Detective Who?

Chapter 6

"You're the one to blame anyway," my mother said to my father, "considering you were the one that sent him out there."

"I didn't send him out," my father replied, "he was assigned. It had nothing to do with me."

Me, my mum and my dad were currently sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. Well, my mum wasn't sitting as she was pacing around the kitchen island, washing up and moving random utensils to different places.
I woke up to the smell of bacon, and since food makes everything better, I begrudgingly got out of my bed to change into clean clothes.
When I got downstairs, I was greeted by my mother's horrified face when she saw my own.

To be honest: I looked like shit.
My broken nose had swollen into an inflamed mess, and I had developed an expected black eye that made blinking difficult as well as a swollen cheek. Bruises covered half of my left side, and I discovered a decent sized cut above my left eyebrow. Additionally, not enough sleep resulted in dark circles underneath my eyes - not like you could see one of them beneath my bruised black eye anyway. My hair was an unruly knot of waves, clotted with blood at the back and base.

Dad didn't really know how to react to my state. He sort of went on autopilot to get the first aid kit to clean and stitch me up. He was certainly surprised, I'll say that. My mother, however, was very vocal about her thoughts on my appearance. She fussed over me like I was five years old and then proceeded to cook double the amount of food necessary to help me feel better.
And she was now rage cleaning. This happens when she gets stressed or angry as routine and satisfaction help her organise her thoughts.

"You could have stopped him from being assigned," Mum retorted.

"No, I couldn't," Dad said back, obviously annoyed. "Damians an Agent, so if he's put on a job, I can't challenge the disicion unless there's a legitimate reason."

"Surely sending him into a lions den, expecting him to turn into some one-man-wrecking-crew is legitimate enough." Mum yelled back when turning around to face him. She then put her hands on her hips and stared him down with her unnaturally blue eyes, challenging my dad to find a way of excusing what happened to me.

Expectedly, he didn't have a reason, and instead provided: "It wasnt a lions den. There was only one person worth watching, and he was tasked with observing from a distance." Dad then turned his gaze directly on me."He sure messed that up, didn't he?"

I just pretended I wasn't there and buried my head in my plate, scoffing up large spoonfuls of scrambled egg. The large surving of bacon, sausage, egg (both scrambled and fryed), and toast overwhelmed my small plate. At least I felt more energised than when I got home.

"I'm fine, Mum," I say to her as she turns slightly towards me. "I'll heal in no time."

"It's the fact that you have to heal at all," she states, flicking her near-black hair over her shoulder to contine cleaning.

My mum has always been like this; worrying bout my constant well-being. Multiple times, she blew off my siblings' injuries, claiming 'you'll live', but when I get hurt it'd all 'is my baby ok?', 'ill fix you up', and 'you go rest'. I mean, I'm not complaining, as the princess treatment helped me live a very comfy life. I often feigned illness when I was younger to get out of going places, but unfortunately, my dad saw straight through the facade.
It's actually nice to have someone wanting to make sure you're OK, but it can become suffocating. One time, when I was seventeen, I got a splinter from an old chair, and Mum was petrified when she saw my just rip the thing out.

You see, even though I have four siblings, three being younger than me, my mother only faced complications when I was born. I required constant care as a baby to ensure I was healthy, so Mum had to worry about any incident in case it became chronic. Luckily, they never faced their worst fears as their never-ending observation kept me safe.

Now, I am glad to say I was her only problem baby. Not their only problem child, however, but at least she didn't suffer any more complications during her later births.

Mum's doating on me knew no ends as she was now cooking lunch she was sending with me off to work with. Seeing as I was my favourite - barbeque pork with a side of rice - I shut my mouth about how I felt about being treated like a child.

"Hey," Dad said as he glided up beside my mother, "I'll question the boss about it when I get to work, ok?"

"As soon as you go in?" Mum questioned.

"I promise that it will be the first thing I do." Dad replied when moving to stand behind my mother. He wrapped his arms around her middle and lent his head on her shoulder, "I will find out who assigned Damian last night and yell at them."

"Good." was my mother's reply.

They continued to stand hugging by the stove as my mum cooked for several minutes before dad broke away to get something out of the fridge and I was still eating at the kitchen island.

"Here," Dad said, handing me a bag of ice, gesturing to my cheek, "it'll help with the swelling."

Eventually, lunch was cooked, and Mum put it in a glass container with a lid before catefully putting it in my bag.

"Here," she said, putting my work bag on my shoulder, "and no physical activity for you today. You need to rest to heal better."

"Ok, Mum," I said to her.

She then kissed me on the forehead before turning to kiss my dad. "Have a good day at work."

"We will," Dad replied before leaning in to seal another kiss.

We made our way down the entrance steps and onto the pathway. Because we lived so close to the Agency building, we had no need to go through the fuss of getting a horse and carriage ready.

It was about a seven - to eight minute walk when we left the estate gates, and when we did, my dad looked back to the house to see if my mother was still standing at the door. After seeing that she wasn't, he promptly slapped me round the head.

"You idiot."

Authors note - Hi guys, be sure to comment and vote as it really helps my story progress.