Tightrope

Anytime

Dad sighed, and in the reproachful set of his jaw, I could see the answer to Knight's question. My parents had spoken to Carl and Daniella, and the verdict was that they were officially the worst. I watched as Knight's resolve turn to steel, even as he loosened his shoulders in a display of complete nonchalance. Pride; the fatal flaw we both shared. But he cared. I knew he cared.

"I'm sorry," Dad said. "They didn't admit to the marriage thing, but they—"

"They suck," Mum interrupted, glaring at the corner of the room as if the Knight's were standing there, being their usual pretentious dickface selves.

"You are very much like your daughter," said Knight with a tentative smile.

Mum placed a hand on her chest. "Oh, god. I have to immediately change everything about myself."

Well. That was rude.

I turned to Knight. "Are you sure this is the family you want to join? We could find a new one?"

Knight slung his arm around my shoulders and I bumped my hip into his. Then, Knight turned to my mother and said, "No offence meant to you, Eliza. I'm sure you have many fine attributes and don't share all that many with your daughter."

Well. It seemed I was in the market for a new best friend.

But Knight was hiding his pain behind his jokes, and that charming grin. "So, what did they have to say?" Knight asked, in a pitiful display of nonchalance."

Mum glanced at Dad, who gave her a look in return that said, well, I don't know how to soften this blow. Mum had been right; the Knights sucked. My Knight excluded, of course.

Mum sighed. "They said you left of your volition," she said, looking Knight in the eyes with sympathy and determination. She knew her words would hurt—hurt perhaps more than if she had struck him—but there was no hiding from the truth. "They said you chose not to be a part of the family anymore, and they wouldn't stand in the way of your decision. But they also said they couldn't support a child who didn't believe in their family values, and who had chosen to leave their lives."

"Did you tell them to stick it up their asses?" I burst out, fury turning my words into violent, harsh sounds. "That we knew Knight, and he did no such fucking thing?"

Dad didn't criticise my language. He opened his mouth to respond, but Knight cut in, a weary, world-heavy set to his shoulders. "But I did."

I whirled on him, and I knew my eyes were blazing with unchecked rage. "What do you mean?"

Knight shrugged hopelessly. "They did give me a choice, and I chose to leave." A wry smile lifted the corner of his lips. "And I didn't exactly support their family values. I removed the stick lodged up my asshole."

I considered this for a moment. He wasn't wrong, not exactly. What the Knights had said was true, to a point, but framed their son's actions as traitorous, rebellious, insolent. It was an explanation that lacked all of the nuance; the psychotic arranged marriage, their callous ultimatum. The untouched stack of books; the one that said they hadn't even entered their son's room since he left, hadn't even cared that much.

I hope Knight left a shit tonne of food in there, I thought savagely. Then the Knights can decide what's worse; mould, ants or rats.

Being ostracised and thrown from your childhood home by your parents was probably still worse though. The rats were a close second.

"They still suck," I grumbled. "But also, there is definitely still a stick up your ass. You're extremely pretentious."

Knight muttered his protests, as I kicked out at his legs. My parents shared a glance, as if to say, great, more bickering children.