Author's Note: Oh my, studying is taking quite a toll out of my motivation, which I usually lack! Thank god there's probably going to be some smut soon. Everything is better with smut, wouldn't you say? ;D
Sorry for any lack of description. I'm trying to just get the basis of this story done, which is not the attitude I should have! -hits self a couple times- Provide for the fans Tabs, for the fans!
Thank you to all who have reviewed, the more you review, the better I'll feel and more motivation I'll have! So please review, I need it 0-0
~MadMadysonn
I raised Claude, by my lonesome. Father was always out on business, or unavailable emotionally for me to have asked him for help. He hired nannies, thankfully, otherwise I doubt I would be as sane as I am now, which we all know is saying something. Claude was a very obedient child as far as children can go...with me that is. He always listened to me, never anyone else, especially Father. It earned Claude a red behind more than a handful of times.
I think rebellion suited Claude well, he had our father's fiery red hair, though Claude's was often long and worn down in waves. His eyes, I loved his eyes the most out of every feature on him. They were so peculiar, one was an ocean blue, like my own eyes, but one was a light green. It was always fascinating to me, and often I stared at him when he was young, spending long minutes just peering into them. As he grew up, the soft mismatched eyes came to grow hard and cold. I've never been sure if it was because of my care or not.
I grew up carrying the burden of raising Claude for the most part with a few nannies and maids. Father was clueless on who did Claude's parenting, or chose to be ignorant of it. He never complimented me about it, never complimented Claude for anything he did well. There was so much Claude did well. It seemed he did everything better than me. We stayed up doing his homework, we helped him with his school projects. By we, I mean Claude and I. Father was just the money behind the happiness.
Don't get me wrong, I was so happy with Claude and my father. So incredibly, blissfully happy. Any psychiatrist my father attempted to rub off on me often told me I should feel anything but happy. It didn't change how I felt, I couldn't be angry at what I had. It was better than nothing, and I always knew that. I liked belonging in my family, Claude needed me, and I needed him. We both needed father, in whatever way we could get him. It was often through money, thrown at us as if that was the cause of happiness.
I never really appreciated being bought like that by my father, but I wasn't going to refuse him. Would you? I needed the money for good reasons, I never spent it on selfish things for myself. By the time I was seventeen, I was looking like a homely woman. I had barely grown into my adult body, so I looked like an awkward teenager who gawked at the thought of someone liking me. So when one of the kindest, and handsomest, souls at my school began to court me, I was sent aflutter.
Francois, even now, as I type this, I get reminiscent butterflies left from a life long ago. Francois was the typical heartthrob, dreamy eyes, perfect build, perfect skin, perfect hair, teeth, nails. The works. Why he had chosen to go after me, a girl who was still a bit flat-chested and trying to rid herself of her acne-prone skin, was beyond my teenager mind. I know now it was because I was an easy target for the games he wanted to play...
His hair, it was always the first I noticed when he came my way. It was sandy blonde and perfectly straight. It was long too, and it seemed soft to the touch, like fur. His eyes, there were so ethereal in their soft green color. I often felt like I could just get lost in the meadow of his eyes. I'm not sure if you can tell, but eyes mean a lot to me. It's the window to the soul, or so they say. His skin was the perfect color, tan, but still pale. More proof that his perfect body must be from a sports club he played in, in the city.
It only took the following French words to get hooked on the perfection that was Francois, "Est-ce que vous allez sur une date avec moi?" It translates to English as, "Will you go on a date with me?"
My shy answer of a whispered "oui" was my downfall. Every thing changed so quickly afterwards it was shocking. I barely had time to process one decision and its results before being forced to move onto another. The rapid decision-making broke me, made me depend on him, and that was the largest mistake one could have ever made. I had relinquished my will to him, in trust that he would do right by me.
He never did.