Aiden Vasilakis
"Can you fucking believe him?" I asked pacing around the length of my mother's room.
"Of course I can. I know your father, he would never risk the media finding out that his beloved wife moved out, that would totally shatter his family oriented guy persona,"Â My mother replied from her spot on her rocking chair. Her hands worked skillfully bringing to life the gray sweater she had been knitting for weeks.
I stopped in my tracks turning my full attention on my mother, "but I don't give a fuck about what he thinks, I bought that house for us. You don't have to live in a house with a man who despises your presence so just say the words and I'll get you out of here no questions asked,"
She stared at me long and hard, seeming to consider it even if it was just for a split second until she finally shook her head slowly. A perfect mixture of anger, frustration and disappointment rose in the pit of my stomach. I knew my mother well enough to know that she would never do anything to disobey my father, she would always refrain from doing things that disappointed him even if it meant sacrificing herself.
My parents' marriage was the saddest case of unrequited love known to men. As much as my father showed his disaffection, my mother did nothing but reciprocate it with compassion in hopes that it would soften my father's dark stone heart. It never did.
"For the sake of everyone it's best if I stay here, I can't be the reason for yet another feud between you and your father-"
"Mom this isn't about my father and I," I found myself cutting in, "this is about you, mom, my relationship with him was doomed from the very beginning, nothing you do now will change that so you can stop trying to sacrifice yourself,"
She held my gaze a little while longer before averting it down to the sweater on her lap, "Aiden, I'm staying here," She said, finality laced in her tone.
"Mom, you can't-"
Her gaze was back on mine before I could finish my sentence, "No," She paused for a moment, "Aiden, this house. . . brought me good and bad memories but the good ones outweigh the bad because I watched you grow, watched you take your first step, watched you blow your first candle, this house is special to me, Aiden. I can't think of a place I'd rather be,"
I clenched my jaw noting the finality of her words, I nodded in response. I forced myself back down on the couch I was seated on silently accepting my defeat.
Silence spread across the room like a wildfire. I didn't have the ability to get angry at my mother so I knew that the feeling brewing inside me was nothing but frustration and disappointment.
As much as I wanted my mother to react differentlyâ as much as I wanted her to jump of joy the moment I told her that there was a way to get her out of this hellholeâ, I knew how unrealistic that was. Especially after telling her that my father went out of his way to find me and tell me that she couldn't leave the estate.
When I bought the house, my brain failed to properly consider the consequences of my actions. I was too blinded by the fabricated image that my brain produced of my mother living her last days in a place that felt like home to her, no sight of my father.
Neither of us spoke for what felt like hours both just processing what happened. I couldn't bring myself to break the silence not when I couldn't fully comprehend the reasoning behind her decision.
This house was a reminder of a broken family, a broken marriage, nothing more. The tension that lined the walls of each corridor was palpable, the numerous fights that framed a failed marriage were ingrained in the halls.
Her reasoning would never be enough to justify her decision, not when my father had armed guards preventing her from entering his wing of the house. A house that is equally his as it is hers.
"Remember how you asked me to make a bucket list?" She asked, breaking the silence, her usual smile that reached her eyes was back instantly lighting up her face. My chest tightened when I took in how hollow her cheeks had gotten over the past few weeks.
I swallowed that tightness that threatened to consume me and forced my lips into a smile, "Yeah, have you thought of any?"
She nodded, "The first and only item on my list is happiness for my son,"
I found myself chuckling, "Mom, that's not really how bucket lists works,"
"Yes it is, you told me to write down things that I want to do before I go; I want to see you happy before I go. I've already thought of the first way to fulfill that bucket list item," She said.
My lips couldn't help but lift into a genuine smile, "And what would that be?"
"I know how happy racing makes you, I want to go to one of your games and watch you race," the smile on my face only grew, "just make sure you win because I will pretend not to know you if you don't," She joked and I made no effort to suppress the laughter that erupted from my throat.
Motor racing played a big part in the reason I was disowned. According to my dear old father, a Vasilakis had no place in the tracks, a Vasilakis was meant to be in an office fulfilling the legacy of businessmen.
But that didn't stop me, I began racing in my senior year of highschool. The underground stadium wasn't accessible to the public, mostly because it wasn't an official registered business. People as young as 15 were allowed to race in the tracks against grown ass people so it mostly definitely wasn't a legal business.
In the underground stadium, the crowd would bid on who they thought would win, the more bids you got the more money you'd get if you actually won the race. In the beginning, the money was the least of my worries. I raced because of the thrill I got, the excitement that radiated from the crowd, and the passion I felt towards the sport.
Though I still felt the passion, the thrill and the excitement for the sport after my father disowned me, motor racing became my primary source of income. I became more dedicated, I studied the stadium, memorized every turn, every angle I needed to reach in order to make a perfect turn. And I became damn good at it. Good enough to get myself an apartment and sufficiently support myself without any help from my parents.
Now I was back to racing for the fun of it cause as much as it pained me to admit, I was making a fraction of what I was making now working with my father.
"Wow always so supportive, mom,"Â I chuckled sarcastically.
She smiled, "Always,"
⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠°
A black SUV was parked in the neighbor's driveway. It was the first sign that there were people in the houseâ aside from the girl who used to stay at her windowâ since I moved here.
I had parked my car but I couldn't help but stay a little longer and watch through my rearview mirror. There was something off about that house.
A lady emerged from the front door that was fully open giving me a little glimpse of what the inside of the house looked like. Nothing glaringly suspicious from what I could see, the house seemed to have brown and cream dominating the furniture and decorations. I caught glimpses of the living room with a dark brown leather couch and cream wallpaper.
The lady made her way to the trunk of the luxurious car and retrieved some grocery bags giving me a better view of her. She looked older than the girl from the window, her mother maybe?
Her hazelnut brown hair laid in loose curls down her back, the color of her hair was the only feature that stood out to me as being similar to the girl from the window, her side profile brought no resemblance.
She stood tall and confident in heels that made her look like she was standing on her tippy toes from how angled they were. She picked up multiple bags of groceries effortlessly, looking completely unfazed by the angle her feet were in and carried them inside the house.
There was something odd about the house, about the woman I was watching through my rear view mirror, about the woman who stayed at her window from the moment I left in the mornings for my runs to the moment I got home from work.
The fact that you could easily mistake their house for a vacant one from the lack of activity on the outside intrigued me.
The sane part of my brain told me that this was none of my business, that I had no reason to be so curious about their living conditions or the people in the house. But a stubborn, much more powerful part of my brain told me that I had to find out everything about them, that I had to find out why the woman from the window was never outside.
That I had to find out if I was the reason she hadn't been at her window the past two days.
⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° ⢠° â¢
Kristal Anderson
I never thought I'd reach the point of arranging my bookshelf according to the colors of the rainbow. But there I stood staring at the bookshelf that took me hours to arrange.
It looked pretty but the moment my eyes ran over the length of my bookshelf looking through the various books of the same series that stood apart from one another and the books from completely different genres right beside one another.
I couldn't do it.
I was back in front of my bookshelf pulling out books like my life depended on it. Having books in the same series apart from one another for the sake of aesthetics should be a crime against humanity.
I knew that I was going to spend another couple of hours rearranging my bookshelf but quite frankly I didn't mind. It was all a distraction to keep me away from my window.
I've cleaned up my room, rearranged it, rearranged my bookshelf three times in the span of these two days, all to keep me away from my window.
So maybe I was a little hurt with the rejection that I received from Mr model dude two nights ago. It was stupid and so insignificant and I couldn't think of a valid reason for me to feel this way â I barely knew the guy, just because he waved at me a few times doesn't mean he's obliged to, especially not when he thinks I was stalking him.
That was why I refused to go to my window, I had to show him that I wasn't some creepy stalker girl. I had to show him that it was nothing but a coincidence that I was at my window that night.
Because people watching was such a big part of my day, I've struggled to keep myself busy to pass time which was why I made the stupid decision to color coordinate my bookshelf in the first place. Emphasis on stupid.
I moved through shelf after shelf taking out my books and piling them on the floor until the piles were the only thing making up my floor. A ping outside my window stopped me in my tracks, my heart dropped to the balls of my feet and for a second I thought my ears were deceiving me.
I moved again putting down another book on the ever so growing pile on my floor and another ping came. Something was hitting my window and my brain instantly went to the worst case scenario.
He found me.
My father found me.
My hands turned into a shaky mess and lost their ability to move to pick up another book.
My heart stopped for a few solid seconds when another one came. I urged my feet to move towards my window. I gripped onto my curtain so tightly my knuckles started to turn white. I moved it to the side just enough to get a peek outside, the road was empty so my eyes instinctively moved up higher.
Relief watched over me when I realized that my father was nowhere to be found but my eyebrows furrowed when I spotted the neighbor at his window looking directly at mine. My hand got a life of its own and moved to open my curtains fully.
Our eyes met and a smile grew on his lips before he waved at me. The childish and petty part of me insisted I kept my hand down just to give him a taste of his own medicine but the more mature part of me reminded me how ridiculous that would be. So I waved.
His smile grew before he lowered his hand and reached down, retrieving a piece of paper.
Sorry about the other day.
I swear I'm not a dick.
My eyes scanned over the words before a little smile tucked his way on my lips. I brought my eyes back up to meet his and mouthed 'it's okay'. He looked back down writing something else down on a different piece of paper.
I'm Aiden.
I looked over the words. Aiden. It suited him; a beautiful name for a beautiful man. I nodded slowly looking at him. He brought his hand up motioning for me to write. He wanted to know my name.
I was back at my window sooner than I'd like to admit with a marker and a piece of paper from my sketch book in hand.
I held up the piece of paper once I finished writing.
I'm Kristal, but you can call me Kris.
Thank you all so much for sticking around for yet another chapter <3
So it begins... ;)
I couldn't be more excited to share Kristal and Aiden's story with you all!
I appreciate every single one of you.
Love,
J