ｃｈｒｙｓｓｉｅ

ｇｉｆｔ

He was waiting near the grave.

The sight of him made Grayson's lip curl up and his stomach ache, but what more could he expect from his father?

Part of him considered turning his back on the entire thing. Maybe it would be better that way - if Thaddeus just thought that he hadn't bothered to show up. Maybe then he would finally leave Grayson alone. Even his flower, after perusing his father's request, had concluded that he wasn't obligated to go if he didn't want to.

(This might have been for fear of his murderous tendencies showing face, but what mattered was that she had said it, not why.)

So he calmly walked up to his father's side, ignoring the anger that bubbled up inside of him, the thoughts

(how dare he mourn, how dare he come here and look at her grave)

that peppered his mind like bullets.

"Afternoon, Thaddeus. Is there a reason that I'm here?"

He looked up, apparently surprised that Grayson had showed.

(His father wasn't the only one.)

"Grayson. It's nice to see you here," he said, reaching out, and to Grayson's absolute horror, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. Jerking away rather violently, he scrambled backwards and nearly fell over his mother's grave, catching himself at the last moment.

"Don't touch me." 

"Sorry. I forgot... about... erm... you not liking being touched," Thaddeus mumbled, and Grayson got an intense feeling of satisfaction when he recognised the hurt in his tone. That satisfaction, however, was also mixed with a sense of shame that went so deep, he could barely stand it.

There he was, creating conflict at his mother's grave between his father and himself - the two people that she had loved the most in the world. Guilt seeped through his pores, and god, he knew that if she could see him, she would be so disappointed in what had become of her only son.

It was such a shame that pride was engraved so deeply into him that he couldn't bring himself to apologise.

"Anyway, Grayson, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told your girlfriend about your mother... I just... I worry about you sometimes. When you keep it bottled up inside of you, it tends to... I don't know."

"Who doesn't worry about me?" asked Grayson quietly, turning away from his father. "I give everyone a reason to be scared. That happens when you kill people."

"That's not why I worry. I care for you very, very deeply Grayson, and that is something that will never change. You'll always be my son, and I know that you hate that, but nonetheless, it's true."

"I'm her son," he replied quietly, looking to the grave. "Not yours."

"You're ours. You look so much like her."

Whipping around, Grayson gave him a harsh look. "You probably wish that I'd never been born. Even that bitch said it - you never wanted me."

"You're wrong," Thaddeus said after a moment or two, his voice surprisingly firm. "Your grandmother was the one who told your mum to give you up, but your mum told her that she wouldn't, and then you were born, and we were so happy. You were the most beautiful baby we had ever seen."

He took a deep breath, brushing tears away from his eyes, then continued.

"And your grandmother she hated you so much because you gave us joy. Because Adrianna was young when she had you, because we weren't married, because she didn't like me. We should have left when we had the chance - anywhere else would have done. But we stayed. And I regret it every single goddamned day."