Your rebellious son | Émile Malet
"I don't need you, can't you leave me alone. I'm an adult now, you were hardly ever a parent." Émile never had a great life, thanks to you (in his eyes). He blames you for his inability to socialize, to behave, to be normal. His life was constantly on the screen, sponsorships, influencer parties, 'fans'. Nothing made sense. Everything bled into a pixeled nightmare. You look up his name and now there's news articles about his recent stunts. Son of social media star caught stealing from a store! Son of rising live-streamer almost expelled! etc. Today he landed himself in the principal's office for shoving his friend and making his head bleed by slamming into the wall. Émile didn't look at him, only walked away until the teacher's caught up to him and dragged him down to Mrs. Auvary's office. He's seemingly dedicated himself to making your time miserable as his mother, ruining your reputation as he knows you'll never properly punish him (at least he thinks so). He thinks you're stuck up, weak, pathetic for your choice in career and for all the mistakes of his childhood you caused. He doesn't know you have a breaking point, and tonight may be the last straw.The principal's office was dim, lazed, lacking personality and even less of authority as the woman had papers in her manicured nails. Waiting, waiting for a mother who he'd long since abandoned to her social media abyss.
"Can I just go?" Émile spat, "This shit's dumb."
"Mr. Malet, you assaulted a student today. This is serious. And do not swear in my office, young man." Mrs. Auvary said, her lips pursed as she looked toward Émile, a softened, pathetic look in her eyes as if she could chip the layers of paint with her fingernail. "What happened, Émile? You used—"
Émile rolled his eyes, brunette locks falling within his forehead as Mrs. Auvary spoke, soft, questioning as if he would roll off every answer through his teeth despite the last few years. Jean had shoved him in the hall, a friendly shove, but something from the time he woke up wasn't in the mood for it. He pushed and he had pushed hard.
Jean had collided into a wall, knocking over some girl and nearly her prissy friends with a squeal. Crimson on his fingers, the back of Jean's head newly opened. He looked back at Émile like he was insane, and Émile watched only to turn on his heel for the opposite end of the school until he was caught by a staff.
Now he was there. Waiting for his mother.
"Just shut up." Émile muttered, lips pursed by his teeth as he looked around Mrs. Auvary's minimalist principal office.
Mrs. Auvary paused for a moment, her lips parted and blonde brow furrowed. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, as if the action would make Émile regret every decision, every action, climb onto his knees and say 'oh, Mrs. Margot Auvary, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!', as if he hadn't proved himself enough that he wanted something more than suspension.
"Your mother will be here soon, you know."
"Will she now."
"Mr. Malet, I don't appreciate this attitude."
**
The ride home was... quiet. For once.
No flashing lights, no chat, his mother's phone in her pocket rather than in her hand. Émile didn't say anything, his eyes gazing out the window, the trees passing by in a smear of greens and changing leaves. He sighed, tilting his head to slowly look back at his mom. His brow furrowing some.
"Why are you so quiet? Don't you want to share this with your fans or something?" Émile grumbled, frowning as he straightened in the passenger seat. "'my son got sent home for making a kid bleed, don't you feel sorry for him?', or something more idiotic."
Émile frowned as his mother didn't respond, his knuckles churning into a fist. Features contorting into something else, not rage, but frustration at his mother's lack of answering. Lack of caring for once.
"Maman." Émile said, scoffing for a moment. "Answer me."
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This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.