𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 ✰ 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

twenty three ✰ "i'm trapped."

as students rushed down the hall for dinner, neil perry was walking up the stairs. he had returned from another day of rehearsal and wanted to clean up before dinner.

"save some for me!" he grinned as boys rushed by him.

upon opening the door to his dorm, neil sees his father sitting at his desk.

"father." neil muttered, his blood running cold.

"neil." his father said sternly.

"wait a minute." neil pleaded. "before you say anything, please let me ex-"

mr. perry rose from his seat, his face scrunched in anger. "don't you dare talk back to me! it's bad enough that you've wasted your time with this, this absurd acting business. but you deliberately deceived me!"

neil looked down at his shoes as his father scolded him. he couldn't bare to look his father in the eyes.

"how, how did you expect to get away with this? answer me. who put you up to it? was it this new man? this, uh, mr. keating?"

neil quickly lifted his head.

"no. nobody--i thought i'd surprise you. i've gotten all a's in every class."

"did you think i wasn't going to find out?" mr. perry hissed. "'oh, my niece is in a play with your son,' says mrs. marks. 'no, no, no,' i say, 'must be mistaken. my son's not in a play.' you made a liar of me, neil! now, tomorrow you go to them and you tell them that you're quitting."

neil nervously shakes his head. "no, father, i can't! i have the main part. the performance is tomorrow night." neil's voice dripped with desperation.

"i don't care if the world comes to an end tomorrow night." mr. perry spat. "you are through with that play. is that clear?"

neil stood still, his face soft with sadness.

"is that clear?" his father repeated loudly.

neil reluctantly nodded his yead. "yes, sir."

mr. perry walked to the door, but turns around.

"i made a great many sacrifices to get you here, neil, and you will not let me down."

"no, sir." neil squeaked.

his father left his dorm, leaving his son standing in the center of the room, destroyed.

✰

scarlett had spent her afternoon with her father in his room. she sat on his couch, a copy of the beautiful and damned by f. scott fitzgerald lied opened in her lap.

john was seated at his desk, writing a letter to his wife. he occasionally looked up at a framed photo on his desk of a woman playing the cello. scarlett noticed her father's sad smile when he looked at the photograph.