Phantom

The Quiet

He had given up on getting any work done about an hour ago, it was so much more difficult to complete multiple assignments in a row without the noises and chatter of school. He needed to get his head on straight soon, otherwise his online courses would catch up to him and he'd fall behind.

Even though he recognizes this, he can't stop scrolling through his friends' pages. They had gone to the opening of an art museum a couple of days ago. He had been raving about it for weeks before he had to move back. They had all made it, and had even gone out to eat afterwards. Today, they had gone to see the midnight premiere of some over the top horror movie. He scrolls through picture after picture, and the longer he stares at their faces, the more hollow he feels. It had only been two months, but the hole he had left in the group already seemed to be filled, as if he hadn't really been part of it in the first place.

It hurts, he realizes, to feel completely disconnected. He felt like he had finally found a family, but they seemed to have forgotten about him already. He has sent dozens of messages and emails, but it seems that his friends weren't too keen on responding.

He had expected this, teengers were infamous for completing the bare minimum, for exerting the least amount of effort. Why would they try and talk to him, when they had other people around. In his head, it makes sense. In his head, it is a reasonable and logical sequence of events. But as much as he tells himself that this is all normal, the hole in his chest won't go away.

It isn't fair. He hadn't wanted to come home anyway, but they still hadn't caught the man who orchestrated the whole thing, so his father said that this was safer.

A scoff escapes his lips and he slams the lid of his laptop down.

Cheshire shifts, and the teenager hold his breath, realizing that if the assassin was grumpy when woken, he might literally be dead meat. Fortunately, the man simply curls in on himself and murmurs "Het" before falling still again.

The Italian regards his bodyguard curiously, he hadn't moved much since he had fallen asleep, he hadn't sprawled out or even rolled over. Moreover, his face wasn't drawn up into any sort or grin or smile, but his brown was furrowed into a soft frown. He was so silent, that the teenager actually kept forgetting he was even there.

He lays back on his bed with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling dismally. Distantly, the grandfather clock, that had resided in the study for the last 6 generations begins to toll. It is barely audible, but the deep notes still reach him, reminding him of who he is, where he comes from, and the dirty money that keeps him there.

A loud generic ringtone rips through the veil of reflection and he curses, falling off the bed and stumbling out of his room. For a couple of seconds he is elated, until he sees the caller ID: Vanusa Bugatti

"Hello."

[HIIII! HOW ARE YOU?!] She yells over the sounds of a raucous crowd.

"I'm-"

[THAT'S GREAT! LISTEN: I'M GOING TO BE TAKING A LITTLE DETOUR TO MEET UP WITH YOUR DADDY IN SINGAPORE SO WE SHOULD BE BACK IN LIKE TWO WEEKS OR SO!]

"But-"

[I KNOW! WE'LL MISS YOU TOO, BUT MOMMY AND DADDY HAVE TO HAVE A LITTLE FUN TOO! ANYWAYS LOVE YA GOTTA GO!]

With that she hangs up. He stares at his phone in disgust for a moment before shaking his head and returning to his laptop, That pretty clearly sums up his relationship with his parents, they are always running off somewhere to "have a little fun". He is simply the product of faulty contraception, he knows that, and he hates them for it. Not that they notice.