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I open my front door and walk down the two steps onto the pavement. Even though I live in the heart of London, there are still streets that are saved from heavy traffic and tourists. But they are rare, and most of the time, expensive.
I bought my house when I finished university. It offers privacy and it’s worth its price because it feels like home. A feeling I haven’t felt for ages. My parents weren’t that focused on providing a safe environment. Some days, their priority was delivering the worst day to the other. They loved me, but sometimes, I’m pretty sure they hated the other more, and their attention was always focused on showing the other just how deep their hate ran until the point I was completely forgotten.
In my own home, I get to breathe and not worry about a pair of children arguing about where to celebrate Christmas or if the walls in the hallway need a new coat of paint. I make the rules and the decisions. Just me, myself, and I.
The rest of the houses on the street are a carbon copy of mine. High townhouses built with white bricks and black, heavy window frames. The first floor has black metal railings in front of the windows. Some neighbours have plants on their windowsills, others have their front door painted a different colour than the standard black, but that’s where the differences stop.
The houses fit together nicely.
It’s calm, peaceful, and perfect.
“What the hell?” My mind must be fucked from lack of sleep because there’s no way that person is standing on the other side of the road. I’ve lost it. I’ve completely lost it.
But even though I refuse to believe the sight in front of me, my heart still speeds up, and my hands grow clammy. It takes me a matter of seconds to cross the road, and with every step I take closer to that person, my fear grows of it being true.
When I step on the pavement, I want to crack my skull open on their identical white wall of their townhouse.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Clairwater?” I snarl at Frederic Clairwater’s back.
That’s the worst thing about my curse of remembering people. I remembered the goddamn back of his head.
The arsehole himself slowly turns around, wiping his face clean of any emotion. He doesn’t even look surprised. Instead, I’m the one ready to bash in his face or just stalk away like a little kid. Both options sound marvellous at the moment. One might not be that manly, but who cares? It would at least nurture my sanity a bit more.
“Boyd.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask again.
Everything about Frederic makes my fists itch to hit him. That blond hair coiffed to perfection. His hairdresser probably styles it twice a week. Those condescending brown eyes and that ugly, weird nose just begging for someone to plant a fist in it. His face knows one glare, and that’s an arrogant one. My eyes drop to his suit, which is tailored and designed just for him, but always ends up looking ill-fitted.
“Heard this is some great property to invest in. I was bound to move out of my temporary apartment in the city,” he says, pointing at the house he just stepped out of. My eyes glance over his shoulder, and to my surprise, a woman is closing the door. Her white outfit matches her sports bag thrown over her shoulder.
“You should have stayed there. This street… actually, the entirety of London doesn’t want to see your ugly face or your greedy hands,” I snarl, feeling my blood pressure start to rise. Frederic scoffs, and those cheeks of his start to turn red.
“I didn’t want to see your nasty head this morning, but here we are…” he mutters. Nasty head? I have a great head.
I shake said head, turning my attention back on the woman locking the door.
“Oh, you got married. Poor girl.” At the mention of the woman, she turns around. My mouth opens slightly. The only thing flashing through my mind is that I’m still dreaming about her. This definitely can’t be true. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Only dreams could become this strange and unlikely, which is why I have the desire to smack myself on the cheek to wake myself up.
It’s not just me trying to understand what is happening.
Evangeline’s brown eyes are large, and her mouth mumbles the word ‘shit.’ She stares from the left to the right, searching for an escape or hoping her attention is grabbed by something else. It obviously doesn’t work, though, as her eyes flicker to mine straight away, hardening like they did yesterday. Growing small as her eyebrows lower.
“That’s my sister, douchebag.” Double fuck. This is a nightmare. Sister? Evangeline is related to Frederic dumbass Clairwater. He never mentioned a family when he was on my board. I wished she was his wife. That way they wouldn’t share the same blood and DNA.
“Sister?” I say, addressing Evangeline, who only shrugs her shoulders before diverting her eyes to the right.Oh, princess, believe me, I want to run as well.
“Now, Boyd, if you could move out of the way, I have work to do.”
“Companies to screw over, you mean?” I declare.
It doesn’t take Frederic long to react. A big step, and he’s but a few inches from my face. He’s breathing deeply with his chest moving up and down erratically. He’s about my height and probably works out as much as I do.
Frederic pushes his chest against mine, and I puff out mine as well. I’m going to punch him; I know it. There are different types of hate. Some are temporary, some you forgive and forget, but others … they stay, no matter how much time has passed. Frederic deserves eternal hate from my side.
“Stop it, Frederic.” Evangeline’s soft voice interrupts our stand-off.
Frederic’s pulled back by her hand around his arm, but even then, his eyes don’t leave mine. A second later, he shakes his shoulders to loosen them before walking past me, slamming into my shoulder as he goes.
