surrounding me

chapter eight- Evelyn

I know I am not the child my parents would have chosen, and I do not blame them for that. It is somehow my fault, for I could never become the person they envisioned, the source of pride they longed for. Instead, I have been a constant disappointment, always falling short of their expectations and causing them endless suffering. I tried my best in everything, striving to improve, to excel in every way they desired, but fate, for reasons beyond my understanding, never supported me.  I am weak, and it is this weakness that has brought my parents such anguish. I have watched them endure the consequences of my failures, their faces etched with disappointment and sorrow. Yet, despite the absence of their love, despite the distance and the coldness, I still feel an unwavering desire to protect them. I still feel a fierce determination to shield them from harm, to spare them further pain.  My heart aches with the knowledge that I am the cause of their distress. I remember the countless nights spent studying, the endless hours of practice, all in a desperate attempt to meet their expectations. But each effort seemed to fall short, and the weight of my inadequacy grew heavier with each passing day. I saw the pride they held for my siblings, the joy in their eyes when they spoke of their accomplishments, and I yearned to see that same light in their eyes for me.  But it was never there. Instead, there was a void, a chasm between us that only deepened with time. I felt the sting of their disappointment, the silent reproach in their gazes, and it cut deeper than any wound. I longed to bridge that gap, to prove myself worthy of their love, but the harder I tried, the further I seemed to fall.  Even now, in the midst of this crisis, my instinct is to protect them. I know they do not love me as they love my siblings, but my love for them remains steadfast. I cannot bear the thought of them being harmed, of anyone adding to their suffering. I may not be the child they wanted, but I will not stand by and let anyone hurt them. The resolve within me strengthens, and I vow to do whatever it takes to safeguard them. I will confront whatever challenges come our way, face any adversary, and endure any hardship if it means keeping them safe. For all the ways I have failed them, for all the pain I have caused, this is something I can do. This is my chance to make amends, to show them that I am not entirely a lost cause.

As I stand there, lost in my thoughts, suddenly the doorbell rings, its sound echoing through the stillness of the house. Everyone's faces light up with curiosity and confusion—who could it be at this hour? Gian, always the first to take action, urges us to follow him as he strides toward the front door. The rest of us trail behind, a mix of anticipation and unease settling in the pit of our stomachs. As soon as Gian opens the door, we are stunned into silence. Standing before us, illuminated by the bright rays of the setting sun, is none other than Christopher Hemsworth. The golden light creates a halo around him, casting an almost ethereal glow that makes him appear larger than life. His presence is commanding, a magnetic force that draws everyone's attention, leaving us breathless and wide-eyed. Christopher stands tall and imposing, his chiseled features highlighted by the sun's gentle caress. His hair, tousled by a slight breeze, glistens like strands of spun gold. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue-green, hold an intensity that is both captivating and unnerving. He exudes an air of effortless confidence, his posture relaxed yet authoritative. Behind him, about fifteen to twenty people stand in silent formation, their expressions serious and focused. They are his bodyguards and assistants, impeccably dressed and exuding a sense of unwavering loyalty and professionalism. It is clear that they are here for a purpose, and their presence only adds to the gravity of the moment. My heart races as I take in the scene before me, my mind struggling to comprehend the reality of Christopher Hemsworth standing at our doorstep. His gaze sweeps over us, pausing momentarily on each face, as if he is assessing the situation, reading our emotions. When his eyes finally meet mine, I feel a jolt of recognition and an inexplicable connection, as if he can see straight into my soul. Christopher steps forward, his movements fluid and graceful, and the sheer magnitude of his presence fills the space. The air feels charged with electricity, and an almost palpable tension hangs between us. Despite the overwhelming circumstances, there is a warmth in his eyes that offers a strange sense of comfort and reassurance. "Good evening," he says, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying an authority that demands attention. "I hope I'm not intruding. May I come in?"