"My dad always told me I was a bit of a rebel as a teen," he said.
"Where is he now?" I asked, which was probably rude of me.
"He's dead. He was really fed up with me when I was a teenager, but then I got a scholarship to Engineering school and he was proud."
"Must be the best feeling in the world," I said.
"What must be?"
"Knowing your parents are proud of you," I mumbled, looking down.
"Haven't your parents ever been proud of you?" he asked me.
"Well, my mum is usually too busy for me. I guess that's why I do what I do: for some attention from my mother." At that moment I realized that part of why I did modeling was because it made my mum happy. Of course I did enjoy it, but seeing my mum's smile after a photo shoot had always lit a smile on my own face.
"What about your father?" he asked.
I laughed humorlessly. "I don't know anything about him. He just left my mother and I never got a single letter or single call from him."
"Well, you seem like a good girl. I'm sure he would be very proud of you."
"He could be dead, for all I know."
"Your mother should have told you something about your father. You have the right to know."
"She never did."
"I'll tell you a little secret: my mum left me when I was four months old."
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. My father loved her so much, and he never spoke one word ill of her. He always told me about her because he believed I had a right to know about the woman who gave birth to me."
"I don't know about my dad, but my mum has never said a bad word about him. Well, she never said anything about him."
He seemed to be processing my words.
"Maybe she just didn't love him anymore."
"Doubt it," I muttered.
"What makes you doubt it?"
"Well, I have never ever told anyone but sometimes I'd find my mum crying alone in her room. Some nights she still does cry herself to sleep. Once, when I was around 6 years old, I found her crying in the living room and she said something about how I remind her so much of him that it hurts."
"So you're saying your mother still loves your father?"
"I know she does, but she just doesn't want to admit it. She worked so hard to be my mother and my father."
"What did she do?"
"Well, I remember how once I went to the park and all the children had their dads teaching them how to ride their first bike. My dad wasn't there, so my mum helped me and of course, I love her, but I've just never had a father/daughter moment."
"I guess you've had it harder than me. My mum returned when I was around 13. She said she wanted to know her son, and that she made a mistake, but I guess I was just so felt with hurt that I pushed her away."
"Where is she now?"
"She tried so hard to make me love her, and eventually, after many years I did. But to answer your question, she died around 3 weeks ago."
"I'm sorry," I said, feeling sad.
"While she was on her death bed, she had one wish," he added, absentmindedly.
"What was that?"
"I guess you could say it was to not make the same mistake she did," he answered quietly.
By then, we had reached the ground and it was time for us to get off. Everybody filed out and we followed together. We were about to go our separate ways when I spoke.
"I'm Ebony, by the way," I said as I outstretched my hand for him to shake.
He shook my hand. "Ben."
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Somebody asked me what this used to be called, and its previous title was:
The perfect guy, the perfect girl, and the not so perfect lie.
Initially, before I even joined Wattpad or started writing, I was going to call this;
Him + Her = World War III
But once I joined, I saw there was a story with a similar title soooo yeah. It sucked because I loved that title so much and thought it was just right.
Don't forget to comment and vote.
PICTURE OF BEN:
http://www.pict.com/view/2520905/0/ben
xox.
© Adorkable
World War III - Chapter 20
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