Page 108 of Crown of Thorns
Dad’s gaze snaps back to mine. “I want you gone from this house. You have ten minutes.” His voice is cold, final.
“What? But, Dad—” I start, trying to wrap my head around what he is saying.
“Pack your stuff and get the hell out of here. You are no longer my son. You’ve been a rebellious teen ever since youturned fourteen. Your mom knows it, I know it. The entire goddamn town knows it.” His words are like knives, each one sharper than the last. “Pack your bag and get the hell out before she gets back. I’m tired of your sickness.” He clicks the door shut behind him with a finality that makes the room feel even colder.
“Dad?”
But he doesn’t listen. His footsteps retreat down the stairs, and I am left alone in my room, the walls closing in around me.
I sit there for a long time, feeling the thick, heavy silence settle in. My hands are shaking. I touch my lips again. Disgusting.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I am sixteen. He can’t just kick me out, not like this.
Anger roars inside me, and I stand up, fists clenched, trying to control the storm in my chest. Who the hell does he think he is? I have every right to be here. To be me. Just because he never had a life doesn’t mean I won’t have one.
I snatch my bag from the closet and begin shoving clothes into it haphazardly. Books, shirts, socks. It doesn’t matter. My thoughts are a chaotic mess. I’m not going to stay here. I’m not going to let him destroy me like this.
I ignore the homework on my desk. Fuck it. Maybe I don’t need school. Maybe I don’t need anything. I’m still enrolled this year, sure. But I’ll show them. When Mom finds out I’m gone, she’ll come looking. And where will she find me? In Paris. I’ll show them how much of a bully my old man really is. He’s never been young. He was born old, bald, and bitter. He was born a soldier.
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I slam the door behind me without a second thought. I don’t look back.
They’ll be begging me to come home by the end of the week, won’t they?
But maybe, just maybe, Dad is right. I’ve always wanted to see the world. Maybe this is my fate. To leave this small town behind and move to the big city. To live my life.
After all, how hard could it be?
“What the fuck was that?” Louis shouts, his voice wild as we both stare at the window, the glass scattered across the floor.
I freeze, my heart hammering.
“Is that…” He starts, but before he can reach for the Venetian mask lying on the wooden floor, I grab his hand and pull him to me.
“Wait. Let me do it.” The mask is a deep matte gold, with silver embroidery threading intricate patterns across its surface.
“Motherfucker.” Louis curses under his breath, using my hand to turn the mask over. His long, inked finger traces the initials JLD carefully etched into the inside. They are so small, you’d miss them if you weren’t looking closely. “It’s Dad’s.”
“Your father’s here?” I ask, my stomach flipping.
“Of course not,” Louis answers, shaking his head as he stands up and quickly grabs his phone.
I peek through the curtains, my pulse quickening. They knew I’d return. This was never about Granddad. It’s about me. And the timing couldn’t have been worse. No one is supposed to be here. But Louis? He never plays by the rules.
“Fuck.” Louis curses again, glancing down at his phone. “It’s already two. They’ve been messaging nonstop.”
“Because we shouldn’t be here?” I ask.
“No. Today’s my birthday. Guess they finally remembered.”
“Wait… what? It’s your birthday?” I blink, taken aback. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Louis shrugs, his mischievous grin never faltering. “Didn’t want you stressing over it. Don’t waste your money on some silly gift. You are my gift, baby.”
In three steps, he is at my side, shoes crunching on the shards of glass that litter the floor. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. “Be mine, Noah. Let’s make it official. You’ve got my heart. Want more? My name? My money? It’s yours.”
We’re half-dressed, fumbling. His shirt hangs open. My belt’s undone. The sheets are still warm behind us. We scramble into clothes with shaking hands, laughter still lingering when the first rock hits. We hadn’t planned on leaving the bed so soon.
“Sweetheart—” I begin.
