Guinevere
I have never believed in the notion of Fate.
With a failed marriage that left nothing but the ashes of my once fervent soul behind, the mere idea of something better waiting for me was absurd.
I have made peace with it, but that peace is t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Inspired by Sick Thoughts - Lewis Blissett
Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One Hundred.
No matter how many sit-ups or pull-ups I did to exhaust myself and chase away her presence, my mind was mocking me for the lack of control I had because of her.
I never approached her because I had seen the way she pulls back whenever she meets new people. I saw her body tense and her eyes dart everywhere but the person's face she was meeting. Every time I laid my eyes on her, I saw the shell of the woman she used to be.
Yes, I knew Guinevere ever since we were teens as we used to live in the same neighbourhood, but I was always too shy to approach her. That and being called Fat Hayes didn't exactly nudge me into giving in and getting the courage to ask her out. She was always sweet, but she also had that wild side that fascinated me throughout the years. Carefree and beautifully wild. That was how I would describe her as I watched from the safety of my own bubble.
Yet the years hadn't been kind to her. Guinevere still was breathtaking, but you could see how tragically forlorn she became. The way she shrunk back despite the fact that she was made to shine. How submission was ingrained in her, even though you could see the queen in her trying to break the surface. Seeing that spark in her eyes dull made me regret not pursuing her throughout the years. Before she met that useless man who called himself her husband. Nevertheless, I believe it wasn't our time. Contrary to our current circumstances.
When she left for the archives yesterday afternoon, my body followed hers in a daze. I believed if someone would describe an out-of-body experience, this would be close to it. It was like I was a spectator and just helplessly watched as my legs followed in her footsteps underground. This wasn't how I wanted to approach her. Beggars couldn't be choosers, right?
"So, who is she?"
My head cleared of the fog that was all Guinevere, and snapped to the voice on the threshold of the gym.
"I'm going to have to speak to Edward and withdraw your clearance to come up here without permission, Elijah."
"Please! Your concierge likes me better than you, brother."
"And that is probably true," I said with a light chuckle as I took in my brother leaning against the doorframe.
Elijah was the carbon copy of our father with that Hollywood-worthy smile that could get him whatever he set his heart on. Every time he laughed, he had that warm, inviting spark that just pulled people in without him even trying. He was approachable, kind and friendly–the exact opposite of me. I was the broody one; the one everyone avoided unless they had something to gain by spending just a fraction of their precious time in my presence. No wonder I was not popular in the friendship department.
Couldn't say the same about the female population. This pensive and standoffish behaviour was like pollen to a bee to most of them. It was truly a mystery to me, but I never questioned their sanity by choosing me over others. Yet, as the years went by, the throng of willing women did nothing but become boring and monotone. The only thing they satisfied was the physical need, but the thrill my soul sought in pursuing and conquering was something I missed and craved.
