The first reunion after the long absence was something the Scot wanted to avoid. He left all of them years ago, only to be made to sit through a rather awkward situation. What he had hoped for when he would return to London was to continue living in secret from his family. He left his mother behind, but apparently she was still alive, shaken and abandoned, but alive no less. The man she had fallen for left her, and now her only son, who bore a strong semblance of him, would too leave without a single trace. But unlike the first, Iain would return. Not of his will, but with the constant badgering of a sister to see the mother he had left behind.
"Please try to smooth things out between the two of you... she misses you, a lot, Iain." That was what she said before leaving him at the doorway of the same flat he grew up in.
So here they were, Sitting down and facing each other. He was a man and she had definitely aged--perhaps more so from the stresses of life. A table divided them and was covered with useless decorative trinkets such as a bowl of plastic fruit. The invisible distance between them was far wider than what a slab of furniture could ever represent. The both of them sat there in silence and both Stiùbhards didn't speak first. One was unsure of what to say and the other could care less.
"Why... didn't you tell anyone that you were leaving?"Was that how she was going to start this? What was there for him to say? He could never confess of his intentions of living a life of crime and of his support of the Separatist Movement through means of what was essentially terrorism. The life he had lived away from home, be it during his school years or even know, were left in the dark to the woman to brought him into this world. His resolve was strong, but his patience was short. He would handle this the best way he knew of.
This time he wouldn't avoid her.
Iain leaned back into his chair and propped an arm upon the dining table. He balanced a box of cigarettes on its edge on the table, finger swaying it back in forth. Before he could speak, his body language did most of the conveying of the vast amounts of disrespect he had. Throughout the years living under that insufferable household, he kept on losing more and more regard for her. He wouldn't answer her question.
"Why did you decide to move to London?" Critical eyes observed her every movement. Mother-- no,
Isobel shifted in anxiety and looked as if she didn't expect such a question from her son. Like him, there were some things that she was hesitant to tell, but he was much better at keeping himself composed.
(She didn't recognize the boy she raised in the man that was sitting across from her today. She also didn't see the traits of his father in him anymore.)
"I know that the transition didn't go well for you... but--""You're avoiding the question; the small hen that never laid away." Hardly anyone would have the audacity to speak in such a manner and tone to their mother. He however, didn't even give her the chance to correct her words.
"You moved because you were chasing a ghost," He didn't soften his words, and had no plans on doing so. He kept so many things a secret from her that she needed to know his honest thoughts.
"He left you for other women." She twiddled her fingers and looked unsure on what to say in response to such accusation. He
knew she couldn't deny it.
Her expression was crestfallen, as if lamenting on the things she did wrong and could have done right. But for the Lawless, he was convinced that no amends could fix anything. Silence fell between them once more and the beginnings of rain had begun to fall. She avoided her son's gaze, preferring to look at her lap instead while he waited there.
Pathetic.
She was nothing but a meek shadow. Had it been twenty-five years ago she would have smacked him across the face for such rude behavior. Now, she did nothing except to wallow in it. Iain knew that he had a hand in causing her like this, but this was what misplaced love had led her to. Her happiness was dependent on those around her.
He didn't like the quietness around them, so he broke it. He could answer the original question posed to him or start to wrap up this pointless conversation. He already told her what he wanted to say and implied that it was futile to try to reach for a man who didn't want to see her anymore.
(How ironic to that he himself didn't want to stay in this household any longer too.)
"I didn't tell anyone because I had no reason to." Her son was just another item that made her remember the stranger in his family. Iain wanted no associations with any of them.
Standing up from his seat, he glanced towards the window of the sitting room. The rain had gotten heavier and he cursed under his breath about how he was probably going to be drenched to the bone. He didn't bother censoring himself in front of the homeowner as he picked up his trench coat that hang on the back of his seat.
"You..." She started and he looked over his shoulders, brow quirked as he listened-waiting to see what she would do about the harsh words he spoke.
"Hm?""You could use the umbrella... if you want."He restrained himself from scoffing at such an idea before walking towards the door. Was that all she could do? Just offer him an umbrella before he would head out? Had she absolutely
nothing to say to him? About his actions? About his well being? It was time to take his leave, a gloved hand resting upon the knob of the door. He didn't open it yet, still contemplating about what last words he should give her.
There were too many things he wanted to say and criticize. A part of him felt as if he was forcing himself to think a certain way a little too much, was being a little too harsh. Was this exactly how he's going to cut ties with her permanently?
Iain shook his head as a rueful smile found its way upon his lips, hidden from the woman's gazze. In his mind, he chastised himself for even considering of repairing things. He pulled open the door and the smell of rain greeted him.
"I don't want have a reason to come back here."And he was gone, just like that.
His mobile buzzed with a notification, catching his attention as he was drying himself up. Emerald eyes peered at the name of the sender-- his sister of course.
How did it go, Iain?
He could easily just lie to her about how things went or admitted to what happened. He did neither, ignoring the message in its entity.
