AN 1: I know my beta read this, but that was over a year ago, and I don't think we ever got to the editing stage. But in order to get it posted before it sits around on my computer any longer, I am attempting to, once again, edit my own work. Hopefully, everything makes sense and isn't too awkward.
AN 2: Overlaps with the previous chapters in place
Chapter 20 – Confrontation
(Trowa POV)
I set my sights on the door; it had always seemed welcoming in the time that I remember, but now the door looks cold and uninviting. Maybe it is because I know that I am no longer welcome at this house and that scares me the most. I had asked my mother if it would be alright to stop by and say hello since I am accompanying a friend who has business in Boston. So, it wasn't entirely a lie, we did have business in Boston. She sounded happy that I would be coming for a visit even if we hadn't parted on the best of terms when I left for school in Sanc. I can only hope that she will still be happy to see me when she finds out that Quatre is the friend with business in Boston.
Before I fully realize it, we're standing in front of the door and Quatre is squeezing my hand reassuringly. I think he's about as nervous as I am, so it isn't the most comforting of gestures. But, I am glad for his presence next to me as it helps to keep me from turning around and avoiding this confrontation. I take a deep breath, squeeze Quatre's hand back, letting him know that I am 'okay' and knock on the door.
Several very uncomfortable moments pass and I am just about to raise my hand to knock again when the door opens and I see my mother smiling pleasantly at me. That is, until she opens the door further and sees Quatre.
Next to me, my boyfriend whispers, "Dear Allah," under his breath and I know I have my answer. Between the look of hatred in my mother's eyes and Quatre's whispered prayer, I am certain that they know each other. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about this development, but I don't really have the time to reflect on it right now.
My mother opens the screen door and looks from me to Quatre and then back to me and I can see in her eyes that what is about to come out of her mouth isn't going to be pleasant at all. "Tristan, what is this faggot doing here?" She spits and I feel sick.
I fight the urge to vomit by setting my resolve firmly in place. Clenching my hands into fists at my side I reply as civilly as possible. "So you know him?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Now get that trash off my property."
At this point she's only said two things and I'm sure that if I had eaten more this morning I would be puking it all up. Never have I heard my mother speak in such a way. She has always been awkward and a little narrow minded, but I would have never thought she was this narrow minded.
"Fine. Quatre will go back to the car." I quickly glance over at my visibly shaken love for verification, he nods his head and then I look my mother in the eyes. "And you and father will answer my questions."
"We have to do no such thing." She replies in her most condescending tone.
"I'm your fucking son and I deserve answers." I barely contain my anger as I practically yell at her and all she does is snort and smiles snidely before shutting the door, that had once been welcoming, in our faces.
Without really thinking I grab Quatre's hand as if it were my lifeline and walk back to the car with him. "What just happened?" He asks, his voice wavering as he does.
We stop moments later at the car and I gently caress both sides of Quatre's face and bring our foreheads together. "I don't know, but I need to find out." I whisper as I am on the verge of tears. "There is a folder in the large thin pocket in my backpack, it is the dossier that Heero had Rashid send him on Tristan Barton. Read it?" I beg him. "There was a bad accident right before my family moved here. I don't remember anything from my life in Sanc. So I need them to tell me why. Why they never told me anything. Though, from their reaction to you, I have a pretty good idea as to the why. Please be here when I get back." I ask desperately, praying to God that he won't leave me because all of this.
Then Quatre chuckles and for a moment I am confused. "Why would I leave the man I love… The man I have loved since I was thirteen; alone, far away from home with those people?" He motions to the house, but I don't take my eyes off of him. "Your mother looks like the woman I used to know, but her attitude and personality are completely foreign."
I want nothing more than to curl up into a little ball somewhere in a dark corner and cry. What the hell happened to my life? Why me? Why now? And a slew of similar questions run through my head, but are abruptly brought to a halt when Quatre's strong comforting arms pull me close and I wrap my arms around him and fist his shirt with both hands. "You have to do this, and when you're done, we'll leave this place and go home together and figure what little we need to figure out about us. Ok?" I relax a bit as he says this, not by his words, but by the feel of his lips and breath brushing my ear as he speaks. I feel a little trepidation at his words, but I guess we do have things that we, as a couple, need to talk about.
I nod and pull back enough to capture Quatre's lips in a needy kiss. "Come get me if I'm not out after a hour." I try to keep the words light with a tinge of humor for both our sakes, but the tears that keep threatening do not do much in the way of making things any better.
Quatre lets out a genuine laugh. "I'll send Rashid in, but I'll follow. He's scarier than I am."
That makes me grin in earnest and I silently thank him for finding the right response to something that I should probably be very worried about. "Wish me luck."
"Always." He kisses me, and once we're done, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, turn around and walk towards the door. My steps are slow and deliberate and I find myself counting each one, maybe so I'll know how many it is going to take me to get back to Quatre, though, I doubt I'll be walking back to him when this is all said and done with. I think it will be more like flying towards him.
The three small steps up to the porch seem like mountains and they are the three hardest steps I have ever taken in my life. Missing memory or not, I know this through and through. This house contains the only two people who can fill in the holes in my memory and answer the questions I so desperately need to have answered.
I pause momentarily before reaching for the door to gather what wits I have remaining together. I cannot help but look over my shoulder at Quatre, who gives me a reassuring nod and I fight the urge to rush back and fall into his arms. Turning my attention back to the door so as to not entertain thoughts of escaping the truths inside, I open the screen door and then try the main door, hoping my mother wasn't cruel enough to lock the door. Luckily, she wasn't, which means that I don't have to go fumbling for my house keys, and I quickly slip inside and close the door without turning around.
The house is silent. I'm not sure what I was expecting. Part of me was hoping that she would be standing there all ready to get up in my face, now I am not even sure when she and my father are. Though, I'm fairly sure he's going to stay quite during the conversation. For as long as I can remember, which isn't all that long, she's called the shots and he's carried out her orders without hesitation. The only time he's ever done anything on his own is when it had just been me and him, then he had no problems expressing his thoughts to me.
I push my bangs behind my ear and run my finger over the almost invisible scar next to my right eye that my father had so lovingly given me when he did a number on my face with several impressive left hooks. I'm not sure which reaction I preferred when I told them I had been accepted to Sanc University. My father's, who remembered his college boxing days by taking shots at my head, or my mother berating. It didn't make any sense back then why they didn't want me to go back there so badly. But now, now it seems fairly obvious. They didn't want me to go back because they feared what has happened would happen. That I would go back to Sanc and find Quatre and my memories.
Well, I've found Quatre. Now I need help finding my memories. As I look around half seeking my parents and half seeking something that might be a piece to a puzzle that I don't know what the full picture looks like, my eyes catch a photograph on the fireplace mantle. Stepping so lightly that not even the old Massachusetts house can betray my location, I approach the mantle and as soon as the photo comes into focus a soft gasp escapes my throat.
It is a picture from a dance, one that I can't remember, but I would bet all that I have that it is Quatre's eighth grade spring dance by how old I look. I am standing there in a nice suit under an arch of balloons with a cute raven haired girl, whom I have no doubt is Hilde. I pick up the picture and look at the girl closer, noting that Hilde was even cuter with her hair longer.
I hold onto the picture and look around for anything more that might be fodder for getting my parents to talk and decide that there isn't anything else around. In fact, there is nothing else in the house that would even hint to a visitor that the Barton's actually have a son. The picture of Hilde and I at the dance is the only one I see of me. Maybe they had pretty much written me off when I went back to Sanc. God, that sends a chill through my body.
Continuing the search for my parents, I quietly walk through the living room, into the dining room and into the kitchen, where my quest to find them ends. They are in the middle of the kitchen and are staring at me intensely as I walk in and stop abruptly. There is something incredibly unsettling about the fact that they have chosen the kitchen, of all places, to set up camp. A moment of panic courses through my body as I try recall all the location of anything that could be used to kill me in this room and I have this horrible feeling that I've walked into a death trap.
My father sits in one of the kitchen chairs while my mother stands behind him and slightly to the side, her left hand resting on his shoulder. None of us seem to be willing to make the first move. My father seems disinterested in the whole situation and it is really a battle of wills between myself and my mother.
I lock eyes with her and she smirks, as if she knows something that I don't, which she does and that allows her to have the upper hand in the conversation. I take the initiative and begin the conversation, hopefully steering it towards the truth and away from the web of lies and deceit I've been tangled in for the last few years.
"How do you know Quatre?" I ask, figuring it was a good starting place.
"It is hard not to know about him." My mother replies, obviously trying to be elusive in her answer.
"But you have actually met him, which is completely different from knowing about him. You admitted it back on the porch that you knew him."
She set her jaw and I could see her hand tighten on my father's shoulder. So tight, that he actually flinches. Then he sighs and hangs his head for a moment, before shaking it and raising it again. "Martha, tell him." I thought for a moment he was on my side, until he adds, "So we can get him out of this house and back to his perverted little friends." So much for being on my side. I think I would have laughed at his little comment in different context. My friends are fairly perverted people, but in that harmless way, not the derogatory way my father means.
"We were so proud of you once." She started angrily.
"Once?" I should have let her continue without interrupting, but it just slipped out.
"Yes, once you perversion on nature." A wave of nausea hits me. "I can't believe I gave birth to someone like you. We had such great hopes for you." She sneered. "You were musically and physically gifted, seemed to be dating a nice pretty girl and had a friend like Quatre Winner. We were the envy of the entire neighborhood. We never questioned why you stayed over at his house, since you would tell us you were practicing. And the solos you two would play together showed that you had at some point practiced together."
Her eyes fill with tears, and I can only assume at the memory she's thinking back to those 'good' days. "And then one night, your father and I went out for dinner and decided to take a walk around the park afterwards. We saw you there." She whispers angrily, and I am willing to bet my life that she saw Quatre and I together, but I wait for her to tell me. "We saw you and your faggot friend kissing. And you were with others who were doing the same." Probably Heero and Duo. "We thought we must have seen wrong, but when you did it again, we knew that we didn't and we knew we had to get you as far away from your abnormal 'friends' as possible so that you could go back to being a good boy, who liked girls."
"It doesn't work like that. You both should know that." I try to reason with them. Why? I don't know, but I have to try.
"So you're father pulled some strings and got transferred to a satellite office, here." She continues on as if she hadn't heard me. "And then you were injured in the car accident. It was perfect." My eyes go wide. Did she really just say that the car accident was perfect? "God answered our prayers and you didn't remember a single thing about your life prior to the accident." She really did say it was perfect. What kind of twisted person wants that for her child? Why did I have to be that child? I feel so very alone at this moment.
"So we pulled a few more strings and got you over here before you really had a grasp on what was going on. We had our son back, and not some perverted creature."
"I had dreams." My voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, those filthy dreams." She spat. "We hadn't expected you to remember anything. So we gave you the explanation that would wipe all memory of him away."
"So you lied. You lied about everything." My voice starts out soft with disbelief and ends screaming.
"No, we told you the truth as it should be." What the fuck? I can't believe that she believes this crap, but the look in her eyes tells me she's gone to whatever safe place she has inside of her to hide.
"There is no 'how it should be.' Those are lies. The truth is that I was gay and fucking another guy." I scream at them. "That's why you didn't want me to go back to Sanc, isn't it? You didn't want to risk the chance of me running into Quatre or my other friends. You didn't want me anywhere near anything that might remind me of who I was before the accident."
"No, Tristan. We want you to be happy, and being a perversion isn't the way to be happy." She smiles, her voice eerily sweet. She really believes what she is saying. How could I have missed this about her? "So we took you away and gave you a fresh start."
"Was it worth it?" They look at me as if they don't know what I am talking about. "Was all of this worth it? I still turned out the same, even with my past gone. I still found my way back to Sanc and I found Quatre again, fell in love with him again." Tears roll down my face and I grab the front of my shirt as if it is restricting my breathing.
"You're not in love. You are just confused. Come back home, there are plenty of nice girls who would love to go out with you." I wonder what kind of world she has been living in.
"Are you insane?" The words slip through my lips before I can stop then, and her eyes narrow, but I continue on before she says anything. "I am not confused. I never stopped being in love with him. I saw him walking across the campus and I did what I never did before and I followed him. I was so drawn to him that I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I felt like a stalker. I felt dirty."
"You are dirty." She interjects and I ignore her.
"But I needed to be with him, and everything just seemed to keep falling into place perfectly to bringing us together. We fell in love with each other all over again, like we were meant to be together. People lose their perfect love all the time, and then spend the rest of their life looking for someone who will even come close to that person they lost. Quatre and I lost each other, but we found each other again. I am not giving that up ever again. "
"If you chose him over us, you are no longer our son." My father finally speaks.
My jaw drops for a moment. "You would disinherit me because I am in love with a man."
"Yes," is his simple reply.
"You are an embarrassment to us, and we will not have it." My mother elaborates. "If you chose to go back to Sanc now, and be with him, then you are no longer our child."
"I am your flesh and blood. How can you even say that?" Is this really and truly happening?
"You leave Sanc, come back home, find a nice girl and settle down; we will pretend that none of this ever happened." She says, all smiles again.
I look at my father and he nods, signaling that he agrees with my mother and I cannot do anything but stare at them in disbelief. "You would have me betray everything that I am, so that you can continue to live in your shiny happy world of lies." They don't say anything and I take that as a yes. "Then no, I won't betray who I am and if that means being disinherited, then that is what it means." As I say that, I feel some part of me die. Some part of me that should never have to die, just did, and I can't stop the tears running down my cheeks. "Since I know you can't love the real me, then I am going to go to people that love me for who I am. Love me because I am Tristan Barton and could care less about what gender I choose to fuck."
"Then leave this house and never come back. From this moment forward you are no longer welcome here."
I fight to hold back the sobs, this isn't happening. "You really mean that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, now leave." My mother's eyes turn to stone; my father doesn't even look me at me. He keeps his eyes on the floor.
"Fine." I nod, repeating 'fine' quietly as the entire conversation replays in my mind. There is no fight left in me. I know there is no changing their minds and there is nothing more for me to do than to leave. So I do.
With careful steps, I back away from them, tears still wetting my cheeks, watching them until I feel my feet hit the carpet in the dining room. I don't trust them. I don't trust them not to do something horrible if I turn my back. So I don't, not until I can't see them anymore, and then with quick steps I make for the door and out of the house.
I don't quite realize Quatre is there until his arms are around me and his body is pressed close to mine. I wrap my arms around him in return and hold him tightly so he doesn't disappear.
"Went that well?" He asks, and I can hear that he's trying to lighten the mood.
The laugh that escapes my lips is bitter, and I regret it the moment it does because I shouldn't be taking this out on Quatre. I pull away from him just enough to be able to see into those beautiful blue eyes "Well, I guess being disinherited is better than being dead."
"Disinherited?" He frowns as he repeats it.
"Yes, I am too old to disown." I take a deep breath, and exhale slowly as I try to find a sort of calm. The ever-so-gently breeze reminds me that I have been crying and I try to wipe them away with my hand. "Can we get out of here now? I'll tell you what happened when we are far away from this place."
Quatre nods to me, stops, then frowns. "I'll be right back." He looks back to Rashid and gestures to the house, Rashid nods and he and Auda get out of the car.
"Where are you going?" I ask, not liking what I am seeing.
"To tell your parents off." Quatre says, as if it the most logical thing in the world and pulls away from me. I immediately miss his body next to mine.
"Quatre it won't do any good. I can guarantee they aren't the people you once knew." My attempt at reasoning, I don't want to be here any longer.
Quartre offers me a sad smile. "I know, but it will make me feel better." Then with a soft kiss he tries to assure me that he knows what he is doing and turns and walks to the house.
I walk back to the car and lean against it, watching Quatre talk to my mother. I choose not to listen, as I do not know if I could truly take hearing her speak again. After a few minutes, he comes walking back, my mother is looking rather stunned holding something I can't quite see. Though, Quatre seems fairly pleased with himself and I walk to meet him halfway.
"Now I'm ready to go." He announces.
"What did you tell her?"
He leans in and kisses me. "I'll tell you everything later." Quatre takes my hand and starts walking backwards to the car. "Let's go home Trowa."
If I could express the relief I feel with those words I would. But I can't, all I know, is that, though a part of me died in that house, the part of me that hopes for something better grows a little stronger at.