Rock-And-Roll Eyes

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was difficult to keep up with Vincent when he had his mind set on a destination. He would walk as fast as possible, with steps larger than usual. His eyes were always set forward and his arms swung at his sides. I had to struggle to keep up with him, nearly running several times.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked my brother, "He could hate us just as much as Grandda does."

Vincent had shown up at Molly's door that morning and told me we were going to see Simon today. As much as I miss my baby brother, I was terrified to see him. The last thing I wanted was for him to tell us that he never wanted to see us again. He had been subjected to listening to Dad's rants about us for nearly a full year, it would only be right for him to hate us.

"He doesn't hate us, Lia, and neither does Grandda," Vincent replied.

"Really? Cause it sure sounded like-"

"He doesn't hate us," Vincent spat, "Neither does Simon. We're just at a bit of a rough patch."

I frowned, "Rough is an understatement."

If kicking your kids out of the house and telling them never to return wasn't hate, I don't know what was. It sure as hell wasn't love. Vincent was blinded by his hope. Grandda was the last parent we had left, he and Simon were the last family we had left. Vincent desperately wanted them to love us, even when Grandda had told us to leave and never come back.

I could understand that feeling. The very last thing I wanted was to go through the rest of my life knowing my father was alive but I could never see him. Having to live while knowing that two of the most important people in my life hated me would be absolute hell. I wasn't sure if either of us could make it through that.

"Simon sees it as us having vanished one morning," Vincent explained, "He only knows Grandda's side of the story."

"Grandda could have manipulated him."

"We won't know until we see him. You can't honestly tell me you don't hope Simon will still accept us," Vincent glanced at me.

I sighed, "I do, I miss them both, but if word gets back to Grandda"

"What Grandda does doesn't matter anymore. We're adults, and we can do whatever the hell we please."

I fell quiet after that. Vincent was beginning to sound aggressive. Every other time he was like this, he fought whoever was closest. This time, that was me. Vincent noticed as I shrunk away. He ran a hand down his face and sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry, Lia," Vincent apologized, "It's just a bloody fucked up situation. I don't want Simon to hate us just because Grandda said so."

I nodded, "You don't want Grandda to hate us either."

"I don't think he does, he just doesn't like us at the moment."

"That's better than hate," I admitted, "At least there's a chance to fix it."

Vincent nodded, "It'll be a while with Grandda, but we can make up with Simon right now."

"We can try."

Making up with Grandda would be difficult, more difficult, perhaps, than making up with Simon. Grandda was a stubborn man, a trait which he passed down to all of his children and grandchildren. When he made his mind up on something, it was highly unlikely that he would change. Luckily for us, that trait was genetic. Us against Grandda was like an unstoppable object met with an immovable force.

The two of us rounded the corner to see our old school rise into view. It was exactly how we left it, complete with the tattered British flag hanging on the pole in the front. Children were already filing out, some going towards the bus. Others began to walk down the streets.