Raising a Psychopath

ELEVENTH

Panic and disbelief surged through me, a tumultuous storm of emotions that rendered me speechless.
Why now?
Why here?
The very sight of this man, a walking embodiment of past grievances and pain, standing at my doorstep was enough to ignite a fury deep within me. His presence was an unwelcome shadow, a ghost from a chapter of life we had all tried to close.

As I made a move to slam the door shut, to physically bar him from our lives once more, his hand emerged from the depths of his trench coat, firmly stopping the door in its tracks.
The audacity of the gesture was like a slap in the face.

"I'll call the cops -" The threat spilled from my lips, a desperate attempt to regain some sort of control over the situation.

"I just want to talk." His voice, unwavering and insistent, cut through the tension. It was clear he wasn't going to be easily dissuaded.

Behind me, Roman was silent. The sight of his father had rendered him voiceless, trapped in a web of emotions too complex to untangle. The air was thick with unsaid words and unresolved histories, each breath a reminder of the chasm that lay between father and son.

Casting a brief, empathetic glance at Roman, I steeled myself before turning my attention to Avery.
"You have ten minutes," I declared, my voice firm. My disdain for him was clear, every word he might utter already dismissed in my mind. Yet, I recognized that denying him outright would only prolong this unwanted encounter. The Élaire men were nothing if not persistent.

I ushered Avery into the kitchen, deliberately avoiding the living room. The distance between him and Roman needed to be maintained, for Roman's sake. As we moved, Roman vanished upstairs, his departure so quiet that Avery didn't immediately realize his son's absence.

"I don't get to see my son?" Avery finally questioned, settling onto the same barstool Roman had occupied earlier that day.

"You revoked that right a few years ago," I countered without hesitation, addressing the elephant in the room head-on.

Avery's reaction was to look down and chuckle, a sound that grated on my nerves.
The audacity to find humour in such a situation was beyond me.

"We all make our mistakes," he nonchalantly remarked, his arms folding on the table in a display of casual indifference.

The very thought of him leaving any trace of his presence behind was repulsive. I knew I would be cleansing every surface he touched, an attempt to scrub away the remnants of his visit, to erase the memory of his intrusion as soon as he departed.

Facing Avery from across the table, I held my ground. "There's a difference in how extreme mistakes are," I stated, my stance unyielding against the man who seemed to shrink away from the weight of the conversation.

Avery's mood shifted visibly, a clear sign he had no interest in delving into the past. Yet, he couldn't resist a barbed remark. "You know, Roman was a mistake, I'm sure Susanne told you that," he said, his words laced with disdain. "Never planned him."
"Is that supposed to make everything you did okay?" My response was sharp, a reflection of the anger simmering within me.
"Not for him, no," Avery replied, his fingers idly tapping on the table's surface, a gesture of indifference that infuriated me further. "But that's not why I'm here."
With a heavy heart, I took a seat opposite him, my disgust at his mere presence almost overwhelming. "How did you know where we are?" I demanded, seeking clarity amidst the revulsion.

Avery's sigh was laden with impatience, his eyes rolling as if the question was an unnecessary distraction. The air around him was thick with the scent of cigars and lager, a testament to his lifestyle. It was evident he had come with a specific purpose in mind, and any deviation from that agenda was an irritation he barely tolerated.