Through our eyes

Part 1

~Your POV~

It's around 6am and it's time to wake up, I have yet to open my eyes but I'm aware it's 6am from the way the rays of sun tickles my eyelashes, from the way the breeze tiptoes through the thin gap from my slightly opened window and provokes the bumps on my skin to rise, as if telling me to rise with them.

So I give in, not because i lack warmth in my bed, let alone comfort, but because at any moment my assistants were bound to waltz into my room and mould me into everything I'm not but must become.

Almost as if they had their ear pressed against my thoughts, my door knocks.

"Y/N wake up! Have you seen the time?! Omg there's so much we have to get done"

As one opens the door the others quickly but almost ethereally swim in the air around my room, completely opening my silk curtains and my large white windows, chit chatting about what's on the agenda.

"Well good morning ladies, what's the commotion?" I say, I'm aware that all my mornings begin the same, like an actor whose partner in a scene keeps misreading their lines and is stuck in an endless loop of repetition, something my father used to say. But this particular morning, the ladies seemed to wear childlike expression on their faces.

Eliza speaks first, barely being able to contain her smile, ear to ear "Y/N, today is the premier of your brothers first film!"

"Ah yes...I'm sorry, it must've slipped my mind" I say with a knot in my throat.

I've always been very supportive of Oliver's works, his golf games when he wanted to be a professional golf player, his boxing matches when he wanted to be the best boxer known by any men, his art exhibitions when he wanted to be the next Leonardo Da Vinci and now? His short films since he wants to be the best director in England.

I've never cared too much as to ask him about any of his short lived passions, it's his life and ever since the death of our mother , we've lived separate lives. My home was rooted in my mother's shadow, and I was a happy girl. My brothers on the other hand, his palace was and still is in our father's shadow.

My father has funded and raised him on a pedestal each time Oliver had a new "true passion" without a second thought. Now that Oliver has taken interest in my fathers work, they are two sides of the same tape stuck together.

I don't speak from a place of jealousy, I admire his constant ambitions, my father is a well known director, he started off as an actor in old western films, we moved to America after my mother gave up her dream to support my fathers dream, not knowing that the blinding Hollywood lights and stabbing flashes from paparazzi would appear each time we left the home. I remember being a blushed little girl and wondering why these lenses followed us no matter where we went, even after we got in planes and started being surrounded with people with different accents, they never left.

"any wrong face or decisions, and the lenses will grab that moment that was once yours, and make it theirs, be careful" my mother would tell my brother and I when the lenses kept multiplying, like spiders eyes, there was too many to ever feel alone.

My brother is 5 years older than me so he has become a lot more costumed to the loud roars instructing us to look a certain way or smile.

The only time I ever felt safe was when my arm was intertwined with my mothers and I hid behind her big teased up hair.

When she left, I truly realised how much I hate cameras.

Having that opinion has distanced me from my father, that's his world, he would film us growing up, every Christmas and Halloween, every birthday and trip.