Historiah
One line, many clapping hands. One grave. Many grieving hearts. One man's greed, many dying souls, One mistake, many permanent consequences.
Isn't it strange one always gives birth to plenty? Isn't it odd how with humanity, the only thing needed to regard something as a fact is for enough people to believe it? I always find myself at a loss on nights like this. I stare at the ticking wall clock in this gloss-white room, illuminated only by my warm night light. I've been observing the modern furniture and big mirror atop the desk at the far end because I can't get a wink of sleep with this stupid headache. I feel a bead of sweat roll down from my forehead. I made Luke raise the temperature in the entire suite earlier, even though he complained about it, and now I'm too stubborn to turn it down, so I'll just open my window. The fact that he often puts up with me is strangely unnerving. I don't want to have my mind going far when he probably does it out of dedication to his work if nothing else. I don't want to go around feeling cared for when all of this is just a temporary requirement of him; the result of a hardworking part-timer waiting for the end of this nightmare.
It's a windy night, and my stomach won't stop churning. It isn't indigestion, no—It's dread.
I'm dreading something; something I don't know about yet. Something that's scaring me. This feeling always comes weeks before something catastrophic happens. And it hasn't been this bad since I saw him, in a pool of blood, knife firmly plunged in his stomach. I scratch, no; claw at the scar on my upper left arm as I usually do when I get nervous. I don't recall when or why I started to do that, but Mrs. King had a fancy name for it, for why I was at such a loss. That means nothing to me though, as long as I can pull some relief out of doing it. A thought suddenly drops in my head. Maybe listening to one of Luke's boring lectures about zoology or tech will make me fall asleep. I ring him, not expecting him to pick up at all, but as always, he surprises me just as much as he irritates me. "Tori, is everything okay?" It's weird that he's just in the next room, he's probably confused too, but I answer, "I can't sleep, and you're a bore most of the time, so just say something so I can doze off." "Tori." He calls. "What is it?" I answer.
"You sure have a lot of attitude for someone asking for a lullaby."
"I didn't say you should sing," I start. "Although your singing voice probably sounds like a toad opera."
"And yours is like a diadem of angels?"
"I didn't go that far, but since you said so..." He laughs a little. "Luke, what's it like in Russia?" The question I wanted to ask was what's it like being the heir to a billion-dollar company and somehow having the time to follow me around?' but I know that won't get me anywhere. "It's cold, of course, lots of hot girls." I can almost see the amused face he's putting on. "Try telling me something literally the entire world doesn't know." Tell me something about you.
"I didn't spend a lot of time outside the estate, but I'll try. Random smiles aren't usually appreciated as much as in western countries, and oh! As a child, Jace and I would join forces to make pelmeni, they're like dumplings. Once, we made over a hundred and messed up the entire kitchen; my aunt Tatiana almost buried us alive." His voice starts to grow wistful. "She'd always close all the windows and make us wear multiple layers too, so we didn't catch colds."
"You said 'join forces' instead of 'compete'. So, I'm guessing you and Jace weren't always trying to beat each other to the top of the ladder?" He pauses. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. "Jace and I compete because there's a complication in the succession of the company. There are 7 family rules strictly followed, the third one being,
'The head of the family is the oldest child, born into legitimacy'. Jace's mother was the woman his father loves, but she wasn't his wife. I on the other hand, am younger than Jace with a few days. Because of this, the entire family is divided in two, those who want me, and those who want him. That's why there has been constant pressure for us to be exceptional, to be better than the other. The hate we have is taught."
The hate we have is taught. That struck me differently. "But family drama isn't exactly the topic to put someone to sleep, now, is it?" He breathes. He tells me stuff like this, stuff that an outsider like me would be killed if found out. I don't know why, but that kind of makes me happy. It makes me happy, and I hate it. "What's your favourite colour, Tori?" Out of the blue, like that? "Take a guess." I reply. "Let me think, um..." He snaps his fingers in realization. "Grey." I'm taken aback. "Round of applause for the stalker! How'd you know?"
"I figured. None of your clothes are grey, but you like grey aesthetics, which made me start to guess. But what made me sure was how grey is usually used to depict gloom and weariness, but it has beauty in its own right. It's the colour of the clouds when it's about to rain, and it's subtle and antique, all of which you favour. I just tried to get in your head a little."
"You're so weird."
"Hey, my favourite colour isn't grey, of all things."
"What is it then?" I ask. He pauses, then answers slowly. "Green. It was a recent development though." "Recent development?" I echo. "Yes, I just recently realised. It's the colour of life. It speaks peace and silence. The colour of emeralds, poised and elegant. The colour of the forest, mysterious, yet welcoming enough to make you long to get lost. It's in everything."
"You should've gone into poetry instead, Shakespeare."
"Could be déjà vu, but I think I've heard that before."
"See? It's a sign." I yawn, my eyes heavy. Whatever he's doing, it's working. "Am I really that boring?" he must've heard me yawn. "I said it, didn't I?" I roll over and cozy up in my bed. "Tori, can I ask for a favour?" what could he possibly want from me? "It depends."
"it's a million degrees in this room; can I please increase the temperature?" I laugh, looking at my open window. "Yeah, you can." He sighs heavily, and I'm just as relieved. "Thank you." He pays the bills, but he lets me do what I want. I laugh sarcastically. Isn't he a gent? In a few minutes, the room cools, quickly lulling me to sleep.