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‘What’s wrong with you?’ Words Cedric had heard too many times, in too many tones. Anger, from his father, resentment, from Cordelia, taunting from Roland, and in well meaning insensitivity from Winifred.
But now… now it didn’t seem so well meaning. “What is wrong with you?” she said, an odd, rarely seen fury in her voice, “three hours. Three hours you’ve been up here. Three hours! Just staring at the wall. I mean, what is it? What is wrong with you?”
“...” Cedric exhaled, focusing more intently at the spec of dust, “nothing.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Clearly there is something wrong with you,” Winifred said, “you know, if you want to do this - that’s fine. But maybe you’ll only see when you’re a failure, when your father can’t bear to look at you… maybe then you’ll finally figure out what’s wrong with you. Is that what you want?”
“I-”
“You should do something - it’s useless just sitting there.”
He wanted to do something, he really did. Something to take his mind off this. But his arms were stuffed with lead beads, and his head with cotton wool, and everything in the universe had been tilted sideways.
“Fine. It will be your own fault.” Winifred left.
Cedric wouldn’t hold anything against her, for that. Afterall, she was kind. Mostly kind, at least. She’d been having a bad day - and compared to his father and sister, she was the lesser of two evils. But he did make a vow to himself on that day never to let himself be seen like that again. He would always be busy. Always working on something. Even if it was a lie, and he’d been gazing at a crack in the woodwork all day, they would never know that.
***
“Mr Cedric?”
Sofia. Of course, Sofia. She always seemed to want something, didn’t she? He would be annoyed, but it was his own fault, really. He only encouraged this behaviour by giving in to her (often ridiculous) demands. “What is it now? Can you not see that I’m busy,” Cedric said, half heartedly. He couldn’t even bring himself to look busy by the time she’d opened the door.
“But you don’t seem busy,” Sofia chirped.
“I might not seem it, but I am, so shoo.”
“I need help with my homework?”
“And that’s my problem because…?” He regretted saying that last one; partly because an attitude like this could cost him his job, partly because he knew it was cruel. “Wait, no. I’ll help. I’m sorry.”
“Are you alright?” Sofia asked, timidly, “what’s wrong?”
What’s wrong. With you? Were the last two words silent, but implied? No, her question had been final - it wasn’t cut short. There was no ‘with you’. Only ‘what’s wrong?’ Now, that should be an easier question to answer - only Cedric wasn’t sure he’d been asked it before. “Oh, I don’t know, princess. I think there might be something wrong with me.”
“Oh,” she quietened, “I get it, I think. When… when we realised that my dad’s ship wasn’t coming back, I felt the same way. I didn’t know why, but I just couldn't see the point. I don’t think I’d have even breathed if my lungs didn’t force me. Luckily, my mom was there for me.”
Cedric blinked. He hadn’t imagined Sofia to say something so… grim. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay - there are tons of people who’ve been through worse than me. Besides, he might still be out there… the important part, is when I feel like that, I sing a song.”
“I don’t sing,” Cedric said.
“That’s a lie. You sing everytime we eat dinner. The sound carries from your tower, you know.”
“What?!” he must have turned red.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Urr, Dad, the king - not the dead one, does… but James thinks it’s funny,” Sofia was smiling more than she perhaps should have been, “I know a great song about Smoothing Irons. Shall I teach you?”
“I thought you wanted help with your homework?”
“That can wait.”
“...sure.”
"You know, it's strange. It's never the same with the others as it is with you. I like it here with you."