Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XIV

"Jones?"

His whole demeanour seems to be a lot more closed off and less confident than what it normally looks like around school

"Yes," this time, after a few breaths and reminding myself not to stutter, my voice comes out clear and confident.

"I," he pauses once he sees Papa at the top of the stairs, "need to talk to you."

Papa steps in front of me, reassuringly, trying to... protect me from Christopher.

Oh.

"Papa, it's okay, he's not..."

Papa still doesn't seem to believe me though, slightly pushing me away, creating a further distance between me and Christopher.

Christopher is slightly shorter than Papa, who while not as muscular as Christopher, is definitely more buff. So if they were to have a fight, Papa would have quite an advantage.

"Ivory, if you don't want him to be here," he addresses me, keeping his eyes trained on an increasingly anxious Christopher.

"It's okay, Papa, we'll just go upstairs, I promise, nothing bad will happen."

I hope.

Papa sighs, deeply.

"I'm staying right by the stairs, Ivory, just scream if anything..."

I don't get to hear the rest of his sentence, as I'm already dragging Christopher up the stairs.

The sound of a click, goes off behind me, the second I gently shut the bedroom door, walking to the far end of the room, nearly tumbling over all my books, and clothes, with my clumsiness.

"So?" I start.

"Right, of course, I- just wanted to say, w-well you-" he goes silent for a bit too long.

"Christopher?" I cross my arms expectedly.

"I'm- You... Er."

He doesn't say anything for a few minutes.

"That's your mother?"

What?

That's when I notice him, looking at a small framed portrait of Mama, with Papa, both of them at Whitby's restaurant, staring into each other's eyes, lovingly, grinning. The picture had been taken when they were the same age as me.

"Yeah, it is."

He smiles.

"She's gorgeous."

"She's dead," I set my face straight, trying to shut off all emotions related to my mother, keeping them hidden.

"Oh. I-I'm Sorry."

"Why are you saying sorry, you're not the one that killed her," I laugh, heartlessly, the laugh coming out as more of a scoff.

I don't ignore how Christopher jerks uncomfortably, the minute I say those words, as though it caused him physical pain. Until he quickly covers it up as a cough.

I fidget awkwardly as he stops again for a bit staring at me as if trying to figure out something.

"Mine is too."

I shouldn't ask how, it might be personal, he probably doesn't want me to know.

"It was cancer." He turns around and carries on pacing around my room. "some sort of melanoma apparently, i don't remember much, It was a long time ago."

I don't understand how Christopher can just say that, and act as though it's perfectly normal.

Well, You've learnt how to do it, perfectly over the years.