Mess of a life

14- Runaway mom

Despite the nerves that made my hands shake, I was happy to sit down in front of the huge, mahogany desk. The leather of the chair was cold against my thighs, and I stuck my trembling fingers beneath them.

I was happy when I finally swallowed the last bite of food on my plate, not because of what it meant – it was time to finally talk to Nicolas, who'd left the room telling me to join him when I was done -- but because I finally could leave the kitchen. This house seemed empty most of the time, but right now this room seemed to be the focal point of all the brothers. Jesper was the first to enter shortly after I began eating, going straight to the fridge and leaving shortly, but looking at me from the corner of his eye. Not that I wasn't used to his ignoring me, but the other two, Dane and Elliott who entered together, acted the same. They were uneasy, casting me glances when they thought I wasn't looking, ushering their conversation. They seemed to surround me with a cushion of caution, like a voice raised too loud would shatter me. I guess the events of the night affected them too. It would've felt annoying if I didn't actually feel so fragile.

Focused on my eldest brother's instructions, I climbed the stairs before going to a corridor I hadn't explored yet, on the front part of the house, knocking on massive oak double doors. Here the corridor was larger than the one that led to my bedroom, brightly illuminated by the huge windows. The office was just as impressive, all in darker shades of wood and leather. It looked ancient, without being too much, a perfect combination of history and discreet elegance. Nicolas sat down behind his desk after he let me in, inviting me to the pair of leather chairs before the table. A steaming mug was sitting next to his shiny closed laptop.

Nicolas didn't seem in a hurry. He sat back against the back of the chair, his piercing eyes looking straight at me as I let my eyes wander around, in an attempt to not meet his gaze. I felt small here, like the little, intimidated, and lost girl I was on the inside.

"I haven't yet had the opportunity to express how sorry I am for your losses", he began.

I snapped my attention back to him. These words were pronounced to me so many times, yet when he pronounced them, they didn't seem as meaningless. Perhaps it was because of the way he looked straight at me. People tended to avoid my eyes when they expressed condolences.

"Aren't they your losses too?"

He placed his shin on his joined hands, his eyes not wavering. He was choosing his words carefully. I somehow really liked that about him, the way he really was considering what I was saying. Like I mattered, and it was nice to be reminded of that after being thrown around the child-support system where I didn't have a voice and people were just too busy to pay attention to every single kid.

"They are."

I already kind of knew that, since he was related to me, but hearing him say so still made my heart skip a beat. I was finally getting closer to the answers I was seeking since the accident.

He sighted, briefly rubbing his brow. He looked tired too, I noticed. He hid it well, looking nicely put together, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and discreet lines between his eyebrows, more visible than I remembered them to be when we first met, at the hospital in Paris.

"This isn't how I hoped to meet you." He admitted.

"Meet me?"

"Yes, meet you. Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"

I nodded, listening carefully to each word.

"The fact that you existed was brought to my knowledge only eight years after your birth. Or rather, we – as in Charles and I, were aware that our mother was pregnant when she ran away. Our father decided we were old enough to try and understand our mother's reasons."