Expectation

I am so disappointed in you.

They seem like such simple words taken at face value. Even in conjunction with a parent's stern face in light of something they don't approve of in your behavior, it seems like such a trivial thing. Except it's not. Not for you.

I am so disappointed in you.

You tried to explain, you really did. But they've never heard you before, why would they hear you now? They've never understood what it was like. Where were they when you were five, shoved into a dingy house, waiting in terror to see if you'd become one of the thousands of orphans or if you'd make it through this with a family intact? Where were they when all the friends you played with slowly started disappearing one by one, never to be seen again?

Where were they when you cried yourself to sleep for three years, convinced that if you even sneezed wrong, you'd somehow bring the wrath of hell down on everyone you ever loved? How could they possibly say they were disappointed in you?

How could they expect you to cheerfully sign both yours and their death certificates? Did they expect you to do it with a smile on your face? Hadn't you already done everything they'd ever asked of you? Hadn't you studied hard? Hadn't you become prefect? Hadn't you made it to Head Boy? Hadn't they fucking convinced you that they were proud of all you'd accomplished at such a young age?

And now all they could do was look at you and say they were disappointed in you. As if they had the right.

Well, you've taken the blow. You've finally failed to meet one of their expectations, and it's caused a rift so wide you'll never be able to cross it. You've gotten their message loud and clear. It's only all right if you're perfect, and obviously, you're not.

And even if you ever do meet their expectations again, you think to yourself that maybe, just maybe, if you ever talk to them again, your first words will be: I am so disappointed in you.