|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 22, 2013 23:20:44 GMT -5
 --- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Michael didn’t have a habit of rushing out on the morning of his day off to go to some park, but his younger brother had insisted on trying to catch a fish before winter descended on the sleepy town. Nevertheless he was in an excited state when he finally pulled up at the local park. It was cited on the south slope of Maple Hollow, and it had an amazing view of the downtown area and the Academy. It was a cold fall morning, but very clear, and Michael could see all the way to the Academy’s top tower and the skyline beyond. But none of that was as wonderful as the sight of his brother’s joy.
They had already started down the path that wove through the park and soon the subject was changed to less touchy topics. The brothers chatted aimlessly, making small talk about the weather, the probability of snow. The trail wound around a huge steel sculpture, a fifteen foot stack of cubes. There was a photographer or two standing by to get a picture of the sculpture with the mountains in the misty background, but he really had no idea what the big deal was.
Bran had dashed over towards the lake and Mike almost died at how funny he was. To prepare for the weather he had been wearing black boots and black pants. The pants were tight enough to stop the wind and warm enough to keep out any chills. His coat was short and double-breasted, with two columns of big black buttons. The buttons were done up all the way to the collar. The coat had a vaguely militaristic feel to it with its slim design and plain black epaulets, and combined with the boots, he looked like some well-done up soldier ready to march the border into the United States.
"Hey Bran" he said, taking a haughty tone. "Don’t get crazy and drain the lake of all their fish. Just a thought," He said it very playfully, but it felt like a subtle counter-attack. Michael knew he hadn’t caught anything to date as of yet. The boy nearly smiled as he took a seat at a nearby bench. Half of his attention was directed towards Bran, who was old enough to be on his own, but still asked Michael to come out with him. Even entering the tender years of teenage hood had not been able to jolt the innocence out of his younger brother. The silence had dragged for almost a full minute when Michael heard a small giggled. Just out of the blue. The musical sound made him glanced around behind his post on the bench.
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 22, 2013 23:43:14 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
Emmy clung tightly to the swing, giggling madly each time her mother pushed her. Her little legs didn’t touch the ground. She was held safe in place by the restricting chair-shape of the swing. Morgan had told her daughter quite strictly that only big girls used the big girl swing, and she wasn’t a big girl yet. Emmaline had been upset for a moment, but she’d quickly recovered and begged in her high voice to be pushed on the swing. And of course, Morgan couldn’t refuse. Now Emmy was wailing loudly with joy, earning broad understanding smiles from other mothers accompanying their children. Emmaline took one hand from the swing and shrieked. “Mommy! Only one hand! One hand!” Morgan laughed, her hair falling down her back. “How brave!” A second later Emmaline was clutching again, her moment of bravery ended as quickly as it had come. She demanded to be pushed higher. In all honesty, she wasn’t going all that high to begin with. But what did it all matter? It was a thrill. Morgan remembered her own love of swings. It was one thing she hadn’t grown out of. She still loved the feeling of her dangling feet.
The park, at this time of day, was one of the few places she could relax. Not many students frequented the area. They were busy studying, or more likely out with friends to movies or dinner or whatever it was people her age were supposed to do. She could freely be a mother, stride out for the world to see. And those that knew her tended to avoid her anyways. And here, amongst crowds of mothers and children, it was easy to shrug off Emmaline’s use of the word “mommy”. Morgan had done it hundreds of times. She was three years old, she got confused, she repeated what other kids said. But honestly, no one got close enough to ask. Even smiling and bright as she was in this lone moment, Morgan was threatening by reputation. And she didn’t mind. She enjoyed having her space, having her chance to pretend like none of it existed – like she wasn’t two years behind in her studies, like she wasn’t a single mother, like Michael hadn’t just turned and walked out on her. She pushed those thoughts away. She didn’t want to think about Michael, about how much she hated him. It was a perfect afternoon, and she refused to let him ruin it. She gave Emmy another push, the little girl let out a squeal and a succession of giggles. Under one arm, Morgan still held Emmy’s worn stuffed giraffe, her favorite. They never left the house without it. Emmy was afraid to hurt it’s feelings. Morgan grinned, giving the swing a final big push.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 23, 2013 9:51:07 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Across the clearing Michael spied a cluster of mothers and the occasional father with some younger toddlers. They were running, laughing, and one crying, all biting at the chomps to be entertained. Michael was glad that Bran was able to entertain himself once and awhile, but time with Brandon was easy, and it must have been the same for the parents with their own children he reasoned. When you have a close connection with someone everything else just seems to come easier. But there was one thing about the whole mother -child bonding experience going on over at the swings that was tugging at him.
Slowly standing up from the bench, Michael gave Brandon a small update. ”You keep fishing Bran… I’ll be right over there,” Mike said offhandedly. His attention was too far consumed with the familiar looking girl over by the swings. The man’s steps were deliberately calculated as he tried to place a face to the back of the girl he knew he had seen before. The thing that was out of place was the small little girl who was clearly enjoying her time on the swing. And if he wasn’t just hearing things he could have sworn the girl had said ‘Mommy.’
Michael hung back for moment, hands crammed into the pockets of his coat. Catching the side profile of the mother, Michael’s composure broke. ”Morgan?” he muttered. Morgan Farren? The Morgan Farren that he usually turned the street corner in haste just to avoid any possible contact. They hadn’t spoken since… well, it had been a considerable amount of time for Michael to mourn and move on from their times together. ”What are you doing here?” His clear blue eyes shifted back and forth from the girl in the swing to Morgan. Something was off with all of this, and not just the appearance of his old time flame.
He was speechless and for once it wasn’t by choice. The little girl looked a bit like Morgan, which he hoped for if Morgan was out here watching the child. He didn’t want to find out that Morgan became a child kidnapper in three years time or so. But there were certain features about the little girl that set her apart from her 'babysitter.' Especially her cheekbones…something about them were recognizable, but not on Morgan. ”Who’s this?” Michael asked, trying to add a small smile and a softened expression to comfort the little girl.
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 23, 2013 10:54:19 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
Emmy threw her hands straight in the air, closing her eyes. Her long auburn hair flew back from her face. It had a slight curl to it, a leftover gift from her father. A moment later she was eagerly pointing towards the play-structure. Her attention, like that of all toddlers, only lasted so long. Morgan slowed the swing, laughing and tickling her little girl. She slid her hands under Emmaline’s armpits, lifting the girl out of the swing and into her arms. Emmy looped her arms around her mother’s neck, looking around with wide eyes. There were a hundred things to do, to experience. And each time was like the very first time. It didn’t matter if they had come the day before, every day was brand new – so hopeful and bright. It was what made children so enchanting, so beautiful. It was like nothing could touch them, nothing could ruin them. Morgan handed Emmy her stuffed giraffe, whom was immediately hugged close. She whirled around, her grin wide, and nearly crashed headlong into a tall curly-haired man who was furiously familiar. She froze, every muscle in her body tensing. She heard his quiet words, her own name on his stunned lips.
She clutched Emmaline tight. No. This was never supposed to happen. He was never supposed to know. Her lips set into a firm line, smoldering anger clear in her eyes. Her voice was tight. “I have as much right to visit the park as anyone else.” She bent, setting Emmaline on the ground. She pointed towards the slide, smiling in an attempt to ease her daughter’s now anxious features. Children were horridly accurate at sensing tension in the air. She gave the little girl a kiss on the forehead. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go over to the slides? I’ll be there in just a moment!” Emmy looked doubtful, but obediently ran over towards the slides. Morgan straightened, turning back to Michael with narrowed eyes. “Michael. What happened to your determined campaign of ignoring my existence?” She deliberately avoided his question. She didn’t want to answer the obvious question. He didn’t deserve to be a part of her life, he didn’t even deserve to know the little girl’s name. But it was obvious. He knew, it was clear in every facet of Emmaline’s features. The high cheekbones, the dark eyes, the curl to her hair, it was all him. Her fingers quietly curled into fists.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 23, 2013 11:36:33 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
The little girl was cute, he had to give Morgan that. As the little girl wrapped her arms around the Fire’s neck and gripped a stuffed giraffe close to her Michael took in the little girl’s features. Her hair was the same color as Morgan’s, a bit wavier, but the two light brunette colors were a perfect match. Those cheekbones though reminded him of his own mother. Before he could dwell on it Morgan’s retrained anger cut through him. ”That’s not what I meant,” he said directing his eyes over to the kid in her hands. ”And I think you know that.” Morgan was smarter than that.
The Thunder tried to match Morgan’s smile as he gave a small wave to the tiny form now going towards the playground. ”Cute kid. You still didn’t answer my question though,” he said pointedly. If there was one thing he hated it was back talk and not receiving the answers to his questions. He thought it was extremely rude and Morgan knew that from their time dating. His temper may have been slow to rise these days, but he wasn’t impervious to getting heated up. ”She looks familiar,” he nodded towards the little girl. Somehow pieces of the puzzle were coming together but some things were still vague.
Not wanting to jump the gun on his suspicions he decided to play nice and answer her own questions. For now honey might attract more flies than vinegar. ”It was easier the first year when you just disappeared,” he shot back. Okay, maybe that wasn’t as sweet as it should have been. Truth be told he hadn’t expected Morgan to just drop of the face of the earth after their final argument. With the differences in grades now the gap between them was easier to achieve without too much effort on his part. ”You make it easy to refuel my campaign with this attitude.”
Now this was the spitfire fire that had burned Michael so many times in the past. But it also had been something that drew him to her. She didn’t let Mike take any shit if she felt like he was getting out of hand. Now though he had no fondness for it. She was acting as though he was the only one who had done wrong in the world. ”I guess some things don’t change,” the exasperation clear in his demeanor. He cast a quick look over at Bran who was eyeing his brother nervously. He had no idea about Morgan, so Michael gave him a quick wave and pointed towards the lake. ”Keep going buddy!” he called out.
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 23, 2013 12:18:09 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
Of course she knew it wasn’t what he meant. But after three years of stewing in anger, of watching him parade around as if nothing had ever happened, she was relishing this moment. She knew him well, better than he wanted to admit. As much as they might have liked to pretend, they had been together for over a year. She knew him inside and out. She knew what made him smile, his favorite foods, and what irritated him the most. And what better revenge than to push his buttons in ways only she could? She didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt. He deserved every bit. Though considering their elemental natures, perhaps it wasn’t best to mess with tempers. And if it did come to a fight, well she certainly wouldn’t win. She was a spitfire, but her time out of classes had cost her dearly. She folded her arms over her chest. She had a hundred comebacks, a hundred things she wanted to scream at him. She looks familiar? That’s strange, since the last time you saw her you wanted to see a headstone. She could have turned, she could have walked away. She didn’t owe him anything.
But she couldn’t give up this opportunity. Perhaps she had been waiting for the confrontation, waiting for tension to build until she could finally get it all out. She frowned. “I don’t intend to answer your questions. Just walk away, Michael. I don’t want you here, and I doubt you want to be here.” She leaned back, propped against the metal bars of the swing set. Behind them, Emmy was climbing the platforms towards the slide. She reached the top, gripping the bars. It wasn’t that high, but the little girl looked nervous. She screeched excitedly over the melee, her high voice ringing through the chattering children and mothers. “Mommy! Here I go! Come catch me!” Morgan tensed. No way Michael would walk away now. She narrowed her eyes threateningly. “Walk the fuck away Michael. You made your choice a long time ago.” She refused to be specific, to give into the realization that was dawning in his eyes. It was inevitable. She turned. Perhaps if she walked away, if she left him, he’d fade away. Because after this, she didn’t see him doing it on his own. She could go back to Emmaline, catch her daughter as she went down the slide. She could forget Michael had ever popped out, forget his pathetic claim to Emmy. She was determined, Michael couldn’t stop her. He couldn’t do anything to her anymore. She’d never let him rule her again.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 23, 2013 13:05:22 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
How dare she tell him what to do. Michael dug his feet in at the thought of a challenge. ”Oh no I think I want to be here Morgan,” his voice starting to sound a little harsh. ”Because if I’m right I think I deserve some answers.” Right about now. A dozen or so more questions swarmed his mind but he needed to stay on the offensive if he was ever going to get a crack in Morgan’s steel like resolve. ”Last time I checked, you only had one younger sister and she,” pointing over at the little girl, ”is not Liz by a long shot.”
Mommy. Now that was not a misheard title. Morgan had a child. Flesh and bone and very much alive. That was not what the two of them had talked about when she had told him. Between the bouts of crying and yelling at each other Michael did have some reasoning behind his cruel opinion. They were sixteen and seventeen respectfully when Morgan dropped the news and not at all ready to handle that kind of responsibility. To further freak out the immature Thunder she had even suggested moving in together and considering marriage. That’s why the little girl didn’t look solely like the Fire. She was Michael’s birth child as well.
He had moved dangerously close to the shorter girl and tried to keep his voice down while still hoping to hold his own conviction. ”I don’t want to make this a bigger scene than this has already become, so maybe you can answer my questions before things get escalated.” He squared off with his ex, towering over her. ”Now you’ve done enough lying don’t you think?” Three years worth of lying if Michael’s math was corrected. Abortion his ass, Morgan went through with the pregnancy and hid this from the Thunder. ”Who is she?” Two could play the stubborn game. Michael wanted Morgan to confirm it.
”My choice? You can’t make a choice about something you don’t know.” At the request of their daughter Morgan rushed to go after the young girl on the monkey bars. ”Damn it Morgan, don’t walk away from me!” the Thunder yelled. What Michael wanted to do was go and grab the Fire and force her to stop but that wouldn’t end well. He wasn’t even going to consider approaching the daughter until this shit storm was clear. With two parents well read on the legal system he knew that his moves had to be planned so he didn’t tip the scales even more in Morgan favor. ”You can’t ignore me forever on this!”
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 23, 2013 13:56:38 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
Morgan stopped short. Michael was in front of her, blocking the path to Emmy. Luckily the little girl had gotten distracted by a fellow toddler. The two were now chasing each other around quite happily. Emmy held her giraffe by the neck. She returned her eyes to Michael, a wordless fury building. This was the Michael she remembered. In all their time together, she’d only rarely ever seen his fury, his anger. He controlled himself, kept his temper – much better than she ever had. But now it was coming to a boil. It was funny, after all of these years she’d finally found the thing that pushed him over the edge. “I don’t know, Michael,” she spit out his name with venom. “you haven’t exactly been a part of my family in the last few years.” She hated how casually he referred to Elizabeth, used the nickname only family was privy to. He wasn’t family anymore, and he had no right to think of her so casually. After all, Elizabeth hated him almost as much as Morgan did. She hissed under her breath. She hadn’t done enough lying, not by a long shot. And if he was trying to guilt her, it wouldn’t work. She had no regrets, not over what she’d done to him.
Morgan let out a frustrated groan, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Oh my fucking god Michael!” He couldn’t say it himself. He was too much of a spineless weakling to face what he had done. And she refused to do it for him. No. She wouldn’t give him the easy way out. She wasn’t the bad guy here. She hadn’t voted to kill their child. “Who the fuck do you think she is? Put it together dumbass!” A part of her was glad to finally yell. A few mothers were casting them disapproving glances, glaring at their loud use of profanity. But Morgan couldn’t care, not right now. She hadn’t spent years raising Emmaline, caring for her, protecting her from Michael to ruin it all now. Because Emmy needed it, protection from Michael that is. After all, if he didn’t want her then, what were the chances he wanted her now? Or did he just want the convenient easy parts, not the grueling work of motherhood? “And you did make a choice! Remember your fucking bright idea? Abort the kid, end of problem. You were happy enough ten minutes ago thinking everything had gone according to plan.” Perhaps, in a roundabout way, she’d admitted to it. But she’d finally said it, confronted him with what he had done – or wanted to do at least.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 23, 2013 14:34:42 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Rolling his eyes at Morgan’s vain attempt at stating the obvious he responded with a sarcastic, ”Yeah I’m sure your parents were just jumping at the opportunity to see me again.” And knock him out, especially her father. Stepping into the Farren household was a certified death sentence. ”Why would I ever turn down a family reunion?” he asked sarcastically. As far as his own parents went, they hadn’t brought up Morgan and his brother had no idea who she even was.
Once again Morgan had demonstrated her unwavering determination to beat Michael. ”Fine,” his jaw clenched in anger. ”She’s our kid,” the Thunder admitted. Reality hit him like a ton of bricks. Our kid. He was carefully not to say ‘my’ knowing that was just another ticking time bomb waiting to go off in his face. ”Did that make you feel any better? God, I mean honestly, you’re still the same stubborn girl from high school.” There was no rationalizing with this girl. She was tossing around the word ‘Abort’ way too casually for his liking. Enough so that parents were starting to notice.
Pinching the bridge of his nose on frustration, Michael try to hold back his emotions, but failed. ”Jesus Christ Morgan we were just kids. Shit we still are,” especially with the way the two of them had avoided each other since the blow out. Proper adults didn’t run away with their tail between their legs and try to forget about everything. What was he suppose to do? He panicked, ran home and voluntarily called his parents for the first time in a long time and let them into his world. They had counseled him and told him he made the right choice, reaffirmed that neither teenager was ready for something like this. A baby was a huge road block in life. ”You wanted to get married and raise a kid together at sixteen. They make TV shows about that kind of shit.”
How many other people knew about this? Before him, the father of this three year old? And how much shit had Morgan been spreading about the deadbeat dad? ”Well it’s clear to me you had no intention of telling me about this. Who else knows about her besides me know?” Michael had made a hasty decision as a teenager and offered her the harshest option with dealing with the pregnancy, there was no denying that, but it wasn’t like he had dragged her to some clinic and told her then. Morgan clearly had the control of choosing what happened with their child and she had made the more humane choice. Going behind his back she had made a choice for both of them and then left him out of it. He had some right to be angry. ”If you had told me about going through with it I would have done something Morgan.” He was a terrible teenager, but he wasn’t the scum of the earth, much opposed to Morgan’s point of view.
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 23, 2013 15:22:19 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
His sarcasm passed over her head. She noticed it, she wasn’t ignorant. But she was too angry to reply on it, to focus on it for more than a passing instant. Of course he wouldn’t dare come near her home. He’d have three angry women and an overprotective father to deal with if he did. And for her part, she’d never attempted to visit his family. Though she’d been pretty close with them at the time. After over a year together, Michael’s family had gotten used to having her around. They were always so friendly, so welcoming. And Brandon, well he had been like her brother too. But for the moment, she didn’t care about any of that. All that mattered was Michael standing before her, threatening to destroy everything she had built. She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up. “I’m still in high school dickwad, thanks to you.” She had stiffened slightly. She hated the way he said “our”, like he had any sort of claim to Emmaline. No. Emmy was Morgan’s, no one else’s. She folded her hands back over her chest. Her hands were balled into fists, mostly to keep her from burning a scorch circle in the grass. She didn’t have the best grip on her element.
Her eyes popped at his words. She sputtered, hissing at him. “You think I wanted what those dipshits on Sixteen and Pregnant have?! All I wanted was some support!” She ran a furious hand through her hair, shaking her head. Didn’t he get it at all? It was never about being married. Sure. She might have said it once, in a scared frantic babble. But she hadn’t really wanted that, she’d known even then that she wasn’t ready to be Mrs. Housewife. “I didn’t want to marry you! I wanted your help! I wanted to figure it out together! And what was your reply? You suggested I stick a knife up my uterus and you walked away.” Parents were really staring now, mouths agape. Morgan brushed past Michael, stomping away from the playground. She still kept an eye on Emmaline. No matter what, her daughter was the most important. But she distanced herself, partially so she could scream at Michael without having the police called. She let out a humor-less laugh of disbelief at his question. “No one! You think I wanted to be known as the whore who got herself knocked up? Fucking hell…” She ran her hand through her hair, shaking her head.
Why couldn’t he leave? He’d walked away once, it didn’t seem all that difficult to do it again. He could pretend like he’d never known, like nothing had ever happened. For once, Morgan wanted him to take the easy path, to walk out of her life. It’s funny, she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse. “Maybe if you’d checked in, spoken to me once, I would have told you. But like I said, you made a choice.” And it was too late to undo it, to change anything. The die had been cast. And even if it could be salvaged, if Emmy could ever understand the situation, Morgan wasn’t exactly the forgiving type.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 23, 2013 23:12:30 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
”So it’s my fault that you didn’t tell me about this baby actually being born and thus not allowing me the chance to support you. You can’t pin everything on me.” Some of his ignorance on the matter was caused by her own choices. He could have been in high school just like her if she had told him. They probably wouldn’t have lasted very much longer with their relationship but they sure as hell would have been on better terms now. Michael by now knew Bran was no longer distracted by fishing. Michael’s cool demeanor was long gone as he verbally jousted with his ex girlfriend. It had been awhile since Brandon had seen this side of his older brother and it was never directed towards him. ”Good then, everyone is as in the dark as I am. I wouldn’t want the people on the streets of Maple Hollow thinking I’m some dickwad and only know half the story.”
This whole conversation was just going to keep turning on itself. Morgan would deny him answers and blame him while he continued to ask questions and talked about hypothetical situations. At some point he needed to pull out the heavy artillery. ”Alright, you want to play that game? Fine. That was my choice then. And now my choice is to fight for some simple God damn answers.” Michael dug out his phone from his back pocket and held it up to show Morgan. ”One phone call and I can get myself a lawyer Morgan. Both of my parents have been doing this their whole lives and they sure as hell know someone who will help me get my answers.” She had to remember Michael complaining about his folks on more than one occasion. Being lawyers sure did pay off now. ”It doesn’t have to be like this.” Michael almost half plead. Surely it would save the both of them some grief.
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 24, 2013 11:16:09 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
In her personal opinion, he was some dickwad. He was certainly a deadbeat dad. What did it matter whether she told him or not? He’d made his preference clear. He wanted the problem gone, taken care of. He hadn’t had a problem when she’d agreed. He’d been able to push it off his plate, avoid ever having to think about it again. And she couldn’t fathom why those answers mattered now. In her mind, it was almost impossible that he would genuinely care, that he would suddenly wish to be a part of Emmaline’s life, and by proxy a part of Morgan’s life.
“Answers! Why don’t you start by asking some fucking questions!” In her own roundabout manner, she had indeed answered his questions. Though in all honesty, every question he’d asked – he’d already known the answers to. She seethed, a trill of fear brightening in her eyes as she saw the phone. She knew his family, knew their influence. And she didn’t doubt that Michael would take Emmaline away, would steal her for himself. “No! No you can’t.” At that moment, as if drawn by the tension, Emmaline ran up, her giraffe still under one arm. She wrapped her arm around her mother’s leg. Morgan knelt down, gathering Emmaline into her arms. Emmaline stared at Michael with massive dark eyes, identical to his own. And for a moment, Morgan was silent. She lifted her gaze back to Michael, challenging and somewhat triumphant.
“Why don’t you ask your questions?” She still stared warily at his cell-phone. Even her, in her smoldering fury, knew he would make good on his threat. She knew not to push him, not to press him too hard. He wouldn’t stop at visitation, at a couple of questions. He would tear her daughter from her arms, stomp victoriously away. Morgan held Emmaline closer, anger still lurking in her eyes – a narrowed burning hatred towards him. He had won, a single moment, a single battle. But she would destroy him. He would pay for this. He was no better than a common Nazi, tearing babes from mother’s arms.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 24, 2013 12:16:54 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Michael knew when he could lawyer up. ”You now I can and that I will,” he assured. Michael lowered his phone slightly, but kept it firm in his hand, as the little girl came rushing forward towards her mother. It was clear that she loved Morgan, but her gaze was directed at Michael. For a moment his anger and frustration dissipated as the two had a silent stare down. He wanted to know what she was thinking. Clearly he was a stranger in her world, but what connections was she trying to make. What did a three year old think about?
Morgan on the other hand had her emotion written all over her face. The hate was practically rolling off of her. Good, Michael wasn’t thinking so highly of her right about now. Sure she had raised this girl on her own, but she lied to him. He could have lessen the load for her, even if it was financial. He had half a mind to direct his question to the girl just to spite Morgan, but that wasn’t a good first choice as a father. Which he had only found out about minutes ago. ”What’s her name?” he asked while looking at their daughter.
He had dozens of questions, but her name was the most important. Michael needed to know her name if he was going to make any moves to be involved in her life. Right now he wasn’t sure how he felt about all of this since the blow was still fresh. Now that he knew this little girl existed he couldn’t ignore that he was responsible for this. Ignorance was no longer a valid excuse. Bare minimum Mike had to make sure he provided money for Morgan to care for the girl. ”When’s her birthday?” He had guess she was roughly three, but her exact age wasn’t pinpointed.
[/size][/font] |
|
|
|
Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 24, 2013 12:45:53 GMT -5
[style=text-align:justify; margin-top:25px; width: 260px; height: 280px; overflow:auto; float:left; margin-left:18px;][style=margin-top:-15px; padding-right:5px;]
Morgan cast her eyes down. She couldn’t lost it, not now. Emmaline was in her arms, so precarious. And she wouldn’t expose her precious daughter to the disgusting realities of the world, the anger and hurt and danger. She didn’t need to know any of it, not yet. Morgan was desperate to create some semblance of a perfect world, of a sense of safety. She seethed inwardly, looking to Michael with angry defeat. He had her beat, she knew it. He knew it. “Please,” She forced the word out, the emotion in her voice genuine, “don’t take her away. What do you want?” She couldn’t imagine a day without Emmaline, a day without the high-pitched giggle and boundless joy. She pressed her lips to Emmaline’s head, holding the little girl close, as if she could keep the lawyers at bay with the strength of her desperation. But of course she couldn’t. They’d happily pluck Emmy from her arms.
She looked back up, running a hand over Emmy’s head, smoothing her auburn waved curls. “Emmaline, Emmaline May Farren.” Emmy looked up indignantly, shaking her little head with pursed lips. “Emmy!” Despite the tension, Morgan grinned. She was unable to pronounce her full name, and thus insisted that her adopted nickname be the only choice. Morgan gently hushed the little girl. The name had an origin of its own. Morgan and Michael had once sat with his mother. Mrs. Barton had gone on and on about how if she’d ever had a daughter, she would have named her May for the advent of summer and life. And as much as Morgan hated Michael, had hated him even as she held her newborn daughter, she’d been unable to resist the subtle tribute. Her lips folded into a thin line. “December 15th. She’ll be turning four.” Emmy, for her part, was still staring wide-eyed and now silent at Michael.
[/style][/style] |
|
|
|
Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 24, 2013 13:52:49 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Michael hadn’t seen Morgan scared many times in her life, once when she told him about being pregnant and now this. As if he was some monster here to rip the child out of her hand. At the time they were dating and though Morgan wasn’t his first, she wasn’t far from the top of the list for people he slept with. They had been dating, and at the time they had felt something for each other. Emmaline was conceived out of accidental young love. ”I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said honestly. ”But I’m not going to take her away from you. I just need some time to think.” It was as honest and as fair as he could be given the situation.
Emmaline May Farren. Farren. Figures her last name wouldn’t be Barton. He wasn’t going to contest to that either. ”May…” he said quietly looking Morgan dead in the eye. Well at least when he told his parents his mother could be happy about one thing. He knew how his father was going to react to all of this. Michael was dreading the phone call he knew he was going to have to make later. Even if he wasn’t sure on what he was going to do he knew that he needed to at least keep his parents in the loop. And unlike like last time he wouldn’t be taking any of their advice unless it was about legal terms. Their guidance had already screwed him over enough.
As Emmaline protested her name as Emmy even Michael let out a laugh. This kid must have a whole lot of stubborn in her if she had these two for parents. He leaned down just a bit so he was level with her. With lopsided grin and dimple intake Michael spoke directly to his daughter for the first time. ”I like Emmy as well,” he agreed sweetly. ”Hello Emmy. My name is Michael. It’s nice to meet you.” Though he didn’t have a connection close to the one mother and daughter had, he did mean it when he said he it was nice to meet her. ”Who’s that?” he asked pointing towards the stuffed animal in her hand.
[/size][/font] |
|
