Beneath the Gilded

Chapter 8

There was something heartbreaking about a guy that was crying. His fat tears mixed with the rain, and nobody noticed them, or his body slightly quaking from silent sobs. Contemplating on whether or not to follow up on my hand, my head won. My decision made, I clenched my fists a few times.

"Hi."

"I thought I told you to not talk to me, love," he said. Rapidly blinking, he tried to conceal the fact that he had been crying.

"Are you okay?" I softly asked, instead of defending myself passionately as I planned to do last night in front of the mirror.

"Yes," he lied through his teeth.

His razor sharp words didn't turn me away because I recognized his behavior. Sarcasm was a natural defense when you were hurting. And I don't know how I came from calling him an execrable scumbag to caring about whether he was in pain, but I had.

I sat next to him on the mahogany bench, and after much contemplation, placed my right arm around him in an awkward side-hug. He didn't pull away, much to my surprise.

"How was she like?" I murmured. "I mean, I read about her in the tabloids. But I didn't know her."

An eternity of silence followed. Just as I was thinking about giving up and leaving Dean to his grief, he spoke.

"She was one of the most passionate people I have ever seen." He choked on his tiny chuckle.

"I remember when she laughed, her whole face lit up and somehow brightened up the entire room. And when she got mad, oh, it was hell on earth," he said, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before it disappeared almost completely.

"But she wasn't a good person," he sighed. "I realize that now."

I wasn't sure what to say, or if I should have said anything.

"I can tell you really cared about her," I finally murmured.

"Yes I did. But she didn't care. She acted like a total psychopath to me. Sometimes I wonder if she really was one. A psychopath, I mean."

It was truly interesting, learning about Kingston's very own sweetheart in this very intimate and accurate way. Any intelligent and clear-thinking individual knew better than to believe what the tabloids say, but I guess for once they were right about Sophia having anger issues.

"But I still loved her, yeah. But I hated her, too." His right hand was strangling his left wrist, in a death grip.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Dean. But I hope you don't blame me anymore," I said softly, but sternly.

"Why would I blame you?" he asked, his eyes quizzical and his forehead wrinkling up in honest puzzlement. As if he had completely forgotten that my father was the supposed murderer of his sister "who rests in heaven." An odd sensation began in my stomach, but I wasn't sure how to name this gut instinct. But I knew all wasn't right.

He seemed to recognize the expression on my face, though. Immediately straightening, he exclaimed, "Oh, that! No worries, I know it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry for my rash behavior earlier, for lashing out at you. You didn't deserve it."

I smiled, relieved, and the tightening in my abdomin eased a little, but it didn't go away.

"And I just wanted to tell you that I got summoned for a testimonial that is tomorrow," I told him morosely, referring to the phone call I had received four days prior. "And I am going to testify in my father's favor."

His eyes widened for a millisecond, so quick that I almost missed it had I not been looking so carefully at him. What was the flash of emotion that passed through the planes of his face? Anxiety? Annoyance? Anger?

Fear?

"Are you sure? The evidence against him is pretty incriminating. But you should tell them what you saw."

His words almost convinced me. Just almost.

"Oh, I will," I stated.

"I think we need to meet up for the project," he said, switching topics. A sure sign of anxiety, or at least uncomfortable emotions against the previous topic, according to my AP Psychology teacher. Which I got an A on, for the record.

I let it slide.

So we were talking about a school project at the funeral of his sister. Morbid much?

"Yeah, I agree. When, and what place?"

"What about Tuesday? At my place; no one is usually home except for the cook/maid and the butler, and they're cool."

"I'm going to get to come inside the home of a billionaire?" I exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. I thought he would say the library or something.

He looked a little embarrassed, and I couldn't believe that just a few weeks ago, he was the most arrogant guy on campus.

"Yeah, unless you don't want to..."

"Are you kidding? I am so there."

I was so excited I nearly forgot about the gut feeling I had. And I laid awake all night trying to figure out what it was.

Hello, loyal readers that somehow clung on until now! I see you, and I love you.

So I decided to upload this tiny chapter even though I have midterm this week. *highfives myself* I am probably gonna fail, but who cares??? I have you guys!

Hint, hint... Comments and votes inspire me to update faster... Just an idea.

And a question: Do you guys want faster updates and shorter chapters or slower updates and longer chapters?