Wrong Guy

27 | what you don't know, can't hurt you

SONG:
Unsteady - X Ambassadors

Episode Twenty-Seven:
WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW, CAN'T HURT YOU

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L A W R E N C E ' S P O V :

"Get up!"

"Huh?" I struggle to see past the bedpost in front of me as my eyes adjust to my bedroom, and all of its belongings. I squeeze my hands into fists and attempt to sit up afterwords.

I come face to face with my father.

"Sir, I know that – "

"Shut up!" My eyes dart to the petite woman standing at the doorway, not my mother, but Margo. Eyes wide, and glancing back and forth between me and my old man, she closes her mouth obediently.

"Hey, she didn't do anything,"

"Funny, she's been hiding you since the day you were kicked out Lawrence. You've been staying in our house without our permission, and she knew. Tell me she didn't do anything again, try me." He scolds, and I pull myself out of bed, my frame feet in front of my father's.

"I'm your kid. This shouldn't be something she has to decide to hide. She was forced into this predicament, you can't hold her accountable anymore than you can yourself. Which you can't – blame yourself, Dad. You don't know how to accept your failures." I snarl.

"I don't fail."

"Than what the hell am I? Something you're proud of? Cause last I recall the reason you kicked me out was because I was the biggest mistake you and Mom have made in the span of your 52 year life. And hell! That's a long ass time! You wouldn't consider you're breeding abilities a failure?" I laugh cynically, ignoring the disgusted look on my father's face.

"Get out of my house." He seethes. "And take the maid with you, she's a waste of money anyways,"

I stare at the man who gave life to me and can feel nothing, nothing but complete and utter disgust at my relation to him. Who he is as a person, is just, something that keeps me up at night.

"There's a thousand bucks lying on the kitchen island, you know where your car is." His dark eyes turn to look at me one last time, before he watches me walk down the hall with a teary eyed Margo.

When we reach the main floor of the house I drag Margo along with me to the kitchen. She trips over herself, nose running as she begins to cry, asking questions as to why she deserved this. She doesn't.

When we finally arrive at the cold and spacious kitchen I walk to the edge of the counter. Sitting on top of the polished quartz is a wad of cash, a thousand dollars worth. Just like my father said. He must have figured out that I was still staying here last night, and prepared a starting fund for me.

I turn to look at the dark haired woman sniffling beside me. Dressed in a maid's uniform with little in the way of accessories of jewelry like the Briggs women have always been clad in.

The only thing she wore, was her engagement ring.

Her and James have yet to marry, both seeking a traditional marriage that they just can't afford. It's hard to imagine how they will ever afford it now that they're second source of income has been eliminated.

"You can have it."

"What?" She asks, wiping away the moisture from beneath her eyes.

"The money, it's yours," Margo looks up to me, her tanned skin was washed out due to the artificial white lights that my mother thought would go well with the modern feel of the space, but nonetheless, her eyes sparkled with something that looked like hope.