Secrets, Love and Lies (18+)

1 - A House Divided

The grass is a bright yellow green, that color which only seems to live in the fleeting first rainy weeks of spring. I can smell it in the air, the sweet freshness of the dew on the ground and the heavy perfume of lilac bushes which have begun blooming down the street. The heady aroma is so much more beautiful when it subtly wafts by, carried on the gusty spring winds that make me pull my open cardigan closed with a shiver.

Other students hurry by me without a glance, jogging from building to building as they rush to meet the assignment deadlines that loom in our final weeks of the semester. New York has none of the beaches or sunshine that I enjoyed during my last years of high school in Miami, but it's home.

It was Plato who suggested that beauty lay in the eye of the beholder, and I cannot help but agree. Passing by the patchwork buildings I smile at the bright graffiti in bold contrast to the stately historic school. I absently absorb the passing chatter and white noise of the busy city, reveling in the living artwork that surrounds me.

There is an ebb and flow of energy and chaos that seems to move with synchronicity, a symphony of sights and sounds in which I can lose myself for hours at a time. Its peaceful rhythm settles the pounding of my heart and eases the anxiety that threatens to consume my entire morning.

I smile in appreciation of the warm morning sun which helps ward the breezy spring chill,  sipping my overpriced Venti Americano filled with diabetic inducing volumes of cream and sugar. A girl has to survive final semester somehow.

The warm paper cup against my fingertips grounds me, and the blessed caffeine will help me face my classes that morning; not that I will likely hear a damn thing that's said anyway. As wonderful as this reprieve from my aching heart is, I know that as soon as I step away from my peaceful bench I'll inevitably be drawn back into the nightmare of my present life.

I finish my last sip with a sigh, tossing the empty cup into the bin on my way into the building, marching somberly to corporate finance class. I could only dream that I'm headed into the school of Arts where I had originally begged to go. But, in this decision, like every other aspect of my life, my father forced my hand. New York itself has been a concession; I'd been allowed to leave Miami and return to New York to complete my degree, but only if I gave up my dream of studying Fine Arts and focused on Business Management. And now, after years of preparing to direct at the helm of Dietrich Industries alongside my father, my own personal nightmare is about to come to life.

You might scoff at me while I share my frustration about the life of privilege that I was born into, but looking into the fishbowl of my private life, you'd have no idea of the harsh reality I live. Yo you would probably see the money, power, beauty, and special treatment that comes with my name and either terrified of me or seek to enter my circle of influence. The very circle I desperately long to be free from.

But I didn't grow up sipping lemonade while riding my pony along the countryside. No, this privilege came at a heavy cost. I've had few real friends, no privacy, and I grew up without the warmth of parental love. The import, export business dealings overseas have my father involved with unsavory partners; my life and safety has been threatened on multiple occasions. And then there is my father, himself. The master puppeteer who pulls all the strings of my carefully coordinated life. The life that steadily marches toward dreams held by Gunnar Dietrich, but never my own.

Outside the misery associated with being heir apparent of Dietrich Industries, the pieces of my own personal life are presently careening in a runaway cart travelling at about a hundred miles per hour towards the edge of a cliff.

A little morose, I know, but if you could see past the shiny outer veneer of perfection, you'd realize the pieces of my life have been coming apart at the seams for years.