💔 (Amara + Avery)
Random Moments || Amara Leon-Ford & Avery Ford
💔 a time my muse said they hated yours.
Evening cloaked the quiet Parisian street as the sound of gravel shifting under tires echoed through windowpanes of the Leon, now Leon-Ford, manor. The door opened to reveal Avery Ford’s kind eyes, caught on the surprise appearance of his eldest daughter and only momentarily distracted by a figure in the distance. Amara pushed past him without greeting and she could feel him recoil, confused and incensed by her callous treatment she was certain.
“Well, hello to you too, Amara.”
The figure approached the open door, ebony hair swaying in a gentle breeze and Amara held her hand out to keep them from coming any closer.
“Stay right there, Clém; this won’t take long.”
At the name, Amara watcher her father turn quickly, his expression flattening into near-nothing, cerulean irises wide at the sight of a specter she’d brought with her—certainly not the person he’d expected to see, of that much Amara was sure. She remained steadfast, chest heaving as her emerald eyes waited for her father to catch up.
“You just couldn’t do it, could you?” Her tone was even, dark, and deeply accusatory.
“Mar, what is g—,” She didn’t let him finish.
“You had to pretend everything you did in Rome was just some giant blemish on your perfect record, didn’t you? And have had the audacity, all this time, to say you did it all for me when you could have become a stock broker or some shit just as easily, but no—you went and killed people and probably enjoyed yourself from what I can tell and then—then, you just up and relocate to Paris and pretend everything is normal for ten years. Pretend you never fell in love in the middle of a civil war you helped perpetuate—no. You made everyone pretend that was just some terrible thing you were forced to do to keep the family afloat when I saw how happy you were there. With mom. How much you loved each other in that place, but then I had to watch you—we all had to watch you—become a different person when you came here.”
“Amara,” he tried again, tone more firm than before.
“Don’t interrupt me,” she shouted. “You and mom did horrible things, but at least she knew. At least she was honest with herself and the rest of us, but you couldn’t help driving her away for it. Making her the villain in your fucked-up fairytale—because you thought that was all behind you. That you were better than that. Than her.”
Amara was crying now and Clémence stepped in to hold her by the shoulders, keeping her movement slightly restricted as she shouted.
“Well I hope you’re fucking happy now, dad—mom’s dead, so you’ll never have to worry about that blemish on your record ever again.”
She couldn’t see him well through the dense film, but his complexion had visibly paled. Blood rushed in her ears and she couldn’t hear anything he may have said before he reached out to replace Clémence’s hand with his own. He tried to pull her into a hug, but Amara violently pulled her shoulder from his grasp.
“Don’t fucking touch me—I hate you.” she tried to scream, but half the words were drowned by a sob. She shoved herself between Clémence and the door to storm toward the car. “I hope you tell Ari exactly whose fault this is,” she called behind her.
Clémence backed out of the open doorway, uncharacteristically melancholy and her words ringing painfully sincere.
“I’m sorry, Avery.”
