Agreements With Mr Rich Boy | ✓

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I GULPED.

"I didn't think it was any of your business, that's why."

Archer didn't seem in the least bit fazed by my outburst, instead he looked over at me for a moment, assessing me. Drawing his eyes back to the road, he said, "Are you embarrassed of her?"

"What?" I asked, hand falling down from being propped up to lean on to the door, making a resounding bang. "No, I am not embarrassed of my mother, thank you very much. God, what kind of shitty person do you take me for?"

"I don't." He shrugged. "It just wouldn't be the first time, you know? You wouldn't be the first person with a sick parent to feel ashamed."

I thought about this. "Speaking from experience?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He shifted the attention, swiftly. "How long has your mum been ill?"

I sighed, accepting his diversion tactic. I wasn't going to force it out of him, not when he clearly wasn't ready. I, however, had spent years preparing for a moment such as this.

"Most of my life, I guess," I said, watching the towering trees appear as if they were linking arms around us, a picture of solidarity and strength. "She was diagnosed when I was about eight, but she'd been showing signs before my dad left."

He stole a glance, once again, but I wasn't watching him.

"Your dad left your mum?"

"What's got you so interested all of a sudden?"

"Just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," I muttered.

He had the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "But satisfaction brought it back."

I sighed. "My dad left my mum and me, end of story. Took the last bit of my grandma's money, the small amount he hadn't gambled away, with him. He's probably in a ditch somewhere now. He's as good as dead to me anyway."

Why had I opened up to him? I'd never opened up to anyone about any of this. Why now? Why him?

Because someone was there to listen, a small, creeping voice in the back of my mind said. I shook away the thought.

A while passed. Archer and I sat in a silence I couldn't quite decipher as the sky morphed a hazy blue, deepening with every mile.

"Alright," I said, turning in my seat. "You know about my sob story. Now tell me your's."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because then we're even," I said, matter of factly. "An eye for an eye and all that." I waved my hand vaguely.

"There's not much to tell," he relented. "I'm spoilt rotten and can have anything I want whenever I want. What is so pathetic about that?" I went to say something, but he'd already continued on, "I have a sister and bestfriends. My mother has worked everyday of her life so that I could go to school and then I worked until my fingers bled to pick the family business out of the toilet so that I could repay her for everything she's done."