The Class Prince

Chapter 10: What About Me?

"DESMOND MELLOW, WHERE ARE YOU?!" Mom shouted, almost making me drop the phone. "Do you know what time it is? How can you be out so late on a school night? You were supposed to be home two hours ago! Do you know how worried I was?"

"I was at the bookstore," I answered nervously.

"For four hours?"

I gulped. "There were a lot of interesting books."

"Are you still at the bookstore?"

"Well," I looked around and eyed the shelf across from me, "there's a book in this room."

"DESMOND-"

"Something came up, but I swear it wasn't my fault."

"You swear? We do not swear in this household, young man."

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. "I promise," I corrected myself.

"Are you by yourself?"

"No, I'm with," I scrunched my nose and tried not to gag, "a friend."

"What happened?"

How was I supposed to tell her that Rick and his cronies jumped me, almost beat me to death, and then saved by Prince Charming the villain, without sounding crazy? I stalled time instead.

"So there was this bird," I began.

"You got into another fight, didn't you?" she cut me off. Her bitter tone made me frown.

"No, I-"

"Desmond Mellow, don't you dare lie to me."

There was no getting out of this, was there?

"Okay, fine. I got into a fight, but it wasn't my fault. I can explain."

"I told you to stop fighting, didn't I? You promised to be on your best behavior," she said, her anger turning into flat-out disappointment. I didn't know what struck harder, the disappointment in her voice or the fact that she wouldn't even hear me out.

"I didn't have a choice! I left the bookstore but when I crossed the road-"

"I don't want to hear another one of your chicken crossing the road jokes!" she snapped. I threw my hands in the air, but the gesture made my sore limbs ache.

"I'm not joking this time. Will you just hear me out? Please?" I begged her.

"Arthur never fought."

I stiffened. Once again, my emotions turned jagged, and my insides tightened. I was supposed to be used to this by now, so why did it hurt so much? Ever since I was a kid, the world and the people in it seemed keen on constantly reminding me I wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough for my parents; I wasn't good enough for Junjay High; I wasn't good enough for Ivory high; I wasn't even good enough for Ivan. I didn't think that existing would be so hard. I thought all I'd have to do was breathe, eat, shit, and live. But no, it was more like trying my hardest every day to survive in a world where I'd never be the best at anything, knowing that there would always be someone better than me.

Anger started to build inside of me, my hands starting to tighten as I gritted my teeth, but then I slowly unclenched, my eyes falling to my lap my vision started to blur.

It was always about Arthur, wasn't it?

"Arthur would have never stayed out this late. He would have answered my calls and messages. Why can't you be more like-"

With nausea that swirled unrestrained in my stomach, I made an attempt to speak in a steady voice, swallowing back the lump in my throat. "I'm not Arthur," I whispered.

"Well, you should be."

I felt a stab in the chest.

"Mom," I whispered in a broken voice, but she must not have heard me. She never did.

"How can you two be so different? We raised you under the same roof, so why-"

"Because I'm not your perfect little Arthur, and I never will be! I'll never be as great as him, okay? What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Is that what you want?" My lungs burned when I screamed at her, and tears streamed down my face. Everything hurt. Breathing, talking, existing, everything hurt. And I wish it didn't. "I'm sorry that I'm not good enough, okay? I'm sorry that I can't meet your expectations, that I'm not smart or talented. I'm sorry for being such a failure, for my flaws and imperfections, for being the disappointment of the family, I'm sorry for being me!"

The words grated my throat like sandpaper, and my bruised face fell into the palm of my bloody hand.

"I'm not Arthur because I can't be him. I just can't," I sobbed. "Why can't you love me for who I am? Why is it always about Arthur? Why does it always, always, have to be about him? What about Desmond? Your youngest son? What about me?"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Yes, Mom, yes, you did." And that was the worst part. "I'm not coming home tonight, so don't wait for me."

"Wai-"

I ended our call and turned my phone off, tossing it aside. I didn't care if it broke; it was already cracked anyway. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was anger, and when I opened them, tears stung my eyes. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the pain.