wlw short stories

Love is Evelyn Fiennes

Love. Love has different faces. Love to a family, to a friend, to a stranger, love of things and such...

But to love someone and offer your heart is complicated and can't be explained on simple words alone. Love is somewhere between every heartbeat, every thought and every perspiration that slowly runs down a person's cheek, their smile unknowingly coming out forcibly infront of their loved ones.

It is the sudden race of a heart that somehow can't be stopped, the voidness of a thought and a hitch on each breath whenever that person comes along.

That is the beginning of love. Something that would blossom into a feeling of comfort and vulnerability. That is how it begins and grows.
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Evelyn Fiennes is the epitome of a rich and sophisticated lady whose life on the outside seemed to be perfectly in place and determined by the given standard placed by her roots. She came from a family of fortune, born from 'old money and good breeding', as the headlines highlighted during the day her golden hair peeked out from her mother's genital canal. By the time her eyes opened, her world changed into something majestic; a life full of everything she'd ever want, overflowing even, except for something she truly desired.

I, on the other hand was born from pure utter poverty where even the bill of our long, in and out hospital stay was owed wittingly from the most abhorrent criminal of an uncle of mine. The condition was that I would be taken away and adopted by his family if by the end of the year, the expense owed wasn't fully paid.

My birth mother was devastated when the said deadline came nearer and nearer, opting to offer herself instead than to give her child to a man prone to violence and ignorant on childcare. However, the time came and she couldn't do nothing but weep loudly and pleadingly to no avail, my father gripping her waist so she wouldn't run over to the rushing cars who came to fetch me. Though my father was more relieved of my disappearance, reassuring his guilt with the thought that he has saved me from the slum and out from scarcity and hunger.

My birth mother wasn't right. The man whom I have come to know and call my 'father' growing up was as caring as he could be. Offering his time and jollity on my behalf, often times ignoring his most important child, his son and heir of his estate. Dexter though, older brother as I call him, didn't mind, even loved the idea that he was left alone on his vices. He loved me as much as he could give, showering me with gifts and telling me tales about his travels. Father disliked that of him, the carefree attitude he displayed, something that shouldn't be seen to a son birth from a well known head of one of the most notorious criminal organization. For all eyes were looking: from fellow competitors and the law.

I grew up fairly ignorant of the happenings inside the family but have come to understand it along the way. My father made sure that a leak of information about my existence didn't make it to the public, such that one guard looking over my back was only necessary. He didn't train me to violence but showed me the niceties of the world and that he has hoped that someday I would roam the streets free from the ties of his name nor the name of poverty that came from my birth parents. He gave it all, even at the expense of hate brewing from his wife I call 'mother'.

It was by the time I graduated college and was preparing to move out from my father's home that I met Evelyn Fiennes. It wasn't the most pleasant interaction but one of the landmarks that defined as to where our relationship stood.

It was a fine day; the sky was void of grey clouds, the sun was shining as brightly and the green grass outside was cooled off by the splishing water coming out from the newly installed sprinkler. The gardener and also one of father's men sat drinking a cold beverage on the side, taking refuge from the hot sun. It was a good day to tan but I lay full clothed at the pool coping with hands both busy holding a book.