Heartbroken

Chapter 3: Allegra

"Who was that boy?" Mercy asked, swinging our entwined hands between us as we made our way back home. She told me that she didn't want to speak of her day. She wasn't sick, and that's all I know, but I can guess at some reasons why she threw up.

"His name is Milo Chans," I informed her.

"That famous kid that Ingot likes?"

"Yeah," I faltered, surprised to see her connect the dots so fast.

"But I don't think Ingot should marry him," Mercy continued.

"Why not?" I chose to ignore the fact that Mercy jumped right to marriage.

"Because you would be a better match," she looked up at me with a serious expression. My heart skipped a beat.

"And why would that be?" I said, trying to keep her playful attitude. She shrugged.

"I just want to be famous." she confessed innocently. I pretended to get mad and started to tickle her. She squealed and ran away, dropping her backpack in an attempt to fly instead of fight. We laughed as I chased her around a large-trunked tree, and I pulled her down by the waist when she started to climb. We fell to the ground together, giggling and rosy cheeked. I smiled and kissed Mercy's forehead.

We got to our house, and I pulled Mercy behind me, listening for the slightest sound. I cracked open the door, slowly placing one foot on the threshold. My uncle lounged in his ratty recliner, his eyes wide and awake. I narrowed mine. My uncle is never sober. And he definitely doesn't wear suits on a regular basis. Mercy stuck her head around my side, not knowing that anything was wrong. She never does.

My uncle grunted, glaring at us as we walked fully into the room.

"You have an appointment with your therapist today." He nodded at Mercy, a sneer curling his lip. She glared at him from behind my hip, holding onto my legs. I folded my arms.

"New therapist?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

His hand fished around the couch for his beer bottle, not realizing that it's empty, and tried to chug the contents. He growled, pushing himself up and shoving past me.

"I don't need a reason for anything," he grumbled. I smirked as he searched the kitchen cabinets for more alcohol, but I knew that there's nothing there. I already dumped all of it down the drain. He growled again, an irritated sound from the very back of his scratchy throat.

"The address is on the cabinet, and you better be there on time."

It's my turn to scowl, and I stomped to the cabinet by the front door, taking care to avoid my uncle. I grabbed the sticky note and slammed the door, pulling Mercy along behind me.

"Where are we going?" Mercy asked. I glanced down at the note, not recognizing the address.

"I don't know," I narrowed my eyes as I started the car. Mercy babbled on throughout the trip, though I hadn't the mind to actually listen. I felt bad as I falsely nodded at random times, but I was unable to bring myself to care.

I found the house whose address was identical to the one on the paper, but it couldn't be. My jaw dropped as I took in the vast landscape of this large house, realizing where I am. Michael Chans, a famous actor and businessman, who I had forgotten (or rather, ignored) that he lived in the same city as I.

I pulled up in the curved driveway, and a butler wearing a tuxedo opened our doors for us. New to this experience, I got out of the car. Mercy copied me by lifting her chin, pushing her shoulders back and widening her stance, a grin blooming on her round face. She tried to pull on the butlers bow tie, but he's too tall. He leaned down just enough for Mercy to touch it, and smiled, his eyes crinkling.

My heart warmed, glad to see that someone actually treated my sister like a human being.

I examined the perfectly mowed lawn and the marble fountain spewing water in the middle of the front yard. The grass was so green that it looked fake, and the bushes lining the walkway to the house were perfectly trimmed. Everything about the house leaned toward perfection: the windows washed and shining, the doors oiled and ready, everything dusted and cleaned. The manor itself was huge, its rectangular shape taking up the space of what three regular houses would.

My eyes continued to widen as we were led through the manor, its vaulted ceilings towering above us, plants and pottery lining the halls, beautiful paintings and portraits hanging on the walls.

We came to a large wooden door after climbing three sets of stairs and walking down nine hallways, and almost breaking one turquoise vase. A golden plaque labeled the room behind it as 'Michael A. Chans, Businessman.' The butler knocked.

"Come in," a gruff but kind voice said, and we did as we were told. "Thank you, George," the man sitting at a mahogany desk held his chin up with his hands, his elbows resting on the wooden surface. His gaze went from me, to Mercy's face, and for just a moment his friendly attitude was replaced with something else. Confusion, fear. But then he smiled, combing his hair back as we came closer, reminding me of the way Milo wore it. Before I sat down I shook his hand. It was warm and firm. He gave Mercy a high five.

"Why are we here?" I asserted, bluntly, unable to stop myself.

"You're uncle kindly decided that your sister should have a psychiatrist." he answered smoothly, as if he had rehearsed the answer.

"But why?"

He shrugged. "Everyone has their reasons." I fell silent, and he cleared his throat before continuing, glancing again at Mercy before looking back to me. "Now, I'm sure that you would like to stay here for the first session, just to see how I do things, yes?"

I nodded, and he stood up and walked around his desk, sitting closer to Mercy. I slipped an arm around her shoulders, and Mr. Chans smiled sadly.

"You and your sister have nothing to fear from me, Allegra,"

I believed him.

"Would you like anything to drink before we start?"

"A juicebox!" Mercy yelled, bouncing on her chair.

"A Dr. Pepper would be nice," I decided, mumbling.

"George?" the butler pokes his head inside the room, nodded, and left. Moments later he returned, fancy glasses of beverage carried on a tray. I sipped my Dr. Pepper, zoning out as I stared out the window. Occasionally I tuned back into the conversation, but never for long.

An hour later I stood up, shaking hands again with Mr. Chans and expressing my thanks. I held Mercy's hand as we left the house, feeling Mr. Chans's gaze on our backs. I glanced back at Mr. Chans as we left, and I saw the same pained look on his face that I did before. I ignored it, and kept walking. I paused before getting into the car, looking back up at the large house.

Milo stood in a tall window on the second floor, watching me, fiddling with the neck of his maroon scarf. I smiled and waved, glad to see a familiar face. He didn't move, but the side of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.

I considered that a victory.