Chapter 7

A Chapter by starfast

Chapter 7 of the novel I'm writing

Antonio seemed reluctant to let Crispin leave. He had insisted that he was badly hurt, and that he needed help. But Crispin wanted to leave. He wanted to talk to Roger about everything that had happened. He was also beginning to feel restless in the small room. Crispin had always hated small spaces. The feeling that he was being trapped was beginning to creep up on him. It was only until he told this to Antonio that he finally let him leave.

“You were unconscious for a day and a half, and you broke wing,” Antonio said to him before he left, “I really think it would be better if you stayed here to rest. However, I do understand if you want to see Roger before you leave here.”

“I’ll get a lot of rest over at Roger’s,” Crispin assured him, “And I’ll be back over if anything goes wrong. I promise.” With that, he left, and Five minutes later he found himself knocking at Roger’s door.

When Roger opened the door, he looked surprised when he saw Crispin standing there. It was as if Crispin was the last person he expected to see.

“Oh my god, Crispin,” Roger said. He wrapped his arms around Crispin and hugged him so tightly that Crispin felt as if he could no longer breathe. “Oh my god,” Roger repeated, “I thought-- Why don’t you come in?” He let go of Crispin, and ushered him into the house.

“Your father was here yesterday,” Roger said as Crispin kicked his boots off.

“Was he mad,” Crispin asked.

“What happened between you two,” Roger asked in a serious tone, “He told me that you died.”

“What?” Crispin gasped, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well clearly,” Roger said, “Since you’re standing right in front of me and you’re obviously not dead. Tell me,” He said, gently placing a hand on Crispin’s shoulder, “tell me what happened.”

Crispin opened his mouth to speak, when he noticed Roger’s daughter, Rebecca, standing in the hallway.

“Hi Crispin,” She said flirtatious tone. Rebecca was always vying for Crispin’s attention. She had a huge crush on him since as far back as Crispin could remember. Crispin didn’t quite feel the same way. He felt Rebecca was more of a sister to him, and her constant need to impress him was annoying.

“Hi,” Crispin said a little more harshly than he’d intended. “Sorry,” He said when he noticed the hurt look on Rebecca’s face, “I’ve had a rough past few days and I really need to talk to your dad.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rebecca said as she walked away, “But just so you know, we both thought that you killed yourself yesterday. I’d like an explanation.”

“You want an explanation?” Crispin said, “Well, I got into a bad fight with my dad, ran away, Apparently, he’s now telling everyone that I killed myself, which by the way, I didn’t know until now.” He had barely noticed that his voice was steadily rising. Each word was louder and more harsh than the one that preceded it.

Roger gave him a gentle shove towards the stairs. “I think we need to go talk about this upstairs. Just…” He glanced towards his daughter, “I’ll meet you up there. Let me talk with Rebecca quickly.”

Crispin pushed past Roger and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. It had been a while since he had last been in his room, but it was exactly the way he left it. His drawers were open, and full of unfolded clothes. The bed was made, with an extra blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed.

Crispin headed over to the window, and shut the curtains before flopping down on his bed. He rolled over onto his side, so that he wasn’t lying on his injured wing. He drew his knees up to his chest, and remained in that position, staring at the blank white wall for a long time. When there was a knock at the door, he just groaned in response. He knew it was Roger, and he also knew that Roger would come in regardless of his response.

Roger sat down on the bed next to Crispin. “Is there a reason as to why your father came over yesterday and told me you committed suicide?”

“Yeah,” Crispin said softly, “yeah there is.”

“Ok,” Roger said, “Are you going to tell me about it?”

Crispin sighed. Part of him wanted to say no, but he had come to see Roger for a reason. He needed to tell him everything.

“My dad found out about my powers,” He said finally, “He was really angry with me.”

“Oh dear,” Roger said, “are you ok?”

Crispin shook his head. “He… he tried to kill me.” The memory of his father throwing his knife at him hurt almost as much as the knife embedding itself in his shoulder. He just threw the knife at him like he meant nothing to him. Crispin had seen his father kill people. It was always the same. He’d smile as he watched the life leave their eyes. Marcus took pleasure from killing off his enemies, and it was no different when he tried to kill his own son. Crispin knew that his father’s sick, twisted grin that flashed across his face when he threw the knife would haunt him for years to come.

Roger was silent for a long time. He finally sighed and said, “I’m sorry, Crispin. I really am.”

“Do you think he’ll ever, y’know, come around?” Crispin asked. He was already fairly certain of what Roger would tell him. He already knew that his father didn’t care for him anymore. But Roger had known his father for longer. It was a shot in the dark, but part of him was still clinging on to some hope that maybe there was a chance that his father would change his mind about him.

“I want to say yes, you know that,” Roger said, “But I think that the odds of your father changing his views are….” His voice tapered off, as if he wasn’t sure of how he wanted to complete his sentence.

“Slim?” Crispin finished for him.

“Yes.” Roger leaned in and hugged him. “You know I wish that things could be different for you, Crispin.”

“Me too,” Crispin said. He could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes. He didn’t cry very often. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had cried. His father had always insisted on appearing tough. But his father was out of his life now. Forever. He felt like he deserved to cry after everything that he had been through. He started sobbing uncontrollably. “I wish things were different too.”

It felt strange, crying after so long. He had been bottling up his emotions for so long, that he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It had just become a part of his everyday life. He knew what his father would say if he was here now. He would tell him to stop crying. Crying made him look weak and vulnerable.

Crispin finally let go of Roger, and curled up with his knees to his chin. He didn’t care if he looked weak or vulnerable because he knew that at that moment he was weak, and he was vulnerable. But then again, most people were.

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