Last night I didn't get a wink of sleep, because every time I've relaxed enough to possibly fall asleep, images of him flushed my mind space like a tsunami. I parked the SUV in the driveway and looked up at my childhood house. Ever since I could remember my parents had lived in this 5-bedroom house in the Greenways golf estate. I took a deep intake of fresh air before locking up the car and heading up the footpath. Early morn' mom phoned me inviting me to enjoy a home-made Sunday dinner along with her and dad. I agreed but now as I'm walking up to the front door, I feel like backing out. I rang the bell and almost instantly the door swung open. Harrison caught me in a tight bear grip as soon as our eyes met. "It's been such a long time; are you sure that you can still remember the way to the living room?" He asks smugly as he releases me from his embrace. "I won't be able to forget this house's layout for as long as I may live," I acknowledged him with a bright smile but equal complacency. I stopped dead in my tracks as I noticed his sitting figure in one of the couches. "What's he doing here?" I asked uneasily while crossing my arms over my chest. "Join us dear, we need to clear the air before sitting down for dinner," Mom said as she pointed out an empty seat. A spot that just so happens to be, directly, next to Misha Anderson. As I sat down, mother asked him: "Would you too be joining us for dinner, Misha?" I can feel how his blazing gaze penetrates a path through my skin as he answers her, "I'd be honored too, Aunt Patricia." I rolled my eyes at his response which made Marina Douglason giggle. My father cleared his throat. "First and foremost allow me to apologize for my own actions. The tale that I've spun about Genevieve had never been true to begin with," my dad started off. I eyed him suspiciously, "Dad what are you talking about?" My question had Misha, along with everybody else looking directly at me in utter disbelief. Dad seems nervous. By avoiding my question he continued: "I am the one who had originally steered her away from here. I took her phone denying her contact with the outside world. She never did it out of her own free will; I forced her to leave home. I'm at fault for the bad waters that's currently running deep between you guys." I stared at my father with incredulity. How could he lie like that and thus while using my name? Does my father feel no shame, no remorse for his own actions?
I stared at my parents incredulously. Harrison jumped up, alarming me to some extent with his sudden out roar, "Excuse me! Are you telling me that the story which you've fed us half a dozen of years ago is a lie? A fictious piece on your behalf!" His voice climbed out the four walls of the house, the further he went. The only thing my dad could do at the moment is nodding his head in shame. I'm at a complete lost for words; I have no inkling to what tale Harrison could possibly be referring too but as I noted their reactions, I think it's best to remain in the dark. "Simon and I knew from the very beginning that it couldn't be. Coming back to the present… may I ask a question Uncle Timothy?" He can't seem to vocalize his answer so therefore my father responded with yet another nod. "How come it took so long to come clean about it? Is it because Geni's back for the weekend?" Quickly Marina apologized for her twin-questions, seeing how she only inquired permission to ask one. "The guilt had been weighing me down ever since I made up the pretext. I've been trying to inform you guys about my dishonesty for years, but something always seems to get in the way of my confession. And yes, Genevieve is partly at fault-" Before he could finish his statement I cut him off with a single word question. My throat feels parched like I've been walking for days at end through the Sahara desert. "Give me a second to explain, it's not what you think; I can assure you that much. When you walked down the aisle, yesterday at your brother's wedding, you seemed nervous to be there but as soon as your eyes landed on Misha's broad figure and I noticed both of your reactions, guilt enveloped me." I snugged in a deep breath as I became aware of Misha's presence in the room. "Are you saying this to make me feel guilty for rejecting your daughter?" My heart cramped painfully at the mere recollection. Hearing him saying it out loud is shattering my heart all over again. My eyes stung yet before I could control my emotional state, a lone tear rolled downwards. "Excuse me," I said in a low tone. My mother gave me a sympathetic look as I stood up and readied myself to leave the conversation but a hand caught hold of my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. Glossy eyed I looked down at him. Pull my hand free from his grip and exclaimed in a surprisingly calm tone, "Go find someone that's worthy of your time!" I rushed from the room and entered the nearest restroom. Behind close doors, I sunk down into a sitting position with my back pressed up against the door and sobbed.
Why does it hurt so damn much? Misha Anderson had rejected me twice. He doesn't deserve any of these tears that are free-falling from my eyes. On the contrary over these last halve a dozen of years, I've transformed myself into a strong dependable woman. So how can this high school English educated break down my walls so easily? My body reacts to his every move, like I'm a twenty-three year old woman trapped in a seventeen years old teenager's, hormone imbalanced, body. What is this man doing to me?