Wren

Sophie Part 1

"But dad, please! It's finally the weekend, and I've been wanting to for so long--" Sophie stood behind Wren in the kitchen, pleading with him.

"SoSo, I'm sorry, but it's a no. Badgering me won't change my answer." 

"But dad, please--" 

Wren turned to face his daughter. She was only a few inches shorter than him, but she stood with such a commanding stance that he felt belittled whenever she hovered around him like this, continuously begging for this or that until she got her way. She could get ugly sometimes, and it stressed him out.

"Sophie, no." he interrupted. He held out the plate with the sandwich he'd made for her. "Stop pestering me. I've put my foot down, and no amount of begging will change my mind!"

Sophie glared at him, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jeans as she turned on her heel to leave. "Worst dad ever," she muttered, but dipped out of the kitchen before he could scold her.

Wren slumped against the counter, fighting tears as he stared at the abandoned sandwich he'd made with love. Did she really hate him that much? Just because he wouldn't let her train with a bunch of mafia bodyguards? He didn't care that she wanted to work in the family business, or how much she admired Dace. . . he was determined to keep her away from those dangers. 

At seventeen years old, Sophie was in the midst of her rebellious teen phase. She'd long ago shed her little girl wonder and had become quite a pain. Wren did the best he could, but he wasn't the best at being firm, and now that Matteo had taken Vincenzo's place as Boss, he was always busy and couldn't help much. Wren just wanted to keep Sophie safe, away from her obsession with becoming a fighter. 

Wren took the sandwich and walked to his room, deciding he'd eat it himself. With some difficulty he climbed the three flights of stairs from the kitchen to his quarters; he'd been fairly weak in constitution ever since the kidnapping incident, and didn't leave the house too much. He preferred to stay right here, where he knew Matteo was usually around somewhere and he felt safe in the guarded estate. 

He sat dejectedly on the big bed he shared with Matteo, setting the plate on the nightstand and laying down. He ran his hands over the blankets, nuzzling his face down into them to catch Matteo's scent. He missed him. . .

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As they sat down to dinner that night, Wren couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed with everyone. Sophie was clearly still angry and wouldn't speak to him even as she sat right next to him, Matteo was distracted on his phone by updates from his men out on a job, and Vincenzo and Vivian were in their own world oblivious as they flirted and ate across from him. 

"Matteo, will you be free after dinner?" Wren asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sorry, puppy, I have some things to finish up in the office before I can quit. Why?"

Wren shook his head. "Nothing." He glanced at Vincenzo, who was teasing Vivian with a bite of food on a fork he waved around. Wren rolled his eyes, then cursed himself. Why was he so aggravated all of a sudden? He shouldn't be mad at people who didn't do anything wrong. . .

But as the tense dinner progressed, Wren's growing sense of anxiety came to a head the more he tried to make failed conversation with his preoccupied husband and his daughter glared at him. He stood suddenly and snatched up his plate, accidentally knocking over his glass of water. Everyone looked at him like he'd grown three heads as they scrambled to sop it up, but Wren stood frozen as he stared at the mess. 

"Wren," Matteo's voice seemed distant, "are you okay?"

Wren took a step back, tripping a little over his chair, but continued to ack his way out of the room, his hands braced on the wall he slid along for support. "I-- excuse me," he managed to choke out as he made it out of the doorway.

Wren stumbled down the hall until he found one of the bathrooms, flinging himself through the door and locking it with shaky hands. He fell to his knees and crawled to the toilet, barely making it before he started vomiting.

When his stomach was completely empty and his body was just dry heaving, he sat back and flushed the toilet, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He crawled away and sat against the wall, shaky and nauseous. Tears streamed down his face and he broke down, stuffing his fists in his mouth to muffle his sobs. 

Why was his life falling apart? Why did Sophie hate him for trying to keep her safe? He felt like a horrible parent; like he'd done something wrong and that was why she was rebelling. He felt like he wasn't being a good enough husband either. . . Matteo had seemed so uninterested in him lately, distracted and distant. He knew deep down that he was just busy, but the self-doubt he felt only intensified his delusions.

It was a long time before Wren could pull himself together. He stood on shaky legs and stumbled over to the sink, catching himself on the ledge. He flipped on the cold water and cupped his hands beneath the stream, leaning down and splashing it over his face a few times before he shook the water off and straightened, blindly grabbing the towel from the ring on the wall and drying his face. He let out a deep breath as he stared at himself in the mirror, gingerly poking and prodding his red nose and puffy cheeks. How was he going to hide this? Matteo was stressed enough as it was.

He turned and faced the door, steeling himself in case he came across anyone. He slipped quietly down the long halls, almost sneaking back to his room. He didn't want to talk to anyone. 

He finally made it and flopped down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He felt exhausted after his breakdown, and his eyes burned from crying so much. He closed them, letting the dark soothe the ache. He didn't even notice that he was falling asleep.

             Part Two Coming Soon