WARNING: References to underage sex and other mature themes.
Childhood
He fled his home. If he never saw his mother again, it would be too soon. He had hated her all along, he realized. Hated her as a child when it was forbidden to hate one's parents. Hated her in his adolescent years when it was expected of him. Hated her especially after his father's death, when she needed him most.
He hated her for her petty social ways. Hated her for her lack of interest in him. Hated her for failing him one hundred percent.
He hated her for accepting shallow truths. Hated her for admiring scarcely camouflaged corruption. Hated her inability to see what was right under her nose. Oh how she had admired James! Such an accomplished young man! Such a lovely family!
He hated her for not protecting him. He'd always wanted to ask her how she'd feel about James if she knew that he had fucked her little boy, been fucking her little boy for years in fact. The first time he'd been about eight years old and barely able to walk for a solid week. He'd screamed and begged him to stop, but James was not one to be put off. He'd fucked little Timmy daily, sometimes twice daily, whenever he pleased.
And how would Mummy feel about that?
He hated her for being oblivious. An ostrich with her head in the sand beaches of Southern France.
Who was she, this woman who had given birth to him, to question his character? Who was she to feel disappointment in how he had turned out? Who was she to make demands on him? How dare she? She was just some mindless fuck for his father. He had been born of a more honorable generation. Gentlemen all. Men who married self-centered fools. Well, more fool he. Tim Cornish wouldn't be caught dead shackling himself to anyone. His generation was smarter. They weren't concerned with decorum. He'd fuck whomever he pleased, whenever he pleased.
That he should have to be responsible for her, his own mother! The bitterness of having to care for someone who had never cared for him was more than he could endure; the injustice of it all weighed heavily in his angry young heart, feeding a savagery he did not know he possessed. He wished she would just die so that he could get on with his life. The blood vessel in his finger popped he clenched his fists so hard.
The train rolled on, away from that bright and desolate place.
Never had he been more grateful for the sanctuary of his school. Never had he needed refuge from his family more.
It was in this state of upheaval that he returned to Warwick and fell into Emily's waiting arms.