Devil's Eye

Chapter 25

5' 3"

Ethan parked his car in the garage and had been sitting inside the car for about an hour already. He was holding onto the steering wheel and trying to hold the emotions that were trying to burst out. The emotions of that day were just way too overwhelming for Thomson; his body kept shaking because of them. His head was about to explode because of the thoughts swirling inside. He could feel something negative and then, almost immediately, something positive. This row of feelings and emotions was turning into something unbearable and unclear. He wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. And he wanted to remain silent, all at the same time. The present was replacing the past. The past was crossing out the future. And the future was putting pressure on the present. These way too stressful experiences were striking a chord in his soul. Every heartbeat sounded like a hammer, blacking out the sounds that were surrounding him. Besides, it was getting more and more difficult to breathe through the wet mask.

After he calmed down a bit, Ethan let himself step outside the car and enter the house; his legs stiffened. Michael Thomson was sitting in the kitchen, sipping his cardamom tea while looking through some work-related papers. He continued reading them even when he heard Ethan come home and asked matter-of-factly:

"You're late. Is everything okay?"

"Why bother asking me if Duncan has already told you everything, huh?" Thomson said irritably. Thomson said irritatedly. The presence of his bodyguard didn't go unnoticed for him. If Ethan was in a better mood, he wouldn't mind coming up to Duncan, as he did back near Morgan's house, and asking him a thing or two.

"Smith isn't into psychology to judge a person's condition just by glancing at them. You're a tough one, Ethan. It's impossible to tell what you are thinking about at the moment. If I, your father, have trouble guessing your mood, what do you expect from the others?"

Fair thought.

Ethan wanted to go upstairs to his room and lock himself there for at least a week, but he made an effort and stayed. Instead of running away, the guy chose to sit down on a chair against his father and drum with his index finger nervously on the table, trying to drag his parent's attention. He didn't want to share his thoughts, neither with Michael nor with anyone else, but Ethan knew well that he just couldn't remain silent any longer.

"Morgan told me about his feelings," Thomson said under breath. He was staring at the counter top. He didn't want to witness the smile that was probably already beaming on his father's face.

"Which had already been something obvious for you," Michael nodded, still not paying full attention to his son. You could hear that damn smile in his voice.

"It had been, yes. However, I didn't think he would tell me. Not so fast, at least!" Ethan exclaimed, letting loose of his emotions for a second.

"Not all people want to hide their feelings, like you do. As far as I understood, your Morgan's quiet, open-hearted," Michael answered smoothly.

"He's not mine," Ethan reacted harshly.

"Yet," Michael added.

"I'm disgusted by this term."

"You are? Why?"

"He's not a toy to be my property," Ethan uttered.

"Oh my goodness, this teenage idealism again," Michael rolled his eyes, "Why does your generation take things at face value and think of words so much?" he asked a rhetorical question, finally taking his eyes off the documents and setting his tablet aside. "If I had had to become a toy to be a property of your mother, I would have given away everything to be hers entirely. And, FYI, I've never felt myself as someone's toy, since it has nothing to do with the toys. I loved and I was loved. That's the kind of property I'm talking about. Do you feel the difference?"