Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I want to do something non-fanfictionish, & its hard :( So, here we go, another chapteeerr (:
The teacup shakes in my hand, clinking against the plate I hold precariously underneath it. Grandmama stares at me, and then the cup, as though I might chink the pretty, flowery pattern away, but I don't care. I'm too nervous to care. Can you believe she hasn't said a word since I arrived. I'm beginning to fear she can no longer talk, after all these years I've been gone. She certainly looks a lot more withered than before. Her face is permanently etched into a fierce scowl, or maybe that's just me. I am just her tearaway Granddaughter who never debuted, never got married and became a useful wife to a high-class gentleman.
"You never made use of yourself in America, did you?" It is a question, but she didn't phrase it as one. My hope of not hearing her voice is crushed instantly. Not that I don't love the old woman, I just can hardly bear hearing her critical, crumbling voice every step I take. "Never even gave yourself up for your faith, did you?" Become a nun?
"No." I respond at last, I don't want her to think I'm contemplating that option.
"Women who don't marry should join the family of God." She carries on, as though trying to convince me. Before I left, she wouldn't even bother. If she wanted me to be a nun, that is what I would be. "But of course, those are women who will never get interest from gentlemen. Or common ruffians. Women who are troublesome cannot work for a spouse. Not always those who are not attractive. I suppose that would be you, a woman that would be a burden to a man." She pauses for a long breath, and I imagine her choking on it. I don't like being thought of as a worker for a husband. I don't like women thinking of themselves to be an asset for a man, nothing for themselves. "Or perhaps you do have someone? Why ever would you have left him behind? Or perhaps he is not a respectable gentleman. Some American hooligan?" She shakes her head in disappointment. "Gemma, you disgrace me."
I drop the plate from under the cup. There is a smash as it hits the hard floor, then silence as the clinking stops. The teacup still shakes, but out of anger, not nerves. My straight back slouches, as I am no longer wanting to make a good impression for her. There is no way she will bring me back to England, as I'm staying anyway. There is no way she can punish me, I'm my own woman. "Grandmama," I say, narrowing my eyes. She's hit a nerve. Gone too far. Her words have made me think of Kartik. For, I do have someone, only, he's just not alive. And he wasn't what she would call a respectable gentleman. Though, he was respectable. He was everything. "I don't believe that is any of your business." I put my cup down, and walk away, leaving behind the shattered cup. I hope it was her finest china. I hope I've ruined an expensive set. In fact I hope-
I stop walking, stop thinking, stop everything. I was going to hope... Maybe I don't like her after all. Though to be honest, I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be hateful. The last time I thought things like that about someone, I lost my mother. Though the thought has nothing to do with Grandmama, I instantly feel guilty. With a sigh, I walk back into the main room and sit down again.
"Clever girl. I do believe you might be learning something, after all those wasted days at Spence. Gentlemen want women who don't have tempers, women who back down easily." She smiles thinly. All my guilt evaporates, and is replaced by anger so thick I feel ill. No, I just feel ill, and angry. They aren't connected. I stand up, and rush away again, while Grandmama yells at me. "Respectable ladies excuse themselves, Gemma!" I don't care. I'm leaning over the toilet, emptying myself of everything.
"Gemma?" It's Tom. Followed by Gramdmama. I hear the concern on their voices, and it makes me smile bitterly, but only for a second, as I'm sick again. Sure, they care now, but when I'm not being valuable to them, whether being a tearaway, or too ill to marry, I'll be tossed away.
"She's unwell!" Grandmama screeches. I honestly didn't think it was such a big thing, it's just influenza, or a bug. These things, these silly little illnesses can't be helped. I cough, loudly and spluttering. And then I'm fine. I stand up, turn around and face them. They don't seem to be relieved, not like I am. I suppose, I have just been sick in front of them, and they should be disgusted. Suddenly, I feel self conscious. I wipe my chin, and try to clean myself up. I go to flush away the sick, when I realize its colour. I haven't eaten anything red.
"Gemma, we need to take you to a doctor." Tom whispers, and I look down at my hand, where I'd wiped the moisture from my chin. I was about to clean it up, but now I'm mesmerized by it. It appears to be blood.
There we go (:
Thanks for reading, or reviewing, or... whatever. :D
I might be getting some technology mistakes like.. er... the toilet. I know that in the 1930's they were at the end of the street, or at the end of the garden, but, if it seems different, it's just cause they're rich xD
Just tell me what you think, k? Thankyoouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu (:
I'm Old GREGG! Ahahahaaa :P
Cya, xxx (:
