[ ONGOING ] A DARK ROMANCE
❝Estelle, my darling," Mother cooed, looking down thoughtfully upon me.
"Yes, Mother?"
Her hand snaked down from my shoulder to my wrist, gripping it tightly as if she was my personal handcuffs.
I flinched as her thumb b...
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Just sitting here fooling around
We just sitting here cooling around
We just sitting here high, coming down
⊏ --------------- ⊐
"MARRIED?" I questioned, hesitantly.
I knew long before I should have that I wouldn't be able to marry the man (or woman) of my choice. Marriage had stopped being a sign of true love generations ago. Now it was just an act meant to spread the power and money of two families.
Though, that didn't stop the demand from catching me off guard.
I assumed it would be years before the decision of marriage would be made final. I assumed I'd have time to explore who I was as a person. A few years of making mindless and unbeneficial decisions that all young adults do.
Mother stared across the room at me, glancing softly at Father before returning her glare. I hated that. I hated how she'd always seek approval from him. Why was it that she could never speak her opinion without observing the mood of Father first?
"To who, exactly?" I continued as the ear-shattering silence seeped into my mind.
Silence. That was the only way to describe the communication between me and my parents. The fewer words that were spoken, the more meaningful the ones said out loud came to be. That's what Father preached. It was a rule Mother abided by without any consideration of her own feelings towards them.
"The Strathen's boy. A few years older than you," Father answered, waving his hand as he spoke. Was the situation so casual to him that he had the audacity to brush it all off?
The taste of disgust filled my mouth. I wanted to throw up. Mother picked at her fingernails. Though no sound was made, the simple action articulated the same feeling deep down as a metal fork on a glass plate.
Repulsive.
"When?"
"Scheduled a year from now, though you will meet in a week," Father repeated like he was reading from a paper.
His voice was lifeless and absent with any sign of emotion. The monotone speech angered me.
Perhaps silence was the strongest form of communication. As it seemed I couldn't handle the sound of his voice. Gritting my teeth together, I bowed my head with understanding. Mother still hadn't said a word, remaining mute. I wanted to yell at her for not speaking for herself. I wanted to drill a hole in her brain and shove a million words into them. Her voice was a rare thing to be heard.
She spoke when needed to.
She spoke when Father gave her the approval to.
She spoke with glares and ever slight eyebrow movements.
