Conclave (Devil's Night 3.5)
This came from Banks, and I turn my eyes on her, her doubt stinging.
Michael throws Kai off, breathing hard, and Kai looks at Banks, fixing his suit and looking exasperated.
“Just hold up, okay?” he tells everyone. He’s not sure what to say to explain himself to his wife and protect me at the same time. I put him in that position.
I step forward. “Michael…”
“Fuck you, Rika,” he says, cutting me off.
He stands up straight, turning his attention on me, and I tense.
“Fuck your power, your schedule, your assistant,” he tells me, “your fucking little entourage everywhere you go, your plans, and your chess games. I gave you too much power.”
I can’t move. Slowly, the bricks of every moment we built together start to shake, and I don’t know if I’m more shocked by his sudden disdain, or the fact that he actually thought Kai and I were…
“And you know,” he goes on, “I wanted this. I wanted you to own it. I didn’t want another version of my mother. Silent, docile, living separate lives. I wanted my other half.” He looks at me, and I don’t see love anymore. Just hurt. “And I got it,” he says sadly. “When I look in the mirror, all I see is your face. I can’t tell the difference anymore.” He hesitates and gestures to Kai and Damon. “I’m all about you, and you…? You talk to them, instead of me.”
“Well, you are gone a lot,” Damon points outs.
Michael holds my eyes for only a moment before he hauls off and hits Damon, slamming his fist right across his face.
“Michael!” I shout.
Damon grunts, falling onto the sofa, but shoots back off quickly, glaring and charging ahead.
But Kai holds him back, stopping him.
Michael forgets his attack and looks at me. “I’m retiring after next season,” he tells me. “Will you talk to me, then?”
Retiring? I shake my head. “You’re twenty-five. You still have years if you don’t get injured.”
“It’s time to concentrate on other things. The Cove, our family…”
“We can’t move on the Cove until we get Will home,” Damon commands.
“Will won’t stop it from happening,” Michael replies, planting his hands and leaning on the table. “It’s time to level the property and begin.”
“Whoa, whoa, the Cove?” Misha steps forward. “You’re not tearing it down!”
But Michael slams the table with his fists, shutting everyone up. We all stand silent as he dips his head, staring at the table.
I inch forward. This is my fault, not theirs.
Finally, he looks up at me, his voice softer. “I feel less than you,” he says. “Like…”
“Like you have nothing to teach me anymore,” I finish for him.
He doesn’t respond, so I know I’m right. He’s intimidated that I have more going on than just him.
“I’m not your pet,” I tell him.
I was once, but not anymore.
“Why?” he asks.
Why? He’s asking why I won’t be his pet? Seriously?
He rises and walks around the table, approaching me.