Frankly My Dear, All's Fair in Love and War

7: Sucks at the 'Game'

Tristan

My mother wasn't a very nice person.

There I say it. She's not nice. She's not motherly, she isn't even kind. To anyone, not just to me. She has lived a very hard life, and she has gone through great lengths to be where she was, so it's only natural for her to not develop any compassion.

Why would she? Compassion would only kill her. And ruthlessness was what got her here.

At the Arrington mansion, settled for life with the man who made a mistake for sleeping with her.

I stepped foot on the Arrington mansion when I was five. At that time, nobody knew that I was the illegitimate son of David Arrington, the leader of the family. I didn't know the full details since I was too young, but my mother managed to elevate her status so that we could get a proper room inside the mansion, and that I managed to get schooled in the same school with the legitimate son, Desmond.

Desmond Arrington, even when he was young, was also not a kind person.

Which was weird for me. Because he had everything. He had every toy any kid could ever want. He could eat anything, he could point at some things and his helper would swipe a magical card and he would get it. He wasn't a particularly pleasant kid to be around, but the parents of the kids on the playground practically forced them to be kind to him.

At that time, I didn't understand how powerful the Arrington family was.

I only knew that I no longer had to eat mac and cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I liked the variety.

I think my mother kept me safe. Kept us comfortable. She was, after all, very beautiful and very cunning. There was no way a smart man such as David Arrington didn't realize the whole spectrum of my mother's cunning, but he loved her anyway and he pampered her with luxurious stuff.

And when she died, he was so heartbroken that he separated from his own wife and started loving me more.

So of course I understand. I really understand why Desmond Arrington, with his overflowing wealth and unlimited supply of gadgets, would hate me.

Because I had taken from him the thing that he couldn't buy.

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Chapter Seven: Sucks at the Game

Here's the thing about giving out your number.

Do you actually want the person whom you've bestowed your private line to call you? But if, by logic, that you want them to talk to you, why don't you ask them for their numbers? Why give your number instead?

Cassie had been pondering about this simple-yet-confusing conundrum for days. The paper that Tristan had given her had been crumpled, uncrumpled, thrown away, and then taken back. It had been to most rooms in her house, and it had accompanied her most places she went.

Of course, during that time, she didn't get any text. Not from Tristan, not from Desmond, not even from Tyra or Lucas.

For the first time, she was in the position to make initial action. And she didn't know if she liked this position.

When she finally compiled enough courage to call the number, later at a particularly lonely Friday night, it was a girl's accented voice that answered her.

"Hello?"

Cassie felt stupid and indignant at the same time, which wasn't a good combination of feelings to marvel through. "Sorry, I guess I'd been given the wrong number."