A Lost Soul.
I stood up, hands clenched into a fist, ready to punch that betrayal.
Bianca…
That bitch!
I ground my teeth and moved out of my seat, but a hand held my wrist.
"Wait…" Jackson pulled me back as he stared, those are concerned eyes of what's going on.
"Where are you going?" Mr. Dickson's eyes met mine as his tune changed into that cold one I knew.
"Home, of course." I snarled, wriggled free, and folded my hands, and my legs tapped gently.
"What?"
"Yes," I rolled my eyes at him. Jackson paused and watched us with a calm face, like he was just waiting for any blow or something.
"Get your ass back here!" His fingers pointed at the empty seat, like he was about to roast a dead meat.
"What?"
"Easy with her, bro." Jackson stepped in and stood up, head in hands like he wanted to read through my soul.
"Easy? You mean easy?" He scoffed, raising his eyebrows with a smirk.
"Welcome, Mom." Jackson rushed to his mom, breaking the heated argument we were having.
They hugged tightly and untangled from each other.
"Mom, you know I can't live without you, right?" He curled his hands around her like a new couple.
"Of course, my honey pie." She laughed and then paused to face Mr. Dickson.
"You can't speak to your mom, right?" She chuckled, a laugh behind her teeth.
"Oh, me? Hell no, why wouldn't I?" He rose from his seat, rushed toward her and hugged her. Their breath clenched against each other, heavy perfumes mixing together.
I watched them, laughing and having a moment. I stood there, still pinching my fingers, almost ripping the flesh off.
Not until my eyes stopped at her. Bianca, who stood there, hands wrapped around her white mini handbag, feeling left out just like me.
"Bit—" I synced to her. She turned, rolled her big eyes at me and composed herself.
'Oh, my bad. You can't greet your lady?" Mr. Dickson's mom pulled from the discussion and brought Bianca to him.
"My lady?" he asked, pretending not to have an idea about it.
"Yes. Are you drunk? Did he have any alcohol?" she asked Jackson, who tried as hard to his laugh.
His mom never knew about me?
Why then suffer me to be up like a statue?
My legs itched, and my body moved on his own, landing me into an empty seat.
"Ella?" Jackson rushed over to me, held my hands, and balanced me onto the seat.
"Are you okay?" His face filled with concern, held my hand like he was scared to leave me.
"Yes, uhmm, I'm okay." I managed to say those words, even though my legs failed me; they kept on trembling at every touch of his.
"Alright, good."
"Thank you."
"It's fin—"
"Who is she?" His mom cut him off. Her eyes rang through my gown, down to my face, her stare dim, like she was trying so hard to remember me.
"Oh, her? Miss Ella, bro girlfriend." Jackson raised his eyebrows and stood up, facing his mom, who felt lost; her face looked almost surprised but mixed with a frown.
"Girlfriend?" she asked again. For the third time, she kept repeating it, like it wasn't sounding right to her.
I wouldn't blame her; maybe I wasn't born to be in their world.
I bowed my head, feeling so lost and ashamed.
"Yes, he even…"
"Mom, yes. My wife-to-be." Mr. Dickson cut him off as he responded instead.
His mom sighed and walked a little toward me, like she wanted to find any fault or a clue from me.
"What of Bianca?" Immediately, she stared deep into my eyes, like she was reading through me.
"Mom, it's a long story, okay?"
"Long story?" She pulled a seat in front of mine, sat down, and kept focusing on me like a lion observing his food before devouring it.
"Mom?" Jackson pulled a seat close to her and sat down, removing her from her thoughts.
Bianca didn't utter a word; instead, she rushed but stopped and stared at Mr. Dickson to pull a seat for her.
But instead, just like the rude boss he was, he walked gently with hands in his pockets, took the seat beside me, while Bianca buried herself in anger.
She hissed, rolled her eyes in the air, and sat closer to Jackson.
"Why not near him?" She asked Bianca, who sat there with her legs squeezed together, like she wanted to explode.
"Mom!" Mr. Dickson barked.
I didn't utter a word, just sat there, clutching my gown beneath the seat, with tears almost spilling out.
She won, right?
I clutched my belly, already picturing what life would be for me—the pains, everything.
That's not what I ever wanted. Not after all this.
Throughout the lunch, everyone kept on discussing and laughing. I sat there feeling lost and tired of Bianca's frequent evil stare at me.
I pitch my remaining meat on my fork and deep it inside my throat; with tears that hung inside, the meat tasted sour, like my life right now.
I wasn't his first choice.
Maybe I forgot our deal.
All a contract, I need to fight this for my child.
In a few minutes, everyone got finished and was about to leave.
Mrs. Cynthia rose from her seat, held her handbag, and wiped her mouth with a wipe.
Jackson curled his hands into hers, smiling like the usual last born he was. I watched her clear her throat, tug out a piece of sweet, and drop it into her mouth with a slapping sound.
Bianca's leg looked like it got pinned. She kept on tapping them and playing with her fork, maybe deep in thought.
"Why don't you take her for your pre-honeymoon?" she said, after applying her thick red lipstick.
What?
Bianca?
"Alright, Mom." Mr. Dickson said with a smile, holding Bianca's hands as she stood up, hands folded together.
"You all are joking, right?"
"I'm here, remember?"
He suddenly held my wrist, pushed me closer, and then whispered.
"Remember, you're just my mistress on paper."