Where are you?
Weiss. I don't even know what to say. I mean, what the hell can I even say to her? She's only ten.
Mother is in the hospital. Please come home.
Winter. I already texted her back, and I'm in the airport lounge. I'm waiting for my flight, which will take off in an hour. The best thing about being a rich girl is that you can be as big of a flight risk as me and still be horribly indecisive. Still...mommy being in the hospital. That's almost too scary to believe.
Cate Lynn, if you do not come home within twenty four hours, I will cut off your credit cards. Your mother is unwell and has been hospitalised for her issues and will, regrettably, need support. Get home now.
That one was definitely from daddy, not that he would ever play at subterfuge with us. He's probably angry that I left in the first place. You would think he wouldn't give a shit, but the truth is he probably wants to have me at home so we be the perfect family. Yeah, perfect. He probably wants to make sure that the family will be viewed perfectly by the press. I guess mommy being on the hospital will definitely attract the media even if I'm pretty sure what he did to her is what caused her to do whatever it was that landed her in the hospital.
"First class boarding call for flight number three-six-one-five express to the capital. To repeat: this is the first class boarding call for flight number three-six-one-five express to the capital."
My flight. That took long enough. The sooner I'm home, the sooner I can get my dad off my back and the sooner I can make sure my mom is okay. Irritably, I pull my computer bag over my shoulder and grab my rollerboard, well aware that I probably look pretentious as fuck. That probably has something to do with the bejewelled, dark swan feather pin sweeping my now-nearly white hair over my left shoulder but I don't care. I also don't care that my fur coat probably costs more than someone's shitty apartment. To be honest, they — and this whole fucking trip, short lived as it may be — are just to keep me distracted. If something worse happens to my mother before I get home, I'm going to have a fit. Even if I misunderstood what daddy did to her (although I think it was pretty obvious based on how broken she looked), mommy's the one whose been there for us the most, not him. All he ever really does is focus on the SDC and, sure, I like to think I'm pretty close with both my parents but I think my dad is slowly getting worse.
He did make that pretty clear to me a few months ago, you know. All the lectures he's ever given me about things I've done, he already knew the gory details. Hell, he probably already knew about this before my flight took off. All things considered, he has to. It's just another example of the kinds of mind games he and I have always played inconclusively. I guess it's no wonder everyone in my family is cunning. I bet we're all just too ambitious not to be.
"Hmmph," He mused with a frown. "Did it not occur to you to mention that before the bill came in?"
"You pay them anyways," I bit off, just before realizing it was a mistake.
I shudder a little at the memory. That was only a few months ago, too, now that I think about it. Shaking that uncomfortable reality aside, I rustle in my computer bag for a second to pull out my scroll, which contains my travel permit and ticket. I barely feel anything going through these boarding lines anymore. I guess that probably goes to show just how used I am to this (albeit ridiculous) lifestyle.
Rich parents? Check.
Rich girl gone too far syndrome? Check.
Rely on the old man's money even if it's a bitch sometimes? Probably a double check.
"Schnee? You're a Schnee?"
The gate attendant raises both her eyebrows, staring at my travel permit like my cat stares at birds, but then she waves me through. The only bothersome thing about her surprise is the fact everyone else waiting to board immediately starts muttering. I don't really give much of a damn if people are surprised to see a Schnee just wandering around but I hate it when people start their damn mutterings. Chances are it isn't flattering. I'm not saying we deserve to have a flattering media image because, given the majority of the shit the SDC has done since my grandfather's time, we really do deserve the dumb title "the new Rockefellers." I am saying, though, that I'd rather people just say it to me rather than pretend not to give a damn when we all know my grandfather or my father probably ran them or someone they know out of business because "small time" dust simply isn't a thing anymore. I know it had been decreasing long before even my grandfather struck rich but I also know (read: because of secondary school and some less-than-tasteful conversations with people at university with me) most people blame the SDC for the destruction of small businesses in what had once been Atlas' biggest small business market.
"Damn it…" I mutter to myself, shoving my rollerboard into the overhead compartment and dropping my computer bag in my lap. If ever there were a time for me to not be in the mood for bullshit involving my family in any way, it would be now.
"Miss?"
I glance up upon hearing the first class attendant approach me. I feign a smile, albeit not very well (per usual it seems) and wait impatiently. I hate having to talk when I'm in these moods. It might as well be torture.
"Yes?" I say softly, trying to mask my annoyance with my family.
"We give two glasses of wine to all first class passengers. What kind do you want?"
"Cabernet Sauvignon."
I don't really have to fake a smile when those words leave my lips. I love Cabernet. I sigh and lean back as she goes to get my first glass. If I had to take a tentative guess, this is probably going to be the high point of my week. Between my father getting worse and my mother being hospitalised, I'm pretty sure we're all going to hell. Oh! And we still don't know who broke into the manor, let alone how. I finally get the glass in my hands and, after just a few sips, I feel a little warmer.
God knows I'm going to need this and much more than strength when I land back home.