Unless (LGBTQ+ BxB Completed Novel)

3: All apologies.

"Have you any idea of what you've put your mother through?" Dad's patronizing tone has my stomach coiling in knots. We lock gazes, my eyes turn to slits. My jaw clenches so tight it could break, but I don't look down. I bite the inside of my lips, waiting for the metallic taste of blood to pool in. There it is... a perfect reminder of the only emotion I've felt in this house—pain.

This is the scenario I had in mind—the second I step inside my parents' house, my old man is already at my throat.

"Dad, come on now. It's not like I went missing or anything." A faltering heartbeat after the words come out of my parched throat, I know they are useless.

"This is not the way we handle things in this family, Noah, and to be clear, I'm getting sick and tired of your selfish ways." His demeanor tells me I'd rather not argue, or I might lose more than my ego; sadly, my temper disagrees with everything my brain advises me against. Therefore, I bark my answer with squared shoulders and a tentative grin that bounces back from my father's iron gaze.

"In my defense, all my intentions were good. I mean, I needed a little time alone, and I lost track of time." I try advocating for the millionth time, knowing my mistakes are just way too many. Deep down, I've lost my way—I know it, and he knows it.

I need to tame my temper or this will be the end of more than just a conversation." For what it's worth, I am sorry. Didn't mean to upset Mom, or you—"

"Noah—"

"Please let me finish. I'm the first to say I've been a little off these past few months, but I'm good now, everything is good, I swea—"

"I got a call from Pratt yesterday afternoon—again. Saying you were missing classes—again." His voice is raspy and loaded with disgust. I can smell the rage from a mile radius.

Shit. This news is messing with more than my alibi. "Dad, I—"

"I'm not willing to put up with your errant behavior. Have you forgotten the strings I had to pull to get you into the Institute? Have you?" my father dead-pans.

Fuck you, Dad. It was my portfolio that sealed the deal. They wanted my art, not your money. 

I want to scream these words at the top of my lungs, but my voice grabs at my throat and refuses to surface, much like it happened last night in that ocean.

"Dad, Noah had other—"

"Stay out of this, Savannah." Her expression sours and she flinches at his tone. I stare at my sister, knowing I'm fucking up her relationship with our father when she defends me.

"He is right, Savvy. I've been a little out of sorts." A lot. A whole damn lot. Why? I have no clue.

"So what now, Noah?"

"What do you mean, Dad?"

"It's simple. What do you want, son? Do you want to continue studying?"

Of course, I want to continue studying. Art is all I have left. 

"Yes," I answer, despite my asphyxiating unrest.

"Then it's settled. You will carry on with your MFA under new conditions." There it is, the usual bargaining of my life. He's done it for as long as I can remember.

"Conditions?" What are you up to now, father?

"Yes, two to be more precise. First, you must drop all that Tattooing mumbo jumbo—"