Free Fall (A Furry Story)

VIII

I found it odd that Father wanted to host another formal... on today, of all days.

After Henry left, I had a few hours to sit and think to myself, and that was one of the few thoughts that merged together. Before Henry left, it was all just so simple and easy. Now, all I can think about is what to wear, or how my hair should be fixed this time, on top of what things my father might do this evening to embarrass the family name.

The rain has been relentless, it's been almost a whole day that it's rained. Nonstop drizzling...

I lay in bed, thinking, letting all those swirling thoughts circle down into the toilet drain while I stare up at the little painted angels and demons on the ceiling of my bedroom. They're just as stoic and static as before, but for some reason they're comforting... in the sense that there might be a little familiarity in every day of my life.

"What should I do, then?" I ask the black and white demons and angels. They look upon me with some disgust and curiosity. "About Henry and Father?"

The thought has been on my mind for some time now. Isn't it tradition that a father and partner meet at some point in time? I think back to the books I've read; sometimes these meetings don't go so well, and it hurts more than heals. In the perfect world I've made in my mind, Henry and Father would get along swimmingly, and we'd just all be happy.

But I don't know if everyone is going to be happy.

I remember back to when I first met Henry, back at the punch bowl, chanting quietly with small talk. We sort of hit it off really quickly in the few short minutes that we had together, only for that strange connection to have broken off by divine intervention.

My father didn't like the fact that Henry was present at the formal. He called Henry a scoundrel, a scoundrel... Henry has only been here for so long, what could he have done to anger my father so? I contemplate the reasons, wracking my brain for something to tip me off.

The answer? There isn't one.

Maybe it's the fact that my father utterly despises the idea of any sign of joy in my life. Maybe he just wants to see me suffer by offending Henry and destroying my inking of pride. There's also the fact that Millie plays a card in all of this... Father has never forgiven me for what happened.

Whatever the reason, there's only one thing that I can be certain of; Henry and Father cannot cross paths tonight, lest I want to be hurt even more.

Father is going to be watching tonight; there's a prickling sensation at the back of my neck when I think of him scanning for the only person that I've loved. It's a hint of fear, mixed with a nervous guilt that builds at the back of my throat. The joy and excitement is smothered by a thick smog of repressed apprehension, a feeling I have all too often.

I take in a deep breath, and turn my eyes away from the demons and angels of the ceiling. They've given me no consolation, despite their otherworldly sense of serenity, and I'm only left with the rain and my cold, shaking, fearful form.

•••

When it's time for the formal to being, I don't waste my time making my way down to the main ballroom. Dressed in a simple black tux with a white dress shirt, polished shoes and pressed dress pants, I feel... I feel like I might look the part of rich tonight. I've always looked rather nice in appearance, though tonight my usually subpar hair is styled to perfection and I allow that precious smile to expand into something better as I make my way downstairs.

The main ballroom is empty, of course, except for the few servants wandering back and forth, adding the finishing touches to the party. Father must have decided to go all out this time; gold is the name of the game tonight. Gold accented platter, with white tablecloths and simple taste all around, but it all compliments itself in a way I wish I could replicate... something must be important happening if the room is decorated so lavishly.