Wonderfully So (EDITING)

CHAPTER 10: Curiosity Kills the Princess

At twelve years old, I started questioning all the things that I have. I wondered why I was accustomed to such a lofty lifestyle. I had things that cost so much, things that were alluring to the wanting eyes; things I did not deserve.

And the more I was reminded of these possessions, the more I abhorred myself for wanting more. I dreamt of plenty more things I didn't yet have, things forbidden of me, things not destined for me.

The problem wasn't the absence of contentment, it was the presence of longing.

I constantly asked myself why the abundance of my wealth did not make me full, let alone repress the hunger. Maybe I'm searching for something that isn't visible to the naked eye; something unrecognizable from afar, but gives me a purpose to live. Maybe I'm yearning for something worth bending over backwards for, something worthy of me, something I'm born for.

"I constantly think about the woman in the cemetery, that maybe she's the key to all this emptiness inside me. She could be a pathological liar who has come to the same place and time as me, and who happens to have the exact replica of my mother's work of art in her wallet photo, or she could actually be telling the truth. But one thing's for sure, I'm going to get all the answers to my questions," I wrote in the journal Sarah had given me. Alone in my room, I heard Eric's voice from up here, disturbing the peace I've gathered with my writing. I stepped out of my room in my nightgown, paying attention through the handrails.

Eric was too tied up, glued to his cellphone. He kept barking out orders at his employees on one line and impressing a hard-earned investor on the other.

Staring at him, I don't see the childhood friend I once partnered up with at seven minutes in heaven. I don't see the person who I run to after being taught strict table etiquette, desperately in need of a playmate in the park. I don't see the boy whom I use as an excuse to go to the beach whenever Sarah visits the city.

Apparently, all I see is an arrogant, ambitious, and self-serving man who is brainwashed into pleasing the lures of his parents' hollow promises.

Threatening to fire one of the servants, I came to him, rubbing his shoulders with my thumb, trying to ease his temper. "What's the problem? Talk to me, Eric. No one's getting fired."

"You're here all day. Couldn't you at least tell Lydia not to interrupt me when in the middle of a very important call?" He said, looking intently at Lydia.

"Mr. Greddon, I'm so sorry. Please do not fire me. I have nowhere else to go," she pleaded, her head facing down, tears trickling her tired eyes.

Eric cued his security to escort Lydia out the door. Taking another phone call, he went inside his office. Kneeling on the floor, "Please, Mrs. Greddon. I have kids," she shouted, begging for mercy.

Security held her arm. "Mrs. Greddon, please! I beg of you!" She slides her knees together towards me, hands in a clasp.

"Get your hands off her this instant! I'll take care of this," I said. They let go, returned back to their posts. Lydia wailed of fear and joy. "That's enough, honey. There, there," I crouched and patted her back.

"Now, why don't you bring me a cup of coffee, and we'll chat in my room." She nodded, pulling herself together. Lydia walked towards the kitchen, ignoring the other servants who witnessed the predicament.

"I'm really sorry, Miss Avery. Mrs. Laurel has been phoning Mr. Greddon for the past hours, and he refuses to get to the phone," Lydia confessed, putting my coffee on the table.

"Did she tell you what it was about?" I asked, sipping my coffee. She remained silent, pretending not to hear me. "It's okay, Lydia. You can tell me," I said.