Hamartia: (n) a fatal flaw leading to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine.

Chris

Talk about awkward.

"I'm Chris," I replied, taking a sip of my tea. Brook asked me if I knew why Alex was in Brighton. "I'm meeting up with one of my friends who lives here- we live in London- and she wanted to tag along."

"But what's she doing here? In the country? Why isn't she in Canada?" she asked as she barely kept her voice above a whisper.

"I dunno," I shrugged. It's not something she talked about often so I don't even know the answer.

We heard Alex shout at her dad before barging into the kitchen where I sat, with her dad following closely behind her. Holding back tears, she told me we were leaving.

"Just so you know," Alex said turning to her dad and his wife, "he had another child he abandoned back in Canada. Maybe I'm not some child prodigy going to an Ivy League and living in a McMansion but at least I didn't abandon my kid."

She calmly closed the front door behind her before collapsing on the front steps. I quickly mirrored her before she started crying into my chest. The last time she cried in front of me was quiet and demure. This time is the opposite. She's hyperventilating and convulsing while she's asking me why she wasn't good enough. I did my best to console her but I don't think rubbing her back can undo years of betrayal.

The next few weeks were grueling. Alex went home shortly after visiting her dad with barely any more words. After a few days, things were back to almost normal. She didn't seem upset anymore, though I've barely had time to talk to her since I've been so busy filming.

"I'll edit over the next few weeks," PJ began to say as we stood outside the train station, "and then I'll send you the rough cut if you'd like. I'm going to release it around Halloween. I might call it 'Oscar's Hotel'...I'm not sure..."

After getting off the train, Alex greeted me at the terminal with a quick kiss. She told me she got a letter from the exhibition people and she wanted to open it together. The way home was silent. She barely talked to me besides saying she hoped she got in. After the mute ride, she ran to our floor and barged through her door.

"I can't read it!" she sighed. "What if they hated me? You read it." I started to ask her where she put the letter but she quickly cut me off. "Not yet! Tell me how filming was. I'll start some dinner. I'm so nervous. What was the movie about?"

I started off by telling her that, first of all, it wasn't a movie, and I had fun. I did my best to tell her everything without giving away any major any plot details, as she wanted that to be a surprise as well.

"It'll be good. I think you'll like the whimsical-ness of it," I told her. "Can I read the letter but just not tell you?"

"No, you'll tell me with your face. I can read you," she argued as she stirred the food. After we had finished eating, she told me I could open the letter while she cleaned up.

"I threw it in that box," she said as she pointed to a box full of other letters.

I quickly started tearing through the box while I looked for an official-looking letter. Most of them had been torn open to the point that the envelope couldn't tell me who it came from so I just had to tear through them all. The initial excitement started to wear off as I read the first letter.

Dear Alex,

I had a long day yesterday. I remembered the first time we went on a date. The smell of your hair and how you asked to borrow my jacket because it was January and it was cold. I'll never forget it…

I stopped reading before finding a similar one with the same handwriting.

Alex,

I woke up this morning and it was as if you were sleeping next to me. I wish you were here and I wish you could visit more often. You're worth the wait.

There were at least six more with the same handwriting and similar content, but there were a lot of letters in the box so who knows how many more there are. I found the letter I was looking for and quickly tore it open to see if Alex was accepted or not.

"Who's Jayden Green?" I asked her and she rinsed the dishes off in the kitchen. She turned around to see me holding a bunch of letters. Her face instantly dropped.

"I never responded to him," she stuttered out.

"Who is Jayden Green?" I repeated calmly, although I already knew the answer.

"Someone from back home in Canada."

"Why is he writing you letters?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" she spat. "I'm sorry. He's nobody."

"Then why do you have all these letters from him? This one," I said holding up one of the letters, "is dated a couple weeks ago. You wouldn't have all these letters if he's nobody."

"I never wrote him any letters," she echoed. "It's all one way."

"But why did you keep them?" She bit her lip and stayed quiet. After a minute or so of us just staring at each other, I handed her the exhibition letter and said, "you got in, by the way."

When she once again kept quiet, I turned around and left, slamming the door behind me. Why lie about it?

Alex

I hate my dad and I hope he knows that. He didn't have to stay up for hours on end to console my crying mother. He didn't have to explain to me why daddy isn't coming back. He's not the one that was betrayed.

As a child, I liked to pretend he was a spy who had to go on missions or a secret prince who had to leave to protect us from an enemy. Anything was easier than accepting the truth. As I got older, I realized my silly fantasy is far from reality. I remember once my grandma said I was "just like my father" when I was throwing a tantrum as a child. She apologized for it much later, but it was probably the worst thing anybody's ever said to me.

"Hey", my phone read with a ding. It was a message from my half-brother, Xavier. I gave him a one-word greeting as well. "Can we meet? I want to talk. I'll be in London tomorrow night if you want to."

Reluctantly, I agreed and the next night my brother was knocking at my door.

"Nice place you got here, sis," he said as he looked around my apartment. I got us some drinks before we started to talk. "You stormed out pretty quickly the other night. How long have you been in England?"

"A year and half, almost. I really needed to get away from home and I finessed my way into a university here somehow." He asked me what I'm studying. "I was doing political science, but I dropped out a while ago."

"Sometimes I forget that I'm Native." He's technically Metis, but I don't correct him. "I don't know a lot so I don't really feel it. Sometimes I feel kind of jealous you got to grow up with the culture."

"I really grew up with my mom's parents." Neither of us said anything for a few moments. "Is Brook your mom? I never knew your mom's name."

"No, I was just visiting Zayden, Ryland, Ember, and Kinsley." I asked who in the world they were and why they had stupid names. "Dad's and Brook's kids. I figure it's a good idea to keep in touch with my- I guess our- siblings. They were already married and Zayden was 10 by the time I got in touch with them. It's kind of crazy you can have siblings you never knew about."

"He didn't even know my name."

"He wasn't there for most of my life either. Brook was really mad when I left. She was yelling about not telling him that you were here or anything. I wish I had the guts to do what you did. I just kind of pretend I'm okay with the way he treated me and my mum. But the other day I told him you were right and I felt the same way. He was kind of mad too...

"Do you still do karate?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Firstly, I did jiu-jitsu, and second, no. I stopped because of my car accident. I haven't fought since I moved here, but I still like it." I quickly changed the subject because, firstly, it all reminded me of Adrian, and second, it reminded me of one of the worst nights of my life. Everyone around me got sick of hearing me whine about the accident and now I'm sick of thinking about it.

Xavier and I have remotely kept in touch over the years. We aren't as close as even some of my cousins and I are, but we know what's going on in each other's lives for the most part. Brook's kids might as well be complete strangers.

He left no more than an hour later, promising to keep in touch more now that he knows I'm in the area. Two weeks later, Chris came back from filming his movie in Brighton. I had gotten my letter from Jing, but being too nervous, I decided to save it for Chris.

"Can I read the letter and just not tell you?" he asked as I made dinner for us.

"No," I retorted, "you'll tell me with your face. I can read you."

After we finished eating, I cleaned up while he got the letter.

"I threw it in that box," I said as I directed him to the box where I keep all the letters I don't throw away. As soon as it left my mouth, I realized I had some private stuff but I didn't want to make a big deal so I didn't say anything.

"Who's Jayden Green?" he asked as I rinsed off my plate. I turned around to see him holding one of those aforementioned letters.

"I never responded to him," I forced out, instantly knowing where he was going with this and hoping I could salvage my mistake. He simply repeated the question. "Someone from back home in Canada."

"Why is he writing you letters?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" she said. As soon as I said it, I regretted it. "I'm sorry. He's nobody."

"Then why do you have all these letters from him? This one is dated a couple weeks ago. You wouldn't have all these letters if he's nobody."

"I never wrote him any letters," I reiterated. "It's all one way."

"But why did you keep them?" Neither of us said anything for a minute. He thrust my letter into my hands. "You got in, by the way." I didn't say anything again and he left.

After closer inspection of the letter, one item out of everything stood out. The exhibit is in Paris.