Page 6 - Birthday edition 1 -OUTCAST_Neat

Chapter Two.

Andrew and the Exiles

The words echoed through the room, chilling Andrew to the bone. Samantha, his mother, delivered
the news with an air of cold detachment, as if she were merely relaying information rather than
altering the course of his life. As always, it fell upon her to be the bearer of life-altering decisions,
while his father, Jonathan, remained mysteriously absent during these pivotal moments. Andrew
suppressed his mounting frustration, realizing that arguing with Samantha would be futile. A
resigned sigh escaped his lips as he muttered his response.

"Fine, okay." The accusation lingered in her voice, piercing his conscience like a dagger. She
admonished him for his reckless behavior, reminding him of the drunken escapade that had led him
to plunge into the icy depths of the lake. The audacity of his actions astounded her. What possessed
him to venture out on a boat in the dead of night? It was madness, an act that defied reason.
Jonathan, Andrew's father, seethed with anger, though he remained silent. Andrew mustered a swift reply,
seeking to quell the mounting tension.

"Yes, I was drunk. I know I need to quit drinking. But I had things on my mind."
His thoughts turned to the soothing embrace of marijuana and the numbing solace of a few cold beers. He
had reluctantly sipped the lukewarm tea offered to him during his hospital stay, but his yearning for
something stronger persisted. Samantha continued her monotonous diatribe, leaning against the doorway
to his room. Gone were the days when she would lovingly tousle his hair, offer him sweets, and read him
bedtime stories. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to reminisce about those tender gestures, as
she stood there with an eerie stillness, her porcelain face pale and lifeless beneath the curtain of dark locks.
The painted lips, once warm and affectionate, now felt like distant memories, fading echoes of a distant
past. Anger was not her way, and he observed her stoic demeanor, knowing that he had to respond to quell
her presence.

"That sounds like a great idea. Boarding school can wait. I'm ready."
A deep furrow etched its way across Samantha's forehead, a clear sign of her concern. She spoke softly, her
voice tinged with worry, as if she were treading on delicate ground. The room grew heavy with tension. She
offered him a lifeline, an opportunity to dismiss her presence from his sanctuary.

"Should I leave?”