Mummy Dearest

[Lincoln King]

Inspiration Music

The phone rang incessantly, this being the second time Lincoln had rolled over in his bed to ignore the buzzing as it danced across his dressing table, desperately trying to gain his attention. Sleep was becoming more elusive the second, no matter how hard he tried to remain in its warm embrace. Reluctantly his broad hand slapped down upon the device, swiping frustratedly at the answer button, pressing it to his ear. “Lincoln King.” He grunted at the caller, far less impressive than his normal practiced greeting, in no mood to charm someone calling him on a weekend before 9 a.m. when he had actually managed to sleep in. “My little King!” A familiar voice cooed, one that simultaneously made him slouch to the bed in resignation and feel remarkably on edge, balls seeming to creep closer to his body lest they get unceremoniously ripped from his body by the woman on the other end of the line. “Oh. Hey, mother…” The relationship between Mrs.King and her darling son was tense at best, filled with false platitudes and polite smiles to cover the underlying tension. There were things they both knew, things at least one of them would happily deny. Lincoln’s successes were the primary focus of their discussions, his personal life being skipped over other than on the rare occasion she liked to badger him about his choices. Unfortunately it appeared it would be one of those occasions.

“Darling, you haven’t called in so long, your father was getting worried!” A lie, blatantly delivered through a puckered pout, one he could hear in her voice as she tried to pour guilt in healthy measure down the line. “Is he?” The disinterest was apparent, Lincoln too tired to play along, “Funny that, seeing as I spoke to him three days ago about the McLennan campaign. He knows that side of the industry well, I thought his insight might be useful. We had a wonderful chat.” Silence greeted his admission, he could almost see her gripping the phone, that feigned pout shed like a second skin, teeth gritted and a cold cast slipping over her too conventionally pretty face. His mother looked damn near-reptilian when that cold fury she was famous for took place, her nostrils narrowed a little too much when she had the second nose job to correct that first would be flaring now. Each breath a measure of control, steadying her to forge ahead, cool and collected in the face of her son’s attempts to outplay her. “Really? He didn’t mention. Regardless, we worry about you darling!” Her voice was tight, forceful in her gratingly shrill attempt at affection. “I’m sure, I’m terribly sorry for neglecting to call you sooner.” It wasn’t worth the fight, a simple apology would have her getting to the point sooner and Linc was already eager to get off the phone. Though his tone held little to no sincerity Lina King didn’t notice, or purposely ignored the barb it held.

“Good. We just want you to be happy, look darling I know that things haven’t always been easy for you but oh, you’ve done so well! We are terribly proud, we are, it’s just that we always had dreams and hopes for you. All parents do, don’t they? For their children? My darling boy, you wouldn’t know I suppose. Lincoln you would be such a good father, with a lovely wife to help you. Why won’t you come to the party? Meet some of the charming daughters of our friends! Even Felicity is coming, you and Felicity made such a beautiful couple. Why did you ever break up?” That pout was back, resonating through each syllable. His nerves felt raw already, the woman ripping at the fraying ends of them, picking at each strand so that he felt like he could quite happily crawl from his skin to escape the sensation and still she wasn’t done. Even Kingsley didn’t bother coming to his aid, smugly silent, his alternate personality had settled back to watch the show with a healthy measure of disdain.

“Flick? Jesus, Mother... It could be because I’m basically g-.” The word went unfinished, his mother interrupting with a sharp intake of breath and hurried statement, “Basically grateful? Glad I have taken such an interest? I know darling, Mother is always here for you.” Her peremptory response left little room for argument or the bitter pill of truths. Lincoln groaned, his face pressing into the softness of his pillow, muffling a curse as she carried on her path, ranting even when he’d removed the phone from his ear. It must have been a good two minutes of her barely taking a breath, the man only interrupting her when she was seemingly repeating herself, snippets of one sided conversation replaying in her little speech. “Mother. I know, ok? Yes, you want me to find a lovely girl to settle down. Understood. Not going to happen, but understood.” This seemed to silence her, Lincoln blindly hopeful she'd taken hispoint. Foolish, really. A sharp exhale sounded after what felt like an eternity, a question whined through no doubt pursed lips. “But why, darling?” Exasperation rocked Lincoln. It no longer hurt him to handle her denial, no longer grieved him beyond a lingering annoyance that nipped at his heels every time she started in on him. At least that was what he told himself, swallowing down the emotions she stirred in the pit of his stomach. “Well, it could be the fact that I am clinically dependent on medication to function and exist with another man taking up residence in my head. You remember him right? How could you forget Kingsley, he broke your favourite vase when you tried to throw away his jacket… Thinking on it further Mother, it could be the fact that I much prefer men.” He spoke plainly, like he were explaining a basic concept to dullard.

With expert avoidance she zeroed in on the one thing she had an answer for, some misguided solution to. “Then HAVE men, silly boy.” She scoffed, chortling cheerily into his ear, as if he’d made the funniest of jokes. “You’d be amazed how many of your father’s stuffy colleagues have their little dalliances on the side. I never worried much about the younger woman, but a handsome young man? That is truly terrifying. You remember Theresa? Her husband was found in the closet at their last party with one of the catering staff. It was a complete scandal, hilariously poorly covered up, might I add. Poor Theresa, she was mortified! I teased your father about avoiding closets, not that I have any concerns there. Boring is best sometimes, darling boy, remember that. About Felicity…” Lincoln twitched, rolling over onto his back, praying to the ceiling for strength, as if some deity resided on the roof, ear pressed to it listening in to the dreadful conversation he was trapped in. “Felicity was a lovely, and remarkably boring, girl who rather intended to live her life in the same fashion. We are still friendly enough, but she could not handle that fact that I was borderline insane. Rage blackouts and bratty outbursts of a spoiled rich kid, THOSE she could handle. Having a medical reason behind them? That information was too much for her.”

Felicity had been a good girlfriend for Lincoln, she’d given him room to roam and explore the world around him, little restraint on him other than the expectation to show up to important events. Beyond that they’d study together on occasion, or go out with mutual friends. The sex was pleasantly predictable, her tastes falling into the category of beige toned vanilla, the easiest of needs to meet. Linc could grit his teeth through it, even able to enjoy the predictability of it on occasion. Something about their static routine helped lull him into a false sense of security, even as the voice in his head niggled at him that this wasn’t right. Even Kingsley found himself bored into submission by it, unable to argue against the choice as it kept Lincoln safe, even if it was a total snore. When he’d had a particularly bad episode, after a bar fight he’d gotten in to defend the honour of a mutual friend, unable to back down the challenge presented, he’d decided to tell her the truth. She was disturbed by the events of the night, telling him he’d been so unlike himself, as if he was possessed by a madman. It wasn’t entirely too far from the truth. She hadn’t liked it. Their time together became less frequent, her pointless ensuring an unconcerned Lincoln that she was just busy. When he actually bothered to call she ghosted him, letting them go to voicemail though he never left her a single one. Eventually he’d confronted it head on, to give Flick the flick with the obligatory “It’s not you, It’s me” speech.

“Lincoln?” His mother’s voice shook him from his reverie, the man humming an agreeable noise to ensure her he was listening, though it was quite clear he was not. “Fine. You don’t have to date Felicity, but Lincoln, why won’t you just TRY. All I want for you is a child, just one little heir to carry on the name. A boy is likely, it’s in the genes.” She spoke with the excitable authority of someone explaining a scientific certainty they’d discovered, like she knew a damn thing about genetics and how they impacted the gender rates in upper class breeding. Basically, she was full of **** but appeasing her would be the only way to get her off his back for another few weeks. “Look, Mum, things are just really busy right now. You said it yourself, I was doing really well, things are pretty good. My psychologist and psychiatrist are even really positive about how I'm managing my… Disorder.” He flinched from the word, both he and Kingsley hated it, it didn’t seem to fit what they had. “I’m still young, and I’d rather focus on getting my career on the right trajectory before I bring babies into the world. My businesses are my babies, and they need to be nurtured. I wouldn’t be able to take enough time for someone, and that wouldn’t be fair.” His arguments were sound, he could hear the cogs ticking on her end, trying to work out a way to declare him unreasonable, to argue you around the logic he presented her with.

Her proclivity for pestering her son had hardened him against it, forced him to find ways to outfox her and in this case she had to concede. Almost. “Well, fine, I suppose. I am proud of you for being so diligent my darling… But the party! I would still love for you to come, with a date or without. If you come without then perhaps you’ll just let me introduce, that’s all. No strings, you don’t have to take it any further just MEET a few people. Networking is important in your industry, isn’t it? Come, network. Your father and I just love showing you off, our handsome little King.” As if he wasn’t a grown man, towering over her even in her ridiculous heels. His mother, the sparkling socialite was a good a negotiator as his once brilliant Father, the one beaten down by the years of being a bright star. He too had spent his youth focused on success, settling down later in life with the beautiful and masterfully manipulative Lina who demanded children for their little Kingdom. They’d managed one, so the pressure was on where Lincoln was concerned. His life had always been one of expectation, his mother flittering between bitter disappointment and blistering proud over him, their Heir apparent.

“Look, I've got to cut this conversation short, I have plans today, Mother. I’ll be at the party, if you promise to behave yourself and stop trying to sell me off to the highest bidder. I’ll even be charming, and talk nicely about your latest charity efforts. My mother the saintly martyr, aren’t I proud as punch! Just send me the information about the organisation you’ve got Dad’s pals pouring money into this year.” She seemed mollified, the woman giving a tinkling laugh, tutting softly at her son. “Fine. I’ll email it through to your business account, I assume you’ll be representing your own rather than the family?” There was a bitter note, the woman clearly still not pleased he’d decided to forge his own path rather than working for his Father until he returned, taking over King Industries. One day he’d be expected to, even on just face value, owning and delegating to perfectly capable management. “Yes, Mother. Thank you for the call, I have no doubt I’ll hear from you again soon, hm? Jag älskar dig.” The curt declaration of love was final, the woman barely having time to titter her reply, returned to him in the Swedish they had for so many years favoured at home.

The call was ended, Lincoln tossing the phone a little too carelessly onto the bedside table, not bothering to collect it when it kept sliding, clattering off the edge onto the hardwood floor.

Suddenly the blankets that had brushed his bare skin in soothing strokes when he moved felt oppressive, tangling around his limbs as he tried to return to the previous comfort that had been summarily stolen by the headache inducing drama that was anything regarding his mother. He kicked at the clean, dark grey cotton sheets that suffocated him, stripping them away until they tumbled uselessly off the end of the bed. Stark naked and exposed to the empty room, Lincoln’s breaths were coming and going unsteadily, his chest heaving with the effort. A seed of encroaching panic had been planted deep within the heart of his thoracic cavity, wedged carelessly between his lungs amidst the soil of doubt. It began to sprout, thick tendrils of abstract tearing twisting up through his rib cage, winding around the cartilage and sinew, constricting so that he felt the imperative desire to tear it out at the root. Easier said than done, his body felt frozen beneath the weight of it, his insides twisting cruelly in the grip of emotions he couldn’t place a meaning to. The attack plagued him an immeasurable amount of time, Lincoln unclear on when it had started or when he could finally breathe in steadily, stretching out his limbs, his chest burning from the effort.

Once again he had been bitterly reminded of the reasons he struggled to accept himself, why he hid behind a man who encouraged him to deny his nature. It was easier, Kingsley would tell him, safer to deny it. Lincoln was tired of denying himself, little by little he’d been making steps towards healing but along the road to recovery were many hiccups, old wounds waiting to be torn open by the cruelty of those around him. “Could be worse.” He mused, uncertain that the thought had even been his own to begin with, “She didn’t get hysterical and remind me of how they trashed my car after they’d trashed me.” The original incarnation of beautiful red convertible had been taken to by vandals, no doubt the same men who’d left him to die in the gutter, irreparably savaged with the final pièce de résistance being the word “faggot” spray painted across the bashed in bonnet. He’d felt it like a physical blow, the final straw in his leaving HR to complete his final year and University studies anywhere but there. The school was rife with rumours as to why he’d disappeared so abruptly, Lincoln combatting them with pictures of stunning Swedish landscapes and even more beautiful companions, his social media positively dripping with a rich saturation of unabashed avarice. The picture was painted of a young man moving on to better things, summer interning at the main headquarters of King Industries, living up to the family name in every way. It did the trick to divert attention from changes in his facial features, in places reconstructed where bones had fractured and splintered.

Really, when he thought about it, it wasn’t too hard to see where the panic had begun. The real question was when would it ever truly end? The pity party wasn’t going to do the trick, his walls felt like they were closing in so Lincoln did the only thing he knew to do. He retreated, back into the darkness of his mind, forcibly shoving Kingsley to the forefront to make it through the rest of the day.