Nathaniel #3
My chastising and obsessive need to boss him around doesn’t hinder him this time, though. Landon plows right through what I said, speaking as he swallows thickly.
I watch his throat work.
“Scarlet has other gifts, though,” he tells me. “Not magical ones, but important nonetheless. For example, she’s been working for our father since she turned twenty and has really thrived in her role. She’s very good at making my parents proud.”
“And you’re not?” I shouldn’t ask—I don’t care that much. But I sort of want to know, and even if the topic is becoming a bit too personal for me, it really is valuable information when it comes to breaking him.
“I’m…” Landon stares off into the distance again, his expression growing melancholy and a tad bit scared. “I don’t really give them a chance to be proud. To know me the way they know her.”
Last night returns to me: how he said that no one truly knows him, so no one truly cares. I… I don’t understand that. He’s so vibrant and outgoing, able to snatch up whoever he pleases. How can it be that he’s also hidden beneath so much clear sorrow?
Why is no one bothering to help him?
I can’t ask. I’m too nervous, too scared of what his response will make me feel.
“What about your uncle? Do you make him proud?” I need to steer the conversation back to what I need: information.
“No,” Landon admits quietly. “But I will.”
“You will?”
He turns a blinding smile onto me, one that momentarily stops any thoughts from circling my brain. But then I register the way his eyes tilt down, still so weighed beneath whatever it is he’s feeling.
“Yeah. I’m going to start working at Ocean View soon. That’s our company. My family will… maybe then I can make them proud.”
I watch him for a moment, the urge to tell him he probably already does make them proud burning brightly in my chest. But instead of making things any weirder, I say, “So your uncle works for your dad, then?”
Landon scoffs. “No. They have joint ownership. My uncle just isn’t as flashy as Dad is. He’s more private, though he did take the time to teach me everything I needed to know about coercion.”
You’re telling me. Apparently, Benji Presley is an anomaly to the organization, one they want to dissect just as badly as they want Landon.
I want to pry more, especially about the teaching aspect, but I’m sure Landon will soon get suspicious if I do.
So I settle on silently eating my sandwich.
It’s not until we’ve finished lunch and have started throwing the frisbee around that Landon speaks again, louder than normal, so that I can hear him.
“How’s Julian doing?”
The reminder of his existence in relation to Landon irritates me for some ridiculous reason, but I shove the feeling down and shrug.
“Fine, I guess. Atlas is cured now, so he mostly sticks to the west tower to stay near him,” I tell him.
Only that’s a mistake, because Landon’s eyes immediately widen. “He’s cured? That’s great. What was he sick with, anyway?”
Motherfucker. I really have to stick to just fucking Landon senseless and attempting to swindle information from him, because my mouth is running away from me the longer we just… spend time together.
I can’t tell him anyway, not even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
“Not my story to tell,” I answer honestly, and Landon deflates at that.
“Oh,” he says, and as he continues to speak, he’s earnest and surprisingly put together. “I’m glad Julie’s happy. I’m glad he’s doing well.”
“You’re not still hung up on loving him?” I don’t know why I ask, but I desperately want to know.
Landon takes a moment, seeming to think it over, which actually gives me an emotion I can recognize. Anger.
“No,” he finally replies. “I just… I’ve always wanted him to be happy, and if this is that in real time, then okay.”
Landon is far more mature and thoughtful than I originally thought. It doesn’t diminish his annoying personality or all of his other horrible traits, but it does make him more agreeable.
“Though I do think I’ll always love him, in some way,” he adds.
And yeah, Landon is no longer agreeable. Fucking prick.
We continue our game of frisbee in relative silence, with me probably glaring and Landon existing peacefully, as if this expression of mine brings him some sort of twisted comfort.
And after a full day of weird time spent together, with me showing him around town and bringing him to the docks to watch the boats sail in, I take him to get his car so he can head to the airport.
As he loads up his bags and turns to give me a blank look where I stand on the small porch, I’m struck by the probability that he’s waiting for something.
But what, I don’t know. So instead of asking, I watch as he ducks into the car, peeling out of the driveway as I stare at his taillights disappearing.
I begin to wonder which will happen first: the council sending out a repressor because they’ve gotten tired of waiting on me, or me dismantling Landon with my own two hands.
I know which I prefer, but not what will happen.
And that, for some odd reason, makes me incredibly nervous.
I kind of don’t want him to shatter into a million pieces, even if I do want him to break.
What an incredible conundrum.