Blood Bound (Permanently ON-HOLD)

CHAPTER TEN; The Old Country of Pop-Tarts and Death.

CHAPTER TEN

Hatred is gained as much by good works as by evil.
- Niccolo Machiavelli

Heath

"It's a pity your brother couldn't join us." My mother says, as we wait for our suitcases to be packed into the trunk of the sleek, black limousine that has been waiting for us on the tarmac.

I squint at her, the drizzle and wind soaking my hair and flipping it into my eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's all torn up."

He's not the one freezing and stuck in Ireland with his mother for the weekend.

Then again, it could be worse.

Oh wait, no it couldn't.

I feel like a pretentious dick, standing on the tarmac with a small jet behind me and a limo being loaded with over-sized suitcases in front of me. It's the perk of being a Hayes, I guess. We're the wealthiest of the Clanns.

I'm wearing my black suit for Bill Cross' funeral in a few hours, and my eyes are about to shut any minute. Not only did I have an... Eventful night at Colt's party, but I also had to get up at seven this morning for this flight. Add to that the change in time zones and the fact that I'm a teenage boy and you have a cocktail of jet-lag and fatigue.

It's a dull and grey day in Ireland, the drizzle is like mist across the airport runways, and everyone I can see is bundled up in jackets and scarves. It's crazy because hours ago I was surrounded by teenagers in shorts, T-shirts and sunglasses, whereas here it might as well be winter.

The miserable weather adds to my mood.

"How are you, Mrs. Hayes?" The man who put our luggage in the trunk walks around the limo and smiles brightly at my mother, his head shiny and bald and his Irish accent thick. "I'm Dara and I'll be your driver for this evening."

My mother smiles delicately at him and shakes his hand while I wonder what kind of name "Dara" is.

He leads us into the limo, shutting the door behind us, and I relax in the seat furthest from my mother, laying my head back and shutting my eyes. My body molds into the seats, sinking in. It smells like air-freshener and dampness, but I can live with it.

Just before I fall asleep, my mother's voice wakes me up.

"That suit is ridiculous."

I blink my eyes open, the black ceiling becoming bleary before I lift my head up and look at her. "Wh-what?"

She looks over my clothing, one hand twisting her wedding ring around and around. "It's so tight."

I attempt to lift my arms up, and fail miserably. The fabric being too tight around my shoulders.

My mother tssks. "I told you to buy a new one before the wedding."

I frown. "It is before the wedding. I still have, like, two weeks."

My mother rolls her green eyes, her twisting becoming faster and faster. "It's this day next week. How could you be so selfish as to ruin your brother's wedding?"

Now I roll my eyes. "I really don't think me being in a tight suit will rui-"

She stops her twisting, her whole body becoming still. "I don't care what you think, Heath." And she enunciates each word painfully clear. "I asked you to do two things; to get a haircut and to buy a new suit, and you've done neither."

"I've come to Ireland with you!" I exclaim, gesturing wildly.

She shakes her head, as if I'm an idiot. "You volunteered, and why are you even complaining? How many of your friends have ever come to Ireland? How many have been to Tunisia or Crete or Germany? Name one who's been to the Vatican City or Malta?"