happy that she announced your name first. Who wouldn't? I'm so proud of you, since then. But a piece of envy came across my senses, because I wasn't there, and only three are, and doesn't include me, but happy still, because your name is there."

I acknowledged the impact of his inebriated confessions, gently probing, "Do you miss him?" My fingers continued their gentle dance through his hair, understanding the complex emotions surrounding his father's absence. The bond between our families might not be close, but in that moment, it felt essential to be present for him.

"I do," he chuckled, the laughter carrying traces of nostalgia and longing. "I sometimes remember the time when he used to shoot the farmers using the gun in his pocket when he didn't like their actions." A sigh escaped him. "I miss him. The way he called my name, the things we used to do at the farm. Everything." The weight of his words lingered in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken ache that dwelled within.

"Why are you telling me this?" I questioned. Never in our lives, had he opened this kind of topic with me.

"It's not because I'm drunk. I'm just full. And besides, we're friends now, aren't we?"

"We are," since then...

"Amaia?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes?"

"Can... can I stay here?" he whispered.

"You can," I replied, barely a whisper. "But let me at least tell to your mother that I'll be having you."