Witness by Jamie Wilkinson (short novels in english .txt) 📖

my face is covered in light foundation which conceals the few freckles which usually decorate my cheeks and the bridge of my nose.
My eyes are rimmed with dark eyeliner and lavender eye shadow, and my eyelashes are coated in black mascara. They’re paler than usual, my eyes, maybe it’s an effect of the makeup but I imagine it’s because they reflect my fear. Like someone who’s just seen a ghost they’re deathly pale.
I’m so scared. I’m scared of becoming like my mother, and my father, and my grandparents and my great grandparents.
“Paige! You have thirty minutes and then we’re on our way!” I hear my mother calling.
I tell myself to relax. I tell myself not to disclose my fear.
Without hesitation I leave the bathroom and untangle the curlers from my hair. I slip into my dress with some discomfort and step into my shoes. I take a very deep breath and crack my fingers, and I tell myself I’m ready.
Before I leave my bedroom I catch my reflection in the mirror, it surprises me, a large improvement to my usual appearance but I’d be lying if I said I preferred this look over the other.
My mother and father are waiting for me in the vast hallway.
“Oh, Paige,” she gazes at me with a look of nostalgia, “You look so beautiful.” There is a shimmer in her bright green eyes that I’ve never seen before, and as soon as I notice it it’s gone again.
My mother clasps her hands together and with a glance at my father states, “Let’s go.”

When we arrive at the Helios Hotel ballroom at six o’clock pm, my family as well as my father’s associates, the organizers of this occasion are the first present. The room is gold with sparkling white tiles and chandeliers hanging, evenly spaced out, on the ceiling. White and silver balloons and streamers line the walls
There are many a dining table lined up in rows, with silverware and utensils already set up for the guests that have yet to arrive. At the end of the very first table is a chair which stands out from the others, a large padded chair of gold; this is for my father, and the two chairs beside it I know are reserved for my mother and I.
I take my seat.
My stomach is dancing circles in my stomach cavity and my head spins without end as the guests begin to arrive, one after the other they enter the ballroom without stopping for a moment. Some stand in groups and discuss the event, while others immediately take their seats.
Within the first half hour the ballroom is packed and I’m completely distraught. At the moment I’m caught in a circle of introductions and compliments to my father and of course his family, meaning me; and I accept them all with false smiles and excruciating small talk.
“Adelaide Lennox, nice to meet you.”
“Paige Hurst, nice to meet you too.”
“Your fathers a very great man you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
She laughs.
“What a wonderful party, wouldn’t you agree? Quite grand.”
“Very.”
All the commotion makes me feel as if I’m going to be sick, and I mention to my mother that I’m not feeling well once I manage to get her attention.
She tells me to take a breather and spend a few minutes outside, but then immediately adds, “But be back in no less than five minutes, I won’t have you hiding, not at such an occasion.”
“Thank you,” I huff as I squeeze my way through my new acquaintances.
Once outside the circle of communiqué I find myself to be in an area not unlike it. There are people standing, sitting, conversing everywhere.
I make my way to the golden double doors which mark the entrance to the ballroom, and as I do my ailment strengthens. I don’t want to draw attention to myself; that would only worsen the situation.
The doors seem miles away and the room stretches out before me. My eyes try to convince me that I’m trapped and that I will never leave.
My strides become extended and I quicken my pace. I tell myself I’m almost there.
I reach the door with a strong sense of relief quickly flooding my being; I turn around to find the ballroom isn’t half as lengthy as I presumed. But I don’t waste any more time standing in the unbearable environment, I twist the silver door handle and push on the door.

The cold air hits me like a sledge hammer; I welcome it. I almost immediately find some release in the outdoors but the hazy unease of knowing that I only have five minutes outside drowns my brain.
I rest my arms on the stone railing of the balcony and close my eyes. Few people are standing about with cigarettes and others are chatting in padded jackets, maybe outside for some privacy but I ignore them. I listen to the sounds of cars, their tires crushing fresh snow and I listen to the soft thump of snowflakes on the awning over my head; I only have three minutes left.
I take in some deep breaths, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth; trying to prepare myself for my re-entrance. I listen to the voices behind me, but not to what they are saying and the soft murmurs comfort me.
It isn’t long before I feel a presence beside me. For a moment I wonder if I should address it or not.
“You’re Paige Hurst?” A melodious voice addresses me first.
“Mmhm.” I reply without, at first, looking up.
“If you are Paige Hurst then why aren’t you inside celebrating? They’re making toasts to your father in there you know.” The voice informs me.
A little aggravated, a turn my head to reply but am stopped before I can. A young man stands beside me, arms propped up on the stone balcony railing, peering at me with the same dark eyes that have been burned in my mind for the past days; the same warmth radiating dark brown eyes. They stare into my pale blues and I know that they can see right through them, just as they had in my dream. I feel completely naked.

-

“I said, why aren’t you inside celebrating?” The young man repeats himself, his eyes magnetic, and I have to focus on what he’s saying with all the power I have.
“Um, I-I’m just taking a breather.” I say, diverting my eyes to his bow tie, “I really can’t handle big festivities like these.”
As I manage to take my attention off of his eyes I realize that he is relatively handsome. He has creamy beige skin and a pointed chin, with both defined eyebrows and bone structure. His hair is parted at the side and is cut shorter near his neck than on the top of his head; it is made up of tones of dark mahogany and falls over his face as he leans over the ledge to view passersby.
“I’m sure your father would appreciate your being there on his important night.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed my absence. It’s my mother that wants me there.” I explain with ease.
Seeing as though his eyes already know my story, there’s no use in lying to him.
“You’re not happy for your father?” He inquires.
“Of course I’m happy for my father. It isn’t my father I dislike, it’s the party. It’s the fact that my parents want me engaged in the event, in the lifestyle.” I elaborate.
“I see. You’re spiting your parents because of something they were born into. Something they couldn’t control.” He says, grinning a half smile, showing some of his teeth.
I take in a deep breath, “I’m not spiting them. I’m just- Well, the least they could do is not force me into this whole situation.” I exhale.
“You’re spiteful of the fact that they’re happy and you aren’t.” He states, still grinning.
“Well good going seeing right through me, because now I’m spiteful of you too.” I frown and stare blankly at flakes of snow making their journey towards the ground.
It’s quite for a moment and then, “I’m just teasing you, you know.” He is no longer grinning.
“Well you’re not very good at it.” I respond.
The young man stares at the snowflakes along with me for some short time. I almost wish he would leave, but at the same time I want to talk some more. I wonder for a moment about what I could say as a follow up on my rude comment, but I fear I’ve already doomed myself in trying to make the conversation less awkward and stay quiet.
“You know I don’t like parties either.” He declares, “Too much noise. I’d much rather be at home reading. Do you enjoy reading?”
“Yes.” I say, subconsciously smiling but still staring into the distance, “It’s my favourite pastime.”
“Which books are your favourites?” I can feel his eyes searching for mine but I can’t bear to look at his again.
“All of them, for the simple fact that they can take me someplace else.” I make clear, watching the tiny flakes disappear into mounds of snow.
It’s silent again as if he is contemplating my statement.
“I see. Tell me something else about yourself.”
The statement takes me a little off guard but I reply quickly, knowing exactly what to say, “My head is constantly filled with thought. I wish I could manually open it and empty some of the nonsense; it makes it hard for me to concentrate.”
“You’re concentrating right now.”
I once again turn to look at him, our eyes focus on each other, “Maybe that’s because I’m talking to someone I can identify with.”
“How do you know we can identify with each other when we’ve just recently met?” He asks, once again grinning.
“I don’t know.” This is a lie.
It’s your eyes, I think to myself. They hold me captive with an iron grip, they would never allow me to slip into my thoughts; I know we can relate because we see eye to eye, no pun intended.
I feel bad that I have to lie to him, but I tell myself that someday he will know if he can’t already see through my lie and I concentrate on his words.
“I think you might.” He smirks and I feel like hiding, “But we won’t get into that. I’m Parker Fielding.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Parker.” This is not a lie.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
“If I’m not mistaken you’re the son of Roger and Marietta Fielding?”
“Correct.”
The Fielding’s own a specialty retailer of consumer electronics; it is one of the largest electronics businesses in the country.
“Your parents are here tonight?”
“Correct. I did tell you I don’t enjoy parties didn’t I? I wouldn’t come here on my own free will.” He chuckles.
“Well, only about an hour to go.” I sigh.
“Now that I think about it, maybe we could both not enjoy this party together.”
My heart flutters for a moment before I realize that my stay on the balcony has outlasted my time limit. My mother will be furious. Or maybe she hasn’t noticed. Either way I don’t want to take my chances.
His dark eyes stare into mine