14 - the days I live without you
I'm so very sorry for the lateness of the new post. But this is the first time LJ is working for me again. I wrote a sonnet for you but is now forever lost in the glitches :(
So no funny business here, I know you want to get back to the usual game ASAP.
There is a substitute on dreamwidth in case LJ is having trouble again.
The usual things:
1) All ( Read more... )
So no funny business here, I know you want to get back to the usual game ASAP.
There is a substitute on dreamwidth in case LJ is having trouble again.
The usual things:
1) All ( Read more... )
He didn't really know where he was going but he ended up at the canteen nursing a cup of coffee. It wasn't particularly nice coffee, unfortunately.
He shook his head at himself. He was being so ridiculous. It had been years since he'd seen any of them. Well, years since he's sought them out at least. Nat... maybe he was one of the only ones George could actually still stand but even here George mostly kept his distance. And David- Cameron. Cameron had brought back all those painful memories of just not being quite good enough. With his plummy vowels and perfect hair and that air of... niceness. That air that had been instilled into him on the playing fields of Eton. You'll never get anywhere unless people like you. Make them like you. Force them to like you. And then when you use them and throw them away, they won't notice. Do it well enough and they'll even thank you for it.
The sting of it hurt almost as much now as it had then. George was proud and he was loved. His family loved him. He'd been brought up to believe anyone could do anything if they tried hard enough. He'd been taught from an early age to reach for the stars. He was supported and he knew he was lucky in that respect, not everyone had a loving family network and he was grateful but it hadn't prepared him for anything he would encounter at Oxford in that bloody awful club.
George cursed himself for joining it. But he'd thought, at the time, that they were like him and he'd only wanted to have fun and be with the best. And they were the best. They were clever. Getting into Eton was no picnic in the park and it didn't just come down to money, but the recommended time to get your name down for St Pauls was five years before entry, the interview was two years before entry. It wasn't like he'd scraped into Oxford by the skin of his teeth either.
George sighed and took another sip of his muddy drink.
They'd know, of course, before they smashed up his room, where he came from, who he was, every little thing about him. Heir to a Baronetcy but not particularly rich. Well, not compared to most of them anyway. They'd known about the family wallpaper business but they'd also been aware of the class of clientele. Someone had gone to the trouble of finding it all out, weighing up the pros and cons and making the decision to let him in the clique. But, and this was what had rankled the most, looking back, it was always understood that he was to be grateful.
On the outskirts, looking in. The story of his time at Oxford. No job to big or too small. George will do it. Or, worse, Gideon won't mind. He'd found himself covering for them, standing up for them, taking the blame for them...
No one liked to be used, did they? George had sworn as he'd wiped his dust of the place off his feet for the last time following his graduation, that he would never let it happen again and now he'd met this posh Old Etonian bastard with a boyish giggle and a charming manner who couldn't take no for an answer. Probably never been told no in his entire life, thought George to himself, peevishly, downing the rest of his coffee with a gulp and a grimace.
He got to his feet. Sincerity, that was the problem. It was choked from those boys at an early age and no matter how Cameron might try, he would never be able to convince George that he wasn't hollow inside, just like the rest of them.
Reply
Leave a comment