Strings and Schemes

Chapter 25

I lean back in my chair, taking a slow breath. "I appreciate your concern."

My father nods slightly, believing for a second that he's won.

Until I add, "But you don't get a say anymore."

His entire expression shifts. My mother's mouth parts slightly, as if she wants to argue, but for once, she has no prepared script.

I stand, smoothing out my blouse. "Dinner was lovely. But if this was meant to be a warning, consider it ignored."

I press a kiss to my mother's cheek—the same polite, diplomatic gesture she's used a thousand times before.

She follows me out of the dining room; in an exasperated tone she warns "You need to be careful, Raina. You might have left our house, but you haven't left the world you were raised in."

I turn and walk away. I don't turn back. But I should have.

I walk aimlessly before showing up at the Raven's Den; it feels like a lifetime since I've been here. Since the Independence Day party. How fitting?

The last time I was here I thought I was out from under their thumb, and now I'm worried that everything I've been building is about to be forcefully taken away from me.

Harry notices the look on my face the instance I enter the bar. I rub my fingers of the indents I carved on the back before sitting down, he's seen me a few times in these situations, and always knows that I'm in no mood to be baby sat or to speak about it.

I sit at my spot for what feels like is a blip of time, but soon I hear the door open and the rest of the patrons leave. Harry is cleaning but refilling my short glass with straight tequila to sip as I numb myself to the world around me; I know I can't sit here forever, and I know I can't feel this forever, but for right now - its all I can do.

I was nine the first time I saw my mother without her mask.

It was late—past my bedtime—but I had woken up thirsty. Normally, I would have called for one of the staff to bring me a glass of water, but something compelled me to wander downstairs myself. Maybe I had wanted to prove that I was capable of doing small things on my own.

I expected the house to be silent, the way it always was after dark. Instead, I heard movement in the kitchen. I hesitated at the door, watching, waiting for her to speak or shoo me back to bed.

My mother was standing at the counter, dressed in a robe instead of her usual structured silks. Her hair, always pinned perfectly in place, was loose, falling over her shoulder in soft waves. She looked... different. Vulnerable, maybe.

There was a steaming cup of tea in front of her, untouched. She was staring out of the window, lost in thought, her fingers absently tracing the rim of the cup. I had never seen her still before.

"Mom?"

She startled slightly before composing herself, turning to face me. For a brief second, I thought I saw the ghost of something softer in her expression—surprise, warmth, something dangerously close to affection.

"Raina," she said, her voice smoothing over the moment like silk. "What are you doing up?"

"I was thirsty."

She nodded toward the fridge. "There's water."

I padded over, grabbing a glass from the counter. But when I turned back, I saw her watching me, something unreadable in her gaze.

"You know," she said slowly, "I used to do the same thing when I was your age. Wake up late at night, sneak downstairs for a moment of peace."

I frowned. "Why?"

She sighed, glancing back at her untouched chai. For a moment, I wondered if she would actually tell me.

"When you're young, the world doesn't expect much of you," she murmured. "But when you grow up, when people start to realize what you can be, what you should be... you stop belonging to yourself."

I didn't understand what she meant then. But I felt the weight of it all the same.

"Do you still belong to yourself?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, but it was a tired thing, a rare glimpse of something real beneath the carefully curated image of my mother.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "In moments like these." I stared at her, at the way the flickering kitchen light cast shadows under her eyes, making her look almost... sad. I had never thought of my mother as sad before.

Before I could think too much about it, I walked over and curled up on the stool beside her. I half-expected her to tell me to go back to bed, to remind me of the rules, the routine, the discipline. But she just sighed and pulled my glass of water closer to her, pressing the cold rim against her wrist absentmindedly. We sat there together in silence, and for the first time in my life, it felt like she was just a person, not a force.

I am pulled out of my memories by the bell at the pub ringing. I look down at my British made watch, and notice the time indicates that the bar should be fully closed. Harry is in the kitchen, I can hear him humming sweet nothings to himself, and my heart rate picks up at the idea that someone could have just walked in here with bad intentions.

I feel a chill go up my neck in fear, before I head his familiar voice.

"Thought we agreed you'd bother me when you need, Jaan." His voice sounds like honey as he speaks softly to me.

"I just wanted to be alone for a bit," I say, meeting his light eyes.

He nods knowingly, "let's be alone together then?"

Harry hands Z the spare keys before he goes upstairs to turn in for the night, making us promise not to wreck the place. Zayn and I have a dance party in the middle of the night, in my safe place, laughing and drinking like we have no worries in the world.