Obstinate Elitists

28

A black SUV pulled up along the side of the road, the windows too tinted to make out anything. Slowing down, it sat there silently for a minute or two, before a door opened. A middle-aged man was revealed, dressed crisply in a suit and sunglasses so his eyes couldn't be seen. Graying hairs were slicked back with gel and a trimmed mustache sat above his lips. He was here. He was home, to a building he wasn't welcomed to in the first place. Supposedly, he was your father, who your mother despised so much despite marrying years ago.

Your sweaty palms gripped at the window sill, knuckles turning white for how long you clenched them. They ached and whined to be let go, but they were the last on your mind. It didn't matter if you anticipated his return and tried your best to improve -- the sight of him was proof enough that this would only end in failure. Your stomach lurched and you stumbled away from the glass panes. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you pulled yourself up and approached mother. This was not the time to throw a sad pity party for yourself; you had to get this over and done with. By the end of today, it would be clear to see how much freedom was taken away.

Mother was as tensed as you were. Though she kept a smile on her face to soothe you, her form said otherwise. Her body was trembling, fingers mid-air, which were desperate to latch onto something -- anything.

Then the doorbell rang. Once, and then twice. He was not that patient, was he? You glanced at the woman to find her frozen in spot, her anxious [e/c] eyes flitting everywhere like a deer caught in headlights. Deciding to help her, you timidly went up to the door, grappling at the handle and unlocking it.

A closer look at the man was somehow even more intimidating than afar. He removed his sunglasses, his beady hues digging right into you, as if he could read your mind and soul.

"Welcome home, father," you murmured, inclining your head politely. Sweat beaded the side of your face, slicking your skin in oil. Heart pounding so hard against your chest, you avoided making yet another eye contact with him.

"If it isn't [Y/N]." His voice was chilling, containing no warmth nor emotion to his words. It was as if he wasn't even trying to hide it; this daughter of his was nothing but a pawn to his plan. He didn't view you as your own person, or a human being with emotions. He didn't contain any love for you like your past father did. Ditching you and your mother, he had no shame to discard anything that held him down from the money, success, and life he dreamt of. You still didn't know much, but this was enough to discern that he was a piece of shit.

"Welcome home, dear," your mother greeted him as well, her tone light and forced.

His gaze darted from you to the woman. Lips curling up distastefully, he pressed a hand on your shoulder that was probably meant to be a gentle gesture. Nevertheless, it almost made you flinch. Stepping up to your mother, he took her hand and gave a peck on the back of it. "It feels nice to be back, even if it may be for only a short amount of time."

"Indeed. Are you hungry from your trip? Do you need anything?"

It seemed like a play was going on. Two strangers forced to play a role that they were obviously uncomfortable in. Their marriage was dead and they were dealing with it for the sake of their own personal goals.

"No need. I would like to begin the assessment with [Y/N] immediately," he said curtly, dropping the woman's limp hand. Turning over his shoulder, his expression left no room to argue. "Come. We'll go outside."

"Of course," you said, nodding obediently. Following him out the door like a loyal dog, you exchanged one last look with mother. She mouthed good luck, right before the door slammed on you, locking you outside in a world too full of expectations.