PATRIARCHY

eight

chapter 8

the twenty-third of may, 2155

His hand rests on one of the white wooden columns on our stone porch, and even though his posture seems to be relaxed, his eyes are alive with concern. His black hair falls messily over his forehead, which is a first. It's curly, apparently. I would've never had thought, since his hair is usually slicked back with copious amounts of hair gel in it.

His eyes shift between all of the faces that are staring him down, and he breaks the sudden silence with a small "um". I guess he didn't expect the whole family to answer the door. Father looks back at me, his eyebrows tightening together in a look of confusion.

"Amelia," Xander says piercingly. His gaze settles on my face, a swerve of determination pulsing out into the air.

"Amelia, who is this?" Father asks me, and I stutter.

"Xander," he introduces himself, reaching out to shake his hand. Father takes it, hesitantly.

"And what are you doing here?" Father questions. My line of thought unhinges, and I stiffen. What is he doing here?

"I wanted to speak with your daughter," he says, looking in my direction. A few moments of silence passes, confusion still coursing through me. He disappeared for a whole week, and now he's here, standing outside my house, wanting to talk to me? About what?

"She is busy, she is about to meet with someone," Father denies him, a touch of disbelief banding his voice. It's uncommon for males to visit a female's home without her father's permission. Xander's eyes widen, casting them back to Father.

"What?" He breathes, and I feel my head spinning. I don't think Xander is going to be particularly happy when he finds out what I'm doing tonight. Mother clutches her hand on my shoulder, and I swallow an uncomfortable lump lodged in my throat as Father nudges me to the side.

"I think you should leave," Father decides, moving to block the door from entry. Our eyes meet once more under Father's shoulder, and I gulp when Xander reaches out his hand, grabbing my wrist under Father's arm.

"We'll talk later! I'll find you, at school!" he exclaims with a strained voice.

"Leave," Father demands once more, tearing his hand away from mine. Xander hesitates, but he turns around after a few seconds. His broad shoulders swing forward, adjusting the brown leather jacket he's wearing.

"We'll talk on Monday," he mutters as he walks down the stone steps. The end of his shirt hangs loosely over his pants, and It's almost like looking at a different person. My eyes trace him as he strolls through the front yard, and I have no time to process what just happened, because next, he crashes into someone as he opens the gate. My head drains of blood when I see the tall figure making his way past him, heading my way. He wears an all-black suit. With the beaming orange sunset, his hair looks lighter than it did last time. Golden, almost.

Alden.

He glances over his shoulder to make eyes at Xander a few times as he makes his way to the door, probably wondering who he is, and why he was just at my house. With each measured step he takes towards me, my breath grows weaker.

By the time he steps foot onto the stone porch, my lips have dried out. I lick them, returning moisture, and I breathe, returning blood to my head. I look down.

"Hello." His voice is warm, but with it, a sharp tinge of arrogance. My eyes travel from the polished black dress shoes, the wrinkle-less black pants, his broad chest, to finally his eyes. They surprise me every time, as they embody a more vivid shade of green than what I remember.