sequel to aeou (read first)
✘ ✘ ✘
The boys are back. And they're out for revenge.
Last semester the girls of Sterling humiliated Caleb, Luca, Atlas and Sage. Exposing family secrets, dirty confessions and everything else taboo that led to their e...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Go ahead and cry, little boy You know that your daddy did too You know what your mama went through You gotta let it out soon, just let it out - daddy issues
tw: abuse (brief description)
THE NIGHT OF THE SOIRÉE.
IL N'Y A PAS plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre.
No one is as deaf as the one who does not want to listen.
My dad repeated the quote to me every time I'd shed a tear when I was younger. Whenever anything got hard. The hits, the slaps, the cries, the muffles. Everything.
I don't remember much of growing up. All that is left is the good memories, Luca and I playing around in his backyard when Ms. Cathan's - Maria would pick lemons off the trees in her white dress with tiny floral patterns. She'd go inside, bring out everything needed to make lemon scones and begin the process in the sun, outside whilst watching us play. Winter was almost always with her, sometimes she'd join us and then find her way back to Maria's side.
I remember Sage's dad leaving the key to upstairs pool when he and Helem - Ms. Evander's would go out of town so we could throw our own parties, and when he'd leave out the paints and clay for us to fool around with. I'm not sure he would've allowed it if he really knew what Sage was sculpting though. Actually, I take that back he'd probably say how it's 'natural,' and we should not be ashamed of what the media has deemed unnatural. An artist he is.
I remember dinner at Atlas' house, how Monet - Ms. McAllister would make Atlas set up the table and let me bring out the drinks before we sat down to eat. How Mr. McAllister would do the same on days she was away, and we'd eat dinner together. Atlas hiding away in his seat whenever an embarrassing story would come up, and then rolling his eyes when I'd laugh.
I remember coming home at the end of days, with Mom on the floor picking up pieces of grand-mère's shattered vases. Sometimes the insides of her palms cut with blood still leaking out from them. I remember kneeling to help her as we worked together. And then he would walk in...I don't remember the rest. I block it out.
I am remembering it now, however, vividly. Flashbacks come and go as he sits a foot away with his mouth moving. Moms already started to cry and Elisé is out for the night at a sleepover.
This is our perfect family.
"Combien de fois Caleb?" I look up at him, not answering. Words don't get you anywhere with my father. Nowhere good anyway. "Es-tu un putain d'idiot!"[How many times Caleb?] [Are you a fucking idiot!]
"Armand," mom tries, but dads not having any of it. He never does. She looks so small next to him and not even in size but everything.
Mom is this beautiful being; she has these big brown eyes and hair that stops just below her shoulders that's always so healthily shiny. She's poise, and pretty and the sweetest person I know. How she ended up with a fuck up like my father still has me in shambles.
