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Love, by definition, is an intense feeling of deep affection. However our journey is quite different, stories of betrayal, lies, ultimatums intertwined in a simple seedling of hope for better days. But if love is meant to be so simple, then ours was not love, ours was not late night conversations and picnic dates. Maybe ours was solely the consuming of one's mind by the idea of love. But one thing for sure is that this, this is not a love story.
This is not a love story.
(A/N: it is)
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
There are moments in one's life where everything changes, everything you know and are simply shatters into an abyss of nothingness, then you pick up those pieces and think, okay, I'm alright, I'm fine, only for another hurdle, another mindfuck to come and shatter you again.
It seems that I'm going through one of those moments as I hold documents in my hand, completely shell shocked from the events occurring just moments before.
I take a bite into my sandwich while laying on the sofa, watching a TV show on my ancient television. I swear, at this point it's a historical artefact. The scream turns fuzzy as it always does so I stand up to kick it in the same exact spot I always do. I kick it once and no change, darn television! Just as I go to kick it again I hear a knock on the door.
Stepping over the mess on the floor, I open the door slightly, cautious of whom it may be.
"Miss Willows?" A man stands before me in a crisp suit, way too posh to be from this area.
"Who's asking?" I ask defensively, still using the door as a protective barrier.
"Samuel Wright, the lawyer of the late Arthur Clifford, your mothers brother."
"My mother doesn't have any siblings." I go to shut the door but he puts his foot in between.
"Genesis Willows, previously known as Genesis Clifford, died six years ago from a house fire."
My jaw drops. I am generally quick witted and not easily surprised, but God, he's got me. Clifford, I've never heard of Clifford before.
"Miss Willows, you are entitled to an inheritance of 450 million dollars, plus properties and a share of Clifford Inc." I choke on my spit, waiting for him to laugh, people like me don't ever see that sort of money if they work all their lives. He's definitely a scammer, what the fuck? He probably looked up fires online, and found me, he did that right?
"I don't want the money, I don't want anything." I will not be falling for this scam bullshit today.
"Miss Willows, I am afraid that Mr Clifford has stated that in the event that you do not take the money, it'll be transferred to various terrorist organisations through an anonymous donation."
"What- You realise how fucked up this is?" Who is this madman barging his way into my life even from the grave.
"Mr Clifford was a smart man, before his death he told me that if you were anything like your mother, you'd require extreme conditions to accept the money, I am only here to execute his last wishes, and I assure you, it is all legal." My mouth is dry in disbelief, I have so much to say but there seems to be no words to say it.
"Arthur Clifford was her brother, you can see all the evidence in the documents I have for you." I look down to see a bundle of white sheets in his hand, taking them cautiously, I flick through aimlessly. I don't understand this science bullshit, but it is clear that this Arthur is indeed my mothers brother.
"So what, I take the money and then you leave me alone?"
"Unfortunately there are some other conditions, you must attend Mr Clifford's funeral, taking place next Tuesday, you'll be flown out via your private jet to California."
MY private jet... What the fuck?
"And you must attend Heartlands Prep School till you finish your education, you will be accommodated in your late mother and uncle's childhood home."
"So it's either, leave everything you've ever known to fuck off to some rich mans house, or give the money to terrorists and let society suffer the consequences." Seems like an easy choice to make.
Sammy boy seems to have an answer to everything but doesn't answer me, just giving me an extremely agitating knowing look while I run my hands through my hair.
"Fine, fuck it, I'll take the money."
And he left, just like that, as though he hadn't just dropped a huge bombshell on me, the fucker. Leaving me flabbergasted, unable to move, my eyes searching every inch of my flat for an answer, the blanket draped over the sofa, covering the mysterious stains that were there when I found the sofa, the painting I was mesmerised by at the charity shop, so much so that the clerk gave it to me for free. The window, letting in London's polluted air, the noises of the hustle and bustle of the city.
I built this for myself, it may not be the best apartment, the best life, but it's mine, I am not dependent on anyone, I made this life for myself after running away from my last foster home.
I rub my arm, the tattoo of my mother's drawing burns deeply as I think of her. I was entranced by her. She was perfect, smart, beautiful, and had a grace about her that I have never been able to replicate. She'd never spoken about her family or perhaps I was too young to comprehend what she was saying.
Both my parents died in a fire when I was eleven. It was my first heartbreak, a gaping wound that still bleeds today, bleeds of what we could've been, the possibilities, the love. I remember the day they died like the back of my hand, but it seems the trauma of my 'childhood' has wiped out anything before then, only fragments of smiles remain vivid though the feeling in my chest remains as though it were yesterday.
It was the moment where my childhood ended, I went from having two adoring parents, to being nothing to nobody. It was my peripeteia, the moment my life changed, I remember standing by their graves, one year after their death, possibly the worst year if my life, and something in me clicked, the tears dried out, I stopped expecting the world to soften its edges for me and learned to roughen mine instead. I lost a part of myself that I no longer can even remember.
And I promised, to never cry again, ever, and till this day I keep my vow, and I will continue doing so, despite what I feel is coming my way.
