Desmond hasn't said much since we stepped into his grandmother's house. His headache is back—probably much worse this time. I can see it in how he rubs the bridge of his nose, the tightness in his jaw as he furrows his brows a little. But he still makes the effort to look okay—standing tall, greeting his Dad with a quiet nod and hugging his grandmother with that forced smile he only wears when he's pretending everything is fine.
All is well until he approaches his mother, the only person from his family who never checks up on him—another similarity between Desmond and me that shouldn't even be there in the first place. I mean, unlike me who lives with my stepmom which somehow makes her shitty persona a given, Desmond had to endure neglect from the woman who was supposed to love him unconditionally.
I can't even imagine how that's supposed to make him feel, and I do my best not to bring up his mother in our conversations.
Unfortunately, I can't stop them from meeting.
