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"IF I ASK you something, do you promise you'll tell me the truth?" Was the first thing Darcy had said to Emma in weeks.
⠀⠀⠀ "Probably not." Was all her sister answered.
⠀⠀⠀ "Emma – "
⠀⠀⠀ "I'm being honest here," she disputed and Darcy glared at her figure that she vaguely made out in the dark. She'd been working herself up all day, but knew she would lack the gall to . "Which is what you asked, anyway. So, no, I can't promise you that I'll answer your burning questions in the middle of the night. But I can promise to try."
⠀⠀⠀ "Fair enough," Darcy confided before heaving in a long breath. It was the first night of spring, and the slightly uncomfortable mist of rain made the seconds drag. "What's ... uhm ... well. Why does...ah, shit."
⠀⠀⠀ "I'd like to think you have an extensive vocabulary at your age," Emma said, and Darcy remarked in the darkness. "Use it."
⠀⠀⠀ Darcy flinched. Idle banter was her repertoire and it was the first time in a very long time that she'd heard genuine venom in her sister's tone, she belatedly realised Emma must be upset with her; she'd been ignoring for weeks after all. "What's wrong with Asher?" Darcy asked, willing her voice to be devoid of emotion.
⠀⠀⠀ There was a pause before Emma responded and Darcy felt her chest fold into itself. "Why do you ask?"
⠀⠀⠀ Why was she asking? The thought had been on her mind for quite some time. Ever since their paths crossed in the middle of the night, last night, and she'd looked into Jude's eyes and saw... nothing. His usually sparkling eyes, bleak. Soulless. "Last night, we ran into each other. He looked unwell."
⠀⠀⠀ Even in the darkness of the room, Darcy glimpsed her sister's eyes drop, looking away and swallowing. "Shit, that's right," she'd muttered, more so to herself, "it's the anniversary of his mum's death."
⠀⠀⠀ Darcy felt her chest fold into itself. It was true, for as long as she'd known the boy, he only ever spoke of his father and seldom of his ever-elusive mother. Snapshots of a fateful night flashed in Darcy's mind of a picture of a dark-haired beauty framed by his bedside table resurfaced. She didn't put much thought to it back then, but now, it made all the sense in the world. "Oh." Her voice slipped. "God, that's terrible. That's awful. Did you know her?"
⠀⠀⠀ "No, I didn't get the chance," answered Emma, "she died before he even moved to Britain. It's the reason they came here in the first place, actually, his father's grief was too big to stay where he first fell in love with his wife ... so they came to Manchester. Jude ... he was so angry. The first time he came here, you know. Blamed his father for 'ruining his entire life', taking him from all that he knew. His family. Friends. His culture. I don't know much about his mum, except that he loved her very much. Though, he doesn't talk about her much."
