Laurelle Ryder

Trouwen niet aan de orde? Maar dat waren ze uiteindelijk wel van plan, toch? Althans, dat was het einddoel voor Sascha. Ze waren inmiddels meer dan een jaar samen en ergens begon het in de verte voor haar een beetje te kriebelen. Ze was vrij zeker dat hij de man voor haar was, omdat ze zo goed met elkaar waren. Maar hij bedoelde het vast niet zo, wilde dat vast wel. Het was iets om een gesprek over te hebben, maar niet nu haar moeder zo deed. "Niet aan de orde?" Zei haar moeder gepikeerd en Sascha raakte het ondertussen ook redelijk beu. Ze had geen recht om hier binnen te stormen, als ze dat wilde ging ze wel weer thuis wonen!
 
"Mam! Het is klaar!" Zei Sascha pertinent en ze pakte haar moeder's pols vast zodat ze niet meer met die priemende vinger naar Neptunus kon steken. "Ik weet niet waar je vandaan hebt dat ik... Maar het is niet zo en je moet nu ophouden." Beet ze haar redelijk bits toe, waar haar moeder op reageerde door te kijken of ze een dreuzel zag vliegen. "Je moet nu ophouden." Herhaalde ze, ook wat streng want hallo, straks dacht Neptunus nog. Zo'n gekke familie, dat zie ik niet zitten, ajuu.
 
En het leek te werken want haar moeder keek even van Sascha naar Neptunus en terug voor ze een diepe zucht laatte. Zo. "Ik wil gewoon niet dat je foute beslissingen maakt, lieverd." Zei haar moeder voor ze haar omhelsde en Sascha zou willen dat ze Neptunus kon zien vanuit die hoek om haar ongenoegen te tonen. Haar moeder keek op haar beurt Neptunus vuil aan, en gebaarde 'I have my eyes on you'. Helaas had Sascha dat niet echt door.
 
De Baker koppigheid zorgde ervoor dat mevrouw Baker niet ophield, de sluwheid zorgde ervoor dat haar dochter er niets van merkte. Vooralsnog niet, nochtans.

Oh ja nee, dit was fijn, dat hij zo direct voor het blok werd gezet dat hij met Sascha moest trouwen. Nu, direct, want ze leek hem op het type dat nog in staat zou zijn om hem direct voor het altaar te slepen ook. Hij was er alleen nog niet klaar voor om met Sascha te trouwen. Hij hield van haar, eerlijk waar, en hij begreep heus wel dat het voor haar ook lastig was om zo lang te moeten wachten, maar hij had nog geen nieuwe carrière opgebouwd en... 
 
"Ik... dit is niet aan de orde," probeerde hij zichzelf te verdedigen. "We hebben niets verkeerd gedaan!" 
 
Niet dat hij seks voor het huwelijk überhaupt verkeerd vond, hoor, maar dat leek hem al helemaal niet het juiste moment om daar discussie over te voeren. 

Ze was best trots op Neptunus, die haar moeder goed te woord stond. En hij had gelijk. Hij behandelde haar goed, hield van haar, was de beste vriend die ze ooit wensen kon. En hij forceerde niets, nam alles op haar tempo. En hij was van haar. Zo'n knappe, lieve en warme man. Ze had het goed gevonden, maar ze hoopte maar dat haar moeder's gedrag geen roet in het eten zou gooien. "Waar komt dit zo plots vandaan?" Vroeg ze en kwam bij de twee staan om Neptunus wat bevestiging toe te steken.
 
Maar haar moeder leek daar niet op te willen reageren, leek er zo van overtuigd dat zij en Neptunus relaties gehad hadden. "Dus je gaat met haar trouwen? Want dat is wat een degelijke behandeling zijn nadat je haar... Ontbloemd hebt!" Sascha sloeg beschaamd haar vrije hand voor haar ogen want deze vertoning van haar mama was echt superbeschaamtelijk. "Mama, ik zeg het toch, we hebben niks gedaan!" Zei ze terwijl ze schuldig naar Neptunus keek, haar wangen rood.
 
Een blik die vertelde, Jesus, I am so sorry.

Ja, eh, dus. Ten eerste was hij hier onschuldig, hij was (nog steeds) niet met Sascha naar bed gegaan en had daar ook geen plannen voor zolang als zij dat niet wilde, want hij was een goed vriendje, dank je wel, en ten tweede begreep hij nog steeds niet waar dit nou vandaan kwam. Hij had niets gedaan! Ze waren zich heus niet anders aan het gedragen dan normaal en vorige week was alles nog goed, waren hij en Sascha nog op de thee geweest ook, en nu plotseling dit?
 
"Mevrouw Baker," zei hij dus ook, een beetje streng, "het stelt me teleur dat u er vanuit gaat dat ik dit soort dingen zou doen bij Sascha! Ik heb haar altijd goed behandeld en ben ook van plan dat te blijven doen." 

Ze haatte het als Leda een goed punt had, want wie dacht ze wel niet wie ze was? En ze was daar vast ook heel arrogant over bezig in haar hoofd, met hoe geweldig ze wel niet was, hoe fantastisch, hoe mooi haar haren wel niet glansden, etc, etc, etc. Livia glimlachte alleen maar, want ze ging heus niet zeggen dat het een goed idee was. Stel je voor. 
 
"Ik ben echt dol op vervloekte sieraden," zei ze. "Ik heb een ring met een diamant erin die altijd wit is, behalve als je hem om je vinger schuift, dan vult hij zich langzaam met je bloed!" Maar ze wilde eens een keer iets echt gevaarlijk. "Voorzichtig zijn, Ruby," tsskte ze een beetje. "Laat je hand eens zien?" 

He apologised for their son, but he couldn't really help the boy's reaction, right? Priscilla didn't pay too much attention, was too caught up at trying to hurt herself and Madeline was considering asking for a raise as the girl kept trying. In the end, a little paralysing spell seemed like the best way to go and Priscilla fell limp. Madeline didn't have much empathy for her, had heard all she'd done and Priscilla's words about denouncing God went completely against her morals, but her job was her job. "She'll be fine. A bit of sleep at the house should help." Lifting the paralysing spell Priscilla continued whimpering, but at least the head hitting had stopped.
 
"Come on, miss." She muttered, rather annoyed as she helped the girl pick herself of from the floor. "Don't do all that silly stuff." She smiled at the man, apologetically, before pulling the woman up and into a walk. "Thank you for your time. Excuse us." Madeline made a memo to put out a advertisement in the newspapers for another job when she got home. This was too much.
 
George and Pris (and Madeline) out

"Bartie!" George gasped, because sure, his son had been difficult before, he was only a young boy, but George had never expected that he would be cruel. To his own mother, of all people! And alright, perhaps he didn't have a good bond with her, perhaps George should've explained more about who Priscilla was, but Bartholomew was never this cruel to anyone else. He had no trouble with meeting strangers, so why on earth would Priscilla of all people be difficult?
 
Even though he was quite on edge himself, with the way Priscilla was responding to the whole situation. But man, if Bartie had just... given her a hug... 
 
He was going to have a stern conversation with his son after this. 
 
"I'm so sorry," he told both Priscilla and the chaperone. "I... I didn't realize that he would behave this way." Poor Priscilla, all she wanted was to meet her son... For god's sake, Bartie. "'is she... going to be alright?" 

"I figure it's best." Her chaperone said but Priscilla disagreed. Bartholomew belonged with her as much as with George and she hadn't seen him since he was born, but as the boy kept speaking it felt like more and more of her was breaking down. Was there going to be anything left after this? She wasn't sure. Bartie's word cut her deep and she wanted to get up, go to hold him but she didn't want him to push her away. She knew he would, with the way he was talking. It was hell all over again. 
 
And then he left. Her son left and with him the constraints on herself. "No, no..." She cried. She had nobody to rely on anymore, always had herself and God, but now he was gone and she didn't feel strong enough on her own to withstand this. Her son disliked her, hated her maybe, thought she was creepy and weird. That's what everyone seemed to think now, keeping their distance. Even her parents didn't feel comfortable with her. Her chaperone was only sitting beside her because she was paid good money to do so, probably feeling safe in the knowledge she had a wand while Priscilla didn't. She wanted him to come back, to hold him close, to kiss his head and not let go for a long time. To watch him play, to see him be happy.
 
"Should we go home, Priscilla?" What did it matter where she was? Her son thought she was creepy. He could see the crazy behind her eyes. All the things that had happened to her, that didn't happen to normal people.
 
She flopped on the floor, hitting her head, feeling her chaperone's hand stop her from banging on the hard ground. "I should take her home." Miss 'O Driscoll said to George though Priscilla didn't hear it, too focussed on hitting her head, trying to avoid Madeline's hand at every beat. 

The more that strange, weird woman started screaming, the more his father started pushing, the less Bartholomew wanted to be here, to have anything to do with her. He didn't know her and now she was screaming at him that he was her baby and she loved him?! How could she love him, she didn't even know him!
 
"You're not my mother!" he yelled back at Priscilla. "You're just creepy and weird!" And he wanted to go. 

"You shouldn't say that," he sternly told Bartie, but he had to admit that now that Priscilla was losing his composure, he too started to feel uncomfortable with the whole situation. He wanted his son to have a relationship with his mother, he wanted Priscilla to have a relationship with Bartholomew, but it seemed like neither of them had been ready for this. 
 
"Your mother has been through a lot, she just... she just wants to get to know you." But he felt unwilling to push Bartie towards Priscilla as well, at least as long as she couldn't calm down. "Is she alright?" he asked the nurse. "Would it be better to just... remove Bartie from the situation for a bit so she can calm down?" 
 
He didn't know what to do. 

At least George did something, because Priscilla didn't think she could move, even if she wanted to. Her son, the one she'd been clinging onto in her mind, to relieve the pain of the asylum, didn't want to meet her. She'd thought up this whole elaborate relationship between the two of them and although she knew it wasn't going to be like that immediately, she'd expected the boy at least to see the similarities, to be happy to know his mother hadn't wanted to abandon him. They'd ripped him from her, and every day since she'd thought about him, if he was doing well, what he was doing. 
 
Weird. He thought she was weird. "My baby!" She shrieked, unable to keep her composure. "Don't say that. I love you, you're my baby, don't say that!" She rambled, as her chaperone held her arm around her. She wasn't sure if she tried to comfort her or contain her, but Priscilla hunched over her knees, holding them in an attempt to push away the nausea. This couldn't be real.

But he didn't know her. He didn't know this strange woman, who was sobbing on the couch in an emotional display he wasn't used to, and who said she was his mother. He had never had a mother, he had never wanted a mother, because George and Azalea were enough and now all of the sudden he was suddenly supposed to meet her? What next, he had to live with her? She would take him away from his father?
 
"No," he said, louder, stepping away from his father's hands. "I don't want to, she's weird!" 

It had been a mistake. George stared at his own son in horror, the young boy who just glanced at Priscilla from the corner of his eye and seemingly determined that had been enough. He should've asked the boy somewhere else, probably, might've asked the maid to at least tell him that his mother was waiting for him, but now Priscilla seemed incredibly hurt and Bartholomew just seemed to inch away from her. 
 
"Bartie," he sighed, standing up so he could guide Bartie towards her, "come on. It won't be long." 

She'd expected some resistance, but instead, George called for him. The maid left and she could feel the nervousness emerge in her stomach and then he entered. Her boy, her son. The beautiful smile on his face as clear as in the picture, yet now she was so close to him. She felt like her entire time in the asylum had led to this, all the pain, he was finally here. No longer a picture. He was-
 
She looked at her son, so uninterested in meeting her playing seemed more appealing and her heart seemed to stop. "Bartie..." She muttered, feeling an immense sadness cloud her mind, her soul. He didn't want her. Why would an 8 year old boy not be interested in his mother? Had George told him the whole story, that he was taken from her? She held her hand to her chest, as it felt like her broken heart could spill out at any moment if she didn't hold it. She looked at George through her tears, didn't know what to say or do while the woman who was with her looked a little on edge, holding her wand as if she was worried Priscilla would get up to strangle someone. She couldn't do much else, since she didn't have a wand. She looked back at her son.
 
"My baby." She cried, her hands shaking from the pain in her chest, her lips trembling. The last time she'd seen him in the flesh was when he came out of her. What could she do if he did not want to meet her?

Hello, excuse me, what did you just say?
 
Bartie was just having a fun morning, it was the summer holidays and he had been out in the garden when a maid had come calling him inside because his father wanted him. Usually, his father wanting him meant something good, it meant toys or treats or 'let's go out to an amusement park' or whatever he wanted, so Bartie had been happy when he entered the room. Even if there were two weird women sitting on a couch and his father so far away from them that it was almost strange, because his father never sat far away from people, but all of that could've been explained, somehow, if George hadn't dropped the following question: if he wanted to meet his mother.
 
"No thank you," he said. "Can I go play again?" 

Ah, yes, Bartie... of course she would want to see her son, if he had been in her position... (which he was, with his daughters) he also would want to see his children as soon as possible.
 
So without considering if this was a good idea or not, he immediately gestured towards another maid that she should bring Bartholomew here and when Bartholomew entered, he smiled at the boy and said: "Hello Bartie, would you like to meet your mother?" 

"Thank you." She smiled back at him. "I live with my parents in Bath in my old room." So. Well.
 
"I came to ask about Bartie. They took away the picture you sent me, as a punishment. I'd like to see him again. I miss his face. It kept me sane." As sane as one could be in there.

Sure, he had that. So he assumed at least, because let's be honest, he didn't do his own grocery shopping, but surely a maid could figure out how to get Priscilla some mint tea. Didn't they grow that somewhere in the garden? He nodded towards a maid. 
 
Yes, after years of... well. At least she was doing better now, taking medications, apparently. He nodded slowly at her. "Alright," he smiled, a little awkward. "I'm glad to hear that you're doing better." 
 
It was rude, right? To just ask what she was doing here? "Where do you live now?" 

She could taste the awkwardness in the room, his uncomfortableness. Or maybe it was her own. Last time she'd seen him she'd been pinned to the table by the teachers after she'd tortured his girlfriend. Even thinking that out loud made her want to crawl back home and die in her bed. "Tea sounds good. Do you have mint tea or something herbal?" Since being back she noticed that regular tea made her feel really anxious. Like the keepers of that horrible place could burst through the doors at any second, ready to grab her away again.
 
"It has been, yes." She'd been a teenager back then. She'd thought God would be kind on her, but the last years had been hell. God. It wasn't God, really. Though she still named the voice she'd heard for all that time God. More a name than the entity she'd learned about as a kid. More a demon than a God, wasn't it? Perhaps she'd been possessed, but pills couldn't expel demons, yet these did. She pressed her lips together, unsure what to say.
 
"I'm well. As well as one can be after years of you know." Candy Kane. The special ward of the hospital. "I'm taking medications. I wasn't well before, but I am better now. I am genuinely sorry for what happened." Though it had hardly been a choice back then. It was difficult.

Priscilla Pearson was currently in his sitting room. 
 
Priscilla Pearson. 
 
Of all people George had ever expected in his sitting room, Priscilla Pearson wasn't one of them. She had been so broken, the last time he had seen her... or perhaps broken wasn't really the right word. Angry? Frustrated? Complicated?
 
Can you tell he was desperately trying to avoid the word insane? 
 
But according to his maid, yes, he had quickly asked, she seemed... normal. Subdued. A little uncomfortable, but not splattered in blood, throwing furniture around. 
 
Yes, he had indeed asked if she was throwing around furniture. 
 
"Well, hello," he said, smiling, when he entered the sitting room, nodding at Priscilla and her chaperone. He took a rather awkward route through the sitting room from the door, to sink down in a chair opposite of Priscilla. "Tea?" 
 
What was she doing here? 
 
"It's been a while." 

George de Haviland's home
 
She was finally free from that torturous place, and now she was free to go wherever she wanted... With a chaperone from her parents, of course. Cause they didn't want her to get in trouble, or hurt herself. She was quite content her parents were so rich they could afford one. She knew of another patient from Candy Kane who upon being released was locked up in the outhouse. A terrible thought. But Priscilla could go where she wanted, so after breakfast with her parents she declared them she'd go to visit her ex-husband. 
 
So after her bathroom visit, where of course she was followed to, she could finally go to that big house. She didn't have the picture anymore of her son, since it was taken from her as a punishment. But his face was burned into her memory, since she'd been looking at it every time the voices got too bad when they took her off medication. Luckily, the pharmacy had no problems giving her the medications, so she could walk around like e relatively normal person. Besides the chaperone. And the stares.
 
She'd knocked on the door, waiting for a maid to come. "Good morning. I'm Priscilla Pearson, this is my chaperone Madeline O'driscoll. I'm here for George de Haviland. Could you please tell him I'm here? It's quite urgent." She'd been waiting what seemed like decades for this moment.

Mevrouw Baker was enigszins onder de indruk van haarzelf, dat ze de man zo ver kreeg daadwerkelijk op te staan. Ze was ook onder de indruk van zijn acteerkunsten, zo onschuldig dat hij keek, net of zijn neus bloedde. Wat een irriterende jongeman, en dat terwijl ze hem tot nu toe altijd wel vriendelijk gevonden had. Dat was zijn doel, natuurlijk. Vriendelijk gevonden worden, het meisje bezwangeren en ervan door gaan. "Houd je niet van de domme, de Haviland. Ze is mijn dochter! Ik ken jouw type." Ze keek naar haar dochter. "Ik heb je gewaarschuwd, Sas." Het was toch verschrikkelijk! Verschrikkelijk.
 
"Misbruik maken van mijn dochter, met haar naar bed zonder te trouwen!" Sascha hoopte dat de grond haar op zou eten, maar helaas. Ze stond hier nog steeds en ze moest toch iets doen. Zeker omdat wat ze zei nergens op sloeg. "Mama! Ik ben nog maagd?!?" Wat de waarheid was. Even was ze heel blij nooit op haar gevoelens in te zijn gegaan, anders had ze dat niet zo vol vertrouwen kunnen zeggen en had ze nog verder door de grond kunnen zakken, als haar moeder haar niet al in een klooster opsluiten zou. 

Het was eigenlijk wel jammer dat Sascha nu alweer uit zijn appartement was verhuisd, maar tja, voor haar natuurlijk ook wel beter om een eigen plekje te hebben. Ze waren nog niet getrouwd en zo groot was zijn appartement nou ook weer niet. ... Ja, twee keer zo groot als haar nieuwe plekje, maar hij was opgegroeid in een groot landhuis, oké, hij had een beetje een raar idee van wat groot nou precies was. Hij was in ieder geval wel blij voor haar, dat ze nu al een mooie plek had gevonden! En dus was hij natuurlijk langs gekomen met een fles wijn, om haar eerste avond te vieren.
 
Tot Sascha's moeder binnen kwam stormen. Hij sprong geschrokken op, want als iemand tegen hem zei dat hij op moest staan, dan deed hij dat ook direct. "Mevrouw Baker? Wat is er aan de hand?" Hij hield zijn handen schuldig omhoog. 
 
Ook al had hij op zich niets gedaan. 

Augustus 1842
 
Ze had eindelijk weer een eigen plekje, nadat ze uit het appartement van Christa, haar nichtje, gegooid was. En dat moest gevierd. Met een goede fles wijn en een grappig bordspelletje keek ze uitdagend naar haar vriend die voor haar zit, bluffend met haar stenen. Ze keek ernaar uit om vanavond samen met hem in haar bed te knuffelen, genietend van de rust en de dagelijkse sleur die zo langzaam aan weer begon, tot plots haar voordeur open gegooid werd. De klap tegen de wand deed haar verschieten, waarna haar moeder binnen gestormd kwam.
 
"Mam?" Vroeg ze verward en geschrokken, tot haar moeder driftig op Neptunus af stapte en hem een vinger tegen de borst drukte. "Waar denk je wel niet mee bezig te zijn? Met MIJN dochter?" Brieste ze bruut. "Sta op." Commandeerde ze en Sascha kon wel wegkwijnen want what de fuck was dit dan? "Mam?!? Wat bezielt je?" Riep ze schel, en stond op om naast Neptunus te staan maar het gebeurde allemaal zo vlug!

Ja, bidden, daar had hij veel aan. Kijk, hij was ook Katholiek, hoor, ging netjes naar de kerk (misschien niet elke zondag, maar toch vaak genoeg), deed zijn donaties, biechtte zijn zonden op, maar Dolores die voor zijn gezin bad, daar schoot Jupiter niets mee op. 
 
Nero glimlachte. "Oh, je hoeft ook geen kennis van geneeskunde te hebben," zei hij, warm, "maar er is iets wel iets dat je kunt doen. Wil je je broer graag helpen?"