Page 82 of Downfall

So we sit, waiting, like obedient pets for him to grace us with his attention. I don’t know how my mother does it, how she puts up with him but she never seems to mind. In fact, it feels like she soothes his rougher edges. It’s an odd, almost symbiotic relationship that they have but I don’t know what I’d do if my mother wasn’t here; if she left I’d be thrown to the wolves.

“Rose.” My father says eventually.

“Father.” I reply hoping I sound more congenial than I feel.

“It’s time we had a proper conversation.”

“About what?”

“Paris.”

“What?” I frown. That’s the last thing I expected him to say.

He turns, his eyes boring into me. “The day he died you were arguing. I want to know what it was about.”

I look from him to my mother. They brought me all the way here just to ask that?

“Why was he taking you to the Barn?” He continues.

“The what?” I repeat.

He leans over the desk, his hands planting onto the antique leather cover. “Don’t play games. I am not in the mood.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I state. “I didn’t even know where we were headed.”

He glances back at my mother and I swear I see something exchanged in that look. “What were you arguing about?”

“What does it matter to you?”

He tilts his head before slamming his hand down. “Do you forget yourself? Do you forget who you are? You’re my daughter Rose Capulet.”

I push back from my chair, clenching my fists. “It would be nice if you remembered that.” I retort. “If you remembered I’m actually your flesh and blood and not just a thing to be used.”

“We don’t think like that.” My mother says quickly grabbing my hand but I jerk away out of her hold.

“You might not.” I mutter before fixing my gaze on him again. “But he’s certainly not above using people is he?”

“Rose.” She says.

“Rose.” My father growls. “You are a Capulet and you will behave as one.”

“Or you’ll what? Punish me further?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

He narrows his eyes but I see that glint in them. “Is that what you want Rose? You want to test me?” He says quietly. “Because I know exactly how to respond to that…”

“No.” I say shaking my head. Cursing my own stupidity. I don’t care what it takes, what I have to do, I won’t let him do that, to resort to that. I have six months. I just have to bide my time. Play it safe. And then I’ll finally get away.

“Then tell me.” He growls slamming his hand once more and this time I flinch at the noise.

“Paris wants to start a family.” I say. “Wanted to.” I correct myself. God, when will I get used to the fact he’s dead? No present tense anymore. He’s the past. My past.

“So?” He replies.

“So I didn’t want that. That’s what we were arguing about.”

My mother lets out an exhale that sounds almost like something of relief. “Rose.” She says taking my hand.

“Don’t.” I reply pulling away further.

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