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“What about everyone else?”
“Fuck everyone else. They don’t matter more than you and I.”
And with that, he leaves. I hit the button to Mum’s flat, my shoulders drooping as I absentmindedly eat the Snickers bar.
Maybe I should save it for when Mum and I watch a film — not The Notebook.
I enter the code to her flat and go inside, still nibbling on the chocolate.
It’s dark inside, the only light coming from her room. I’m just outside of it when the sounds filter in.
Moans. Groans. Slaps of flesh against flesh.
My cheeks heat. I probably should’ve called first. But then again, Lucien barely comes to Mum’s flat, and I kind of thought they were in a non-sexual relationship.
I turn around to leave when I hear the unmistakable name.
My fingers slowly push the door open. What remains of my Snickers drops to the ground. I’m scarred for life.
Mum is on her back as a man fucks her hard.
And that man isn’t Lucien.
It’s Papa.
41
Silver
The three of us sit in Mum’s living area.
To say the air is awkward and full of tension would be the understatement of the century. This isn’t how I’ve imagined our family reunion.
Mum ties the satin robe around her nightgown and keeps touching her hair, trying to submit the dishevelled blonde strands to order.
Papa appears completely normal, all tucked in his suit as if he were born in one.
God. I can’t believe I walked in on my parents having sex. It’s even more disturbing now considering they’re no longer married.
They sit beside each other while I’m across from them, arms folded like a judge out to prosecute her defendants.
Mum flashes me an awkward smile. “It’s not what it seems.”
I scrunch my nose. “I think I saw exactly what it seems.”
“Princess.” Papa clears his throat. “We’re sorry you had to witness that.”
“Shouldn’t you be sorrier about other people? I don’t know, like Helen and Lucien?”
“Lucien and I are just friends, Babydoll. We only go out together to avoid the hassle of finding dates to the countless of events we attend.”
“How about Helen then?” I jut my chin at Papa. “How could you do this to her?”
Mum studies her red nails. “They’re not sexually active.”
“Cynthia,” Papa reprimands
“What?” She feigns nonchalance. “Silver is old enough to understand that. She’s sexually active herself.”
