The Love of a Stepbrother

It was Valentine’s Day, a day when couples acted as carefree, thoughtful lovebirds. To Simone, it was but another day in the calendar. All days are the same. What’s so different about this one? She wondered as she stared out the window. She watched as a man bought a bouquet of roses from the flower shop across the street. Simone went on many dates, with many different men, during the year, and she did not have a love interest at the moment. But then again, love was such a fickle emotion… She could be completely fascinated by a man, and one wrong word, and said fascination would vanish at once. People called her demanding… Well, if that was what having standards meant nowadays, she was fine with it. She glared at the roses the man was holding. He wasn’t even sporting a smile when he left the flower shop. Valentine's day is a little bit of a commercial scam, she thought to herself. And yet, she couldn’t help but wish someone would be thoughtful enough to offer her roses, no matter the occasion. She sighed, remembering the last time she got a rose – prom. That was a solid 7 years ago. And again, it was because her date, the boy escorting her to prom, felt obliged to offer her one, as per the tradition. Simone loved roses as much as the next woman, and she would love to receive a bouquet, but only if the action was spurred by the heartfelt desire to bring a smile to one’s face. She saw the shy smiles. She heard the excited giggles. And it all seemed fake. It was but a facade. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow, they'll be back to their dull lifestyle. Tomorrow, I won't have to stay cooped up in my apartment, she told herself rather bleakly. Today, for fear of meeting her nosy neighbor, and facing pity looks from her landlord, she shall work on a translation job that was due soon. Freelancing never felt like such a bliss. She didn’t have to leave her apartment if she didn’t feel like it. Simone did not like Valentine's Day. It reminded her of how lonely she was. And her long since buried longing for a partner made a flashy appearance in her dull routine. Instead of dwelling on things she could not control, she threw herself into work. Later that evening, she received a devastating call. Her mother was no more. ** *** *** ** Simone marched into the room, doing her best to appear calm and collected. Her green eyes, no doubt spitting fire, dared everyone to approach her. Her mother died in a car accident a couple of days ago. She had lost her last living kin, all because a man had decided to drink his weight in alcohol before taking the wheel. Simone had never been a drinker to begin with, and her aversion for the beverage skyrocketed. As for her repulsion to men, it was close to unbearable. She had her reasons to resent the opposite s*x. Her sizzling attraction to her successful and ridiculously handsome stepbrother didn't help. Whenever the man was near, which thankfully wasn’t often, her whole body reacted. How could any man be so attractive? Be still my heart, she told herself as she walked towards him, seeking the comfort only he could give. Having lost his father two years ago, William would understand her pain, and her need for all these strangers to just leave, and let her grieve in peace. Simone refused to call William a love interest. They could never happen. They were not meant to be. He was what wet dreams were made of – a fantasy if she must give this nonesense a name. "Simone," he offered her a small smile in greeting. Albeit meant to comfort, his smile had the knack to make her shiver. Indeed, even though she had been numb to almost everything since the news, William’s effect on her seemed everlasting – despite the pain, despite the grief. "Most of them have barely addressed her a word in the past year," she grunted, dismissing her absurd physical awareness of the man. "Behave," he chided, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She looked back at the crowd filling the room. She wanted to dismiss them all. She wished she could. She took a step forward, almost unaware, but William stopped her, his hand holding her wrist captive. "Don't be foolish," he said. Always simple, and to the point… She liked that about him. "I remember you throwing a tantrum at your father's funeral," Simone spat out angrily. He sighed. "Exactly. Don't make my mistake. Mourning is a process, and anger is a part of it. Don't act on impulse." His words stung. His touch, on the other hand, electrified her. She freed her wrist to have some clarity of mind, and before she did something she might regret – like lean in and inhale his manly fragrance. "When will it all be over?" She then asked on a sigh, even as she did her best to school her features into an indifferent scowl. She would not send the crowd away. Not today. Not under his watch anyways. "What?" He probed. "The pain." "It never goes away," he shook his head negatively, a touch of tenderness in the depths of his chocolate brown eyes. Simone scoffed, her eyes blurring with the tears. She then sniffled. And, trying to keep them at bay, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. "Let it out," he commanded softly. She had never received such considerate and yet harsh advice. Her aversion to the opposite s*x dwindled ever so slighlty. Nevertheless, she couldn’t bring herself to cry in the open, under the watchful eyes of the crowd. She wasn’t weak enough to allow it to happen just yet, and she wasn’t brave enough to face the looks that would ensue. Life was no easy walk in the park, and she was learning that the hard way.