Mocked: A Marcel Fanfic

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three



What's the worst that can happen? I repeatedly ask myself the question as I drive home. I have to really rush through the streets and even then, I'm about two minutes overtime as I park I'm the driveway.

"Cute place," Veronica says as we get out. I know my house is nothing compared to her mansion, but it's decent.

I check my image in the mirror and let out a sigh. My eye isn't technically a black eye, but it's bruised pretty well. The ice must have helped lower the swelling. I shove my glasses up higher and fix my bowtie.

"You do all that before going in your own house?" Veronica observes my actions.

I grab my school things from the back and then lead Veronica towards my door. "Just, try to make your shorts a little longer. And either pull all your hair into a ponytail or leave it down," I rush through only some of the things about Veronica that'll annoy Mother.

She laughs and crosses her arms, shaking her head. "I'm happy with how I look, thank you."

"Suit yourself," I mutter to her. If she wanted to not take my advice then really that's her decision. I know what my Mother likes and Veronica looks like the epitome of the Not List.

It takes a lot of courage to open my door and lead Veronica inside. She walks in confidently, her eyes immediately scanning the walls of pictures. I don't feel as confident as her.

"Harry? Is that you?" Mother calls out from the kitchen. At least she sounds happy.

"Yeah, I'm home," I call back. I drop my school things into the living room and place a hand behind Veronica's back, leading her towards the kitchen. My heart is pounding and I know I'm shaking.

Please don't overreact, mother. Please, please don't make a scene. It'll be so completely embarrassing if Mother starts yelling.

In the kitchen, my mother is facing the stove, her back towards us. I'm scared to get her attention.

Veronica coughs, my eyes widening at her bravery.

If I could disappear, at any point in my life of my choosing, I would turn invisible right now.

Mother turns, her eyes widening at the sight of Veronica by my side. I drop my hand from behind her and put them in my pockets instead. Mother wipes her hands on the apron around her waist.

If Veronica isn't as nervous as I am, there's something wrong with her.

Mother steps towards us, her movement precise. Her eyes flick between Veronica and I. I can practically see her mind processing the image of me with a girl in her house and wondering how or why it happened. If she figured it out then she better enlighten me.

"So, dear, who's this?" Mother asks sweetly, her eyes only slightly narrowing in disgust as she examines Veronica. I told her she should have put her hair down.

"Hi, I'm Veronica," Veronica answers for herself. She sticks out her hand and Mother looks at it warily.

"Charmed," Mother mutters through her teeth, shaking Veronica's hand. It feels painful to just watch it happen. "Harry? May I speak to you privately?" She asks, her tone clipped.

"Yes, Mother." I try not to look scared, but my emotions betray me. I can't stop my hands from shaking.

"Will you excuse us, Veronica?" Mother's eyes narrow at saying her name. I'm so dead.

"You have a lovely home!" Veronica suddenly cuts in, smiling widely at Mother. "I really do like the plants outside and all the clay pots. Do you do pottery?"

Mother's face softens, shock registering across her features. I think Mother and I both gape at Veronica, equally surprised. She really knows how to work people to her advantage. Mother is practically putty in her hands now that she brought up pottery.

Mother gives her a small smile, something I definitely didn't think I'd see. "I used to do a lot of pottery. I stopped, but it's a hobby every now and then. Do you take part in it?" Mother is actually asking Veronica with true curiosity.

"No, but when I was younger, I would paint the flower pots. I always thought that in order for a plant to grow happily, it should have a beautiful colored pot to do it in," Veronica explains. Mother nods, impressed.

"That's a very lovely outlook towards life."

"Yes it is. May I use the restroom?"

"Absolutely. Make sure to wash up for dinner as it's almost done. I hope you don't eat only meat. We tend to be a healthy family," Mother seems a little nervous about displeasing Veronica.

What the hell is happening?

"Oh, I'm sure it will be delicious," Veronica says kindly and Mother actually returns her smile. I feel like passing out or dumping a cold bucket of water over my head. This can't be really happening.

Mother nods and turns back to her cooking. "Go wash up as well, Harry. Show our guest to the restroom," Mother directs me, her voice not as interested as it was when she talked to Veronica about pottery.

"Yes, Mother," I say and leave the room, taking Veronica with me.

I breathe out. The hardest part is over.

Veronica bumps my shoulder as I lead her down a hallway. "Your mother is quite nice," she teases.

"You're just lucky you grew up with pottery in your life. If you hadn't brought up something that she actually enjoys, well, I'm sure we'd be heading towards a different part of the house. Also known as, the front door." I'm still pretty shocked at how easily Mother reacted to having Veronica here.

"Actually, I don't know a single thing about pottery. I made it all up," she beams me a smile. "Impressed yet?"

"You made it up? Seriously? How do you just make up things on the spot like that?" I've never been good at outright lying to people, especially not to Mother. She's a hard person to fool.

Veronica shrugs. "Let's just say, I've got a couple tricks up my sleeve."

"I wouldn't doubt that," I chuckle as she bumps me again.

This is the Veronica I like. The playful, laughing one that treats me like a normal person. This Veronica is the one that draws me in class and sticks up for me in front of friends. This Veronica is kind.

But is it all just one of the lies she makes up? A mask she puts on?

I don't know. But if I had to trade this Veronica for the answer, I wouldn't do it. I'd rather live not knowing.