This is Prompt No. 10-Lies
Practically the first rule a child learns is never to tell lies. The child is told that lies are bad, obviously untrue, and if told, punished for. Somehow, that rule was overlooked in the Torres household. If it hadn't been overlooked, Mitchie wouldn't be sitting up in her old bed, hands clenched in fists under the blankets, telling her parents that she had made the biggest mistake of her life by running away.
"I realize that it was stupid," she said, her face screwing up convincingly as though the very thought of what she had been through pained her, "but what could you really expect? You both know that I idolized Mitchell, and when he asked me to help him, I agreed. I bought his story about the poor slaves and the way that they should have their own rights, and I helped him and Anna escape. It wasn't until they left that I realized how much trouble I was in." Mitchie paused, hesitating as though she couldn't bear to talk about what had happened to her.
Her father put out his hand comfortingly, even though he was seated too far away for the gesture to do any good. "You don't have to talk about it, darlin'," he assured her, but his suave accent no longer held the comfort and familiarity that it used to. Now, Mitchie saw her parents for what they really were. Her father's comfort meant nothing. He only said what he did out of politeness, hoping that she would actually talk.
"You have to be convincing," she reminded herself. "No," she said with a sniffle and a shake of her head, "I want to talk about it." She looked up at her father with eyes round and wide with false trust. "If I talk about what's happened, do you think the dreams will go away?" She rubbed her arms briskly as though the very thought of the "nightmares" gave her chills.
"Undoubtedly," her father said eagerly, leaning forward unconsciously.
Mitchie nodded. "You're right." She grinned weakly at her parents. "Talking it out always helps." She took a deep breath and dove headlong into her lie. "I wasn't exactly sure where I was when Mitchell and Anna dropped me off. Mitchell pointed in a direction and told me that home was that way. Again, I believed him." Mitchie caught herself mid-wince and berated herself. She could do this. Why, in his last letter to her, Mitchell had even helped her with her story so that it would sound more convincing. He hated not being told what she was doing, but he was resolved to doing whatever he could for her so that she could be as safe as possible.
"And?" Mitchie's mother prompted her.
Mitchie's father placed a hand on his wife's arm. "Now, now, dear," he cautioned. "Don't rush her. She's obviously been through a lot since the last time we saw her. There's no need to push her now."
Mitchie barely refrained from rolling her eyes. How had she missed all this when she had been living in this house? She knew the answer to that one, though: It had been part of her life, and she had overlooked it. In that moment, Mitchie understood why the people of the south believed in slavery so wholeheartedly the way they did. It was, and had always been, a part of their lives, and they had overlooked the people within the slaves.
"Michelle?" her father prompted subtly, having obviously forgotten his former advice to his wife.
It was now or never. "The way he pointed me was the wrong way," Mitchie said, surprised that she could lie and betray with such ease. "It led me right into a Union camp. They captured me, thinking that I was a spy. When I told them that I wasn't, they tried to torture me for information." Mitchie gave a shudder. "It was horrible."
Mitchie's father gave Mrs. Torres a look, and she turned to her daughter, smiling falsely. "I'm sure it was," she said, and the hesitated. "Darlin'," she drawled, but the endearment was so false that Mitchie was surprised that she even bothered.
"The camp was raided two weeks ago and some Confederates took care of me as best they could, but they didn't stay long." Mitchie's hand crept up to the bruise on her temple and said, "They pointed me in the right direction, and I've been trying to get here ever since." She looked hopefully at her parents. "I realize that I've made a huge mistake, and I'm sorry, but I was hoping that I could pick up my life here again?" The statement came out as a hesitant question. "I want to put everything far behind me."
Mr. Torres exchanged a glance with his wife and then nodded. "Of course you can!" he exclaimed, over excitedly.
Mitchie's mother nodded curtly. "We're having a party in a few days. Are you able to attend?" Her eyes flickered to Mitchie's bruised face and Mitchie knew instantly that what she really meant was, "Will you look well enough not to embarrass me?"
Mitchie's father huffed. "Darlin', she's only been here for a few hours. Maybe she shouldn't attend this ball. It might be too much for her."
Mitchie's mother rose, her hands planted on her hips, stubbornness etched into every pore on her face. "She came back and wants to slip back into life as she knew it. Life goes on, dear." She turned to Mitchie. "Are you able or not?"
Mitchie tried her best to give a convincing, sickeningly-sweet smile. "I'm sure I'll be just fine." She clapped her hands together excitedly. "What kind of party?"
Her mother shrugged, trying to act unimpressed. "Only the generals of the Confederates, some important, influential friends, and some-"
"Ooh!" Mitchie cut her off with another clap of her hands. "Sounds exciting!" She could feel her cheeks heating up and knew that the color would be taken as excitement and not as the shame she felt for lying so many times in a row without pausing or asking for repentance.
Mrs. Torres' eyes narrowed. "You weren't this excited about parties when you left," she said suspiciously.
Once again, Mitchie lied smoothly. "Mother, we had those parties almost weekly." She shrugged. "I didn't realize what I was missing out on until I could no longer get dressed up and dance around."
Mitchie's father asked, "I thought you hated dancing."
Mitchie smiled and spoke the truth for the first time. "I learned to love dancing when I was in France."
Her father nodded and shrugged, turning to his wife and saying, "She has a point."
Her mother eyed her for a moment before nodding. "I guess she does," was all she said. She rose from her chair and said, "I suppose I'll have to send a servant up to get the dresses from the attic."
Mitchie pretended to look hurt. "You packed away my clothes?"
Her father quickly said, "We weren't sure what had happened to you when you didn't arrive at the boarding school, so we just moved everything temporarily until you found your way back to us."
Mitchie smiled widely, acting as though she completely understood. "Oh," was all she said.
"The party's at the end of the week," Mrs. Torres told Mitchie, pausing on her way out the door. "Please find a suitable dress before then. We'll leave you to get some more rest. I'm sure you're exhausted."
Mr. Torres took the subtle hint that he was supposed to leave as well and rose from his chair, pressing the back of his hand affectionately to Mitchie's cheek. For a moment, Mitchie was swept back to her childhood when he used to do that to her as a greeting and a parting gesture, and her resolve to stay separated from all emotions regarding her family wavered slightly, but then she saw her mother's eyes narrow, and her resolve strengthened again.
"Get some rest, and we'll see if you can come down for dinner," he promised her as though coming down and sitting at the overdone table in the dining room would make everything better.
"Okay," Mitchie said cheerily with a nod. She pulled the sheets up a little more and snuggled into them, a contented look on her face until the door closed with a soft click. Then, she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. "Right," she muttered sarcastically. "You'd think I was born yesterday or something."
She didn't know if her parents were involved in something more sinister, or if they were just very shallow people, but what she did know was that her mission was about to get very complicated, very quickly. Mentally, she began running through all the information she knew about this party. Five days were all she had to come up with a plan.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! Please review and tell me what you think! :D
