Chapter 2 – Confrontations
"I'm so sorry I'm late," Rory cried as she ran up to Dean.
"You went to see HIM, didn't you?" Dean almost shouted. He and Jess had never gotten along, and he hated that his girlfriend would rather talk to the town miscreant than him.
"Yes, but only because my mom's busy right now, and..."
"So you can't talk to me about whatever it is that's bothering you? And don't try to talk your way out of this one. I want an answer, and I want it now!" Rory flinched at the anger in her boyfriend's eyes.
"Yes, something's bothering me, but I wanted to talk to someone impartial about it. It's not something that's that easy to talk to you about." Rory saw her boyfriend open his mouth and cut him off before he went off again. "You want to know what I don't want to tell you!? Fine, here it is: I ran into Tristan today in the halls. I didn't talk to him. I only saw him once. But he caused problems for me in the past, and I wanted to talk to someone about it. And I didn't want to come to you because you hate Tristan. Anytime I brought up his name, you completely lost it. And I didn't want to do that to you. Alright? You satisfied now!?"
Dean sighed, and wrapped his arms around the shaking girl in front of him. "No I'm not satisfied. I don't ever want you to be unhappy, especially because of that asshole. I just don't like the fact that I'm the last to know anything about you."
"You're not the last. You're never the last. I just sometimes need to work through things on my own. Without you getting so overprotective. Don't get me wrong, I love that you love me that much. It's just that sometimes, I can't think when you get like that. And I needed to think." Rory's face showed just how worried she was of how he felt, and decided he could let it go. For the time being at least.
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Tristan opened the door to the monstrosity his parents called a home. He just didn't see it. Sure, there were a lot of mansions like that in the area, but to call it a home seemed unfair. It was like a museum, with its fancy furniture, and all of the decorations no one was allowed to touch. The kitchen was the same, except that everything in it was modern. Any food that was bought was put away immediately, and the chef cleaned up as soon as possible. There were snacks, mainly for Tristan and his friends, not that they ever came over. When he was little, and he used to climb up on the counter for something to eat, he would get yelled at. Sometimes his mother was so loud that he wound up cowering in a corner for a while afterwards. Sometimes it was for leaving crumbs, or spilling his drink. Other times it was because she could see his footprint or hand print on the pristine black counter. It could be the tiniest of smudges, but if it was there, she'd find it.
Not that his mother was all bad. It was just that she was raised so that everything had to be just so. She was also not there for him. Not so much that she didn't care, just that she didn't know how to show it. She had been raised in a loveless home, so she never knew what to do or say to her son.
His father on the other hand, was just cold. Colder than the house, if that was even possible. He acknowledged his son, only because Tristan was an only child, and therefore the sole heir to the DuGrey fortune. He was the only one who could keep the DuGrey name alive. That meant he had to be perfect at all times. It also meant that whenever Tristan was with his father, he was in training.
Tristan wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. When he opened the refrigerator door, he spotted a case of beer. No one would notice if he took one, they never did. Just as his hand was about to wrap around the bottle, he heard footsteps approaching. Knowing they were his father's, he moved his hand towards the next drink he saw, which was luckily a Pepsi.
"Son," Phillip DuGrey nodded towards the child in question.
"Father," Tristan replied, desperately fighting the urge to call his father by his real name. It felt more appropriate for the kind of relationship that they had. But, since that wouldn't be proper, he avoided it, thus avoiding hours of lecturing and "training". Turning around, he carefully sidestepped his father and went to the entrance hall to grab his backpack.
"Tristan, there you are." Millicent DuGrey announced her presence very quietly, but very unexpectedly, making Tristan jump. It was her usual way, but he never got used to it. "How was school?"
"Fine, Mom. Thanks." Tristan started up the stairs to his room. He starting thinking about he last time his father decided to "train" him. He didn't have the best manners at one of the many dinner parties he was required to attend, so he was forced to sit in the dining room for hours on end, learning what the proper thing to do was. He threw his books into a corner of the room, planning to get to them later. He plopped down on his bed, relaxing in the only warm room in the house. He let his mind start to wander, willing himself to mentally escape his house. Visions of Rory filled his mind as he started to drift off, and he smiled to himself as he imagined Rory next to him, allowing him to escape.
Author's Note – I'm sorry it took so long, but my computer wasn't working!
"I'm so sorry I'm late," Rory cried as she ran up to Dean.
"You went to see HIM, didn't you?" Dean almost shouted. He and Jess had never gotten along, and he hated that his girlfriend would rather talk to the town miscreant than him.
"Yes, but only because my mom's busy right now, and..."
"So you can't talk to me about whatever it is that's bothering you? And don't try to talk your way out of this one. I want an answer, and I want it now!" Rory flinched at the anger in her boyfriend's eyes.
"Yes, something's bothering me, but I wanted to talk to someone impartial about it. It's not something that's that easy to talk to you about." Rory saw her boyfriend open his mouth and cut him off before he went off again. "You want to know what I don't want to tell you!? Fine, here it is: I ran into Tristan today in the halls. I didn't talk to him. I only saw him once. But he caused problems for me in the past, and I wanted to talk to someone about it. And I didn't want to come to you because you hate Tristan. Anytime I brought up his name, you completely lost it. And I didn't want to do that to you. Alright? You satisfied now!?"
Dean sighed, and wrapped his arms around the shaking girl in front of him. "No I'm not satisfied. I don't ever want you to be unhappy, especially because of that asshole. I just don't like the fact that I'm the last to know anything about you."
"You're not the last. You're never the last. I just sometimes need to work through things on my own. Without you getting so overprotective. Don't get me wrong, I love that you love me that much. It's just that sometimes, I can't think when you get like that. And I needed to think." Rory's face showed just how worried she was of how he felt, and decided he could let it go. For the time being at least.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tristan opened the door to the monstrosity his parents called a home. He just didn't see it. Sure, there were a lot of mansions like that in the area, but to call it a home seemed unfair. It was like a museum, with its fancy furniture, and all of the decorations no one was allowed to touch. The kitchen was the same, except that everything in it was modern. Any food that was bought was put away immediately, and the chef cleaned up as soon as possible. There were snacks, mainly for Tristan and his friends, not that they ever came over. When he was little, and he used to climb up on the counter for something to eat, he would get yelled at. Sometimes his mother was so loud that he wound up cowering in a corner for a while afterwards. Sometimes it was for leaving crumbs, or spilling his drink. Other times it was because she could see his footprint or hand print on the pristine black counter. It could be the tiniest of smudges, but if it was there, she'd find it.
Not that his mother was all bad. It was just that she was raised so that everything had to be just so. She was also not there for him. Not so much that she didn't care, just that she didn't know how to show it. She had been raised in a loveless home, so she never knew what to do or say to her son.
His father on the other hand, was just cold. Colder than the house, if that was even possible. He acknowledged his son, only because Tristan was an only child, and therefore the sole heir to the DuGrey fortune. He was the only one who could keep the DuGrey name alive. That meant he had to be perfect at all times. It also meant that whenever Tristan was with his father, he was in training.
Tristan wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. When he opened the refrigerator door, he spotted a case of beer. No one would notice if he took one, they never did. Just as his hand was about to wrap around the bottle, he heard footsteps approaching. Knowing they were his father's, he moved his hand towards the next drink he saw, which was luckily a Pepsi.
"Son," Phillip DuGrey nodded towards the child in question.
"Father," Tristan replied, desperately fighting the urge to call his father by his real name. It felt more appropriate for the kind of relationship that they had. But, since that wouldn't be proper, he avoided it, thus avoiding hours of lecturing and "training". Turning around, he carefully sidestepped his father and went to the entrance hall to grab his backpack.
"Tristan, there you are." Millicent DuGrey announced her presence very quietly, but very unexpectedly, making Tristan jump. It was her usual way, but he never got used to it. "How was school?"
"Fine, Mom. Thanks." Tristan started up the stairs to his room. He starting thinking about he last time his father decided to "train" him. He didn't have the best manners at one of the many dinner parties he was required to attend, so he was forced to sit in the dining room for hours on end, learning what the proper thing to do was. He threw his books into a corner of the room, planning to get to them later. He plopped down on his bed, relaxing in the only warm room in the house. He let his mind start to wander, willing himself to mentally escape his house. Visions of Rory filled his mind as he started to drift off, and he smiled to himself as he imagined Rory next to him, allowing him to escape.
Author's Note – I'm sorry it took so long, but my computer wasn't working!