Chapter 3:
Resting weakly on bed, Ryan's ice blue eyes fluttered open, his ears prickling to the lightest sound from the outside world. Slowly, he pushed himself up, extending his right arm to reach the dresser at the side of his bed and whipped out a M1911A1 pistol.
Again he heard the soft taps outside the French windows.
He leaped off the bed lightly, clammy hands gripping on tightly to the pistol. He moved slowly, trying to stay hidden in the shadows casted by the furniture. He inhaled deeply as he positioned himself properly, ready to launch himself into a combat mode if necessary.
He lifted his hand, hovered his palm and fingers above the white curtain and quickly he yanked the curtain to the side, revealing the void night. He moved forward and registered everything in sight.
The soft taps were made by a tree branch that had extended its length over his veranda. He let out a sigh of relief and at a same time a bitter curse.
"Fuck."
His knees buckled under the tension and pressure he had built within him. He panted lightly, pressing his sweat-slick back against the cold glass while he removed the magazine from the pistol, tossing it on the floor.
Sensing a slight throb at the back of his eyes, he raised his hand to rub the pain away only to discover tears dripping down his cheeks. He pulled his legs in.
He dipped his head as more tears continued to flow down his face.
Life was never fair to him.
He never had any confidence in himself even up to know. What he had was borrowed strength from knowledge that could be easily attained with money and determination.
He was no more but a mistake in life.
He should not have existed.
He should have died in the crash.
He should have killed himself years back.
Yet he could not bring himself to point the gun on his head. He was afraid of dying. Afraid of death.
A young boy ran merrily down the corridors and hid himself in his father's study. Not wanting to be caught by his twin sister, Ryan Evans hid himself inside the wooden cabinet.
The door to the study swung open. Ryan peeked out from the gap and noticed his parents had entered the room, voiced raised and temperamental.
"How am I to know?" his mother snapped.
"How can you not?" his father yelled, exasperation clearly written on his face.
Ryan screwed his face, tiny fingers holding on tightly to his legs. What had happened? The little child pondered.
"So you're humiliated? You think I am not embarrassed over this matter?"
"I have a reputation to look after! Where will I put my face? All you care is your spa treatments and dance classes. You should have tutored him!"
"Me? You as a father should have spent more time with your son. Maybe that will drill some manliness into him!"
"Dolls! Tea parties! Dresses! Cosmetics! Are those what little boys play with? Do you think kissing your own gender is normal!?"
Little Ryan's eyes widened, fear and worry flashing clearly in his beautiful eyes as he withdrew himself further inside the cabinet.
"They were playing!"
"That wasn't the first and it will definitely not be the last!"
"What do you want me to do? Lock him away? He was born weak! He could not play under the sun like all the other boys!"
"Do you know how disgusted I am when I see him? I can't bring myself to look straight into my son's eyes! And I have to live with that fact till I die!"
"You're not the only one having such problems! But at least let him have his own freedom!"
"I don't want a faggot for a son!"
"Neither do I! But do we have a choice?"
"He's no more but a mistake!" Mr Evans screamed.
"I should never have given birth to him!" Mrs Evans burst and stormed out of the room.
"Damn right!"
The little boy huddled himself, tears trickling down his baby face as he digested the conversation in his head.
Ryan took a deep breath and wiped the tears away from his eyes.
No one actually came close to know the real him except Troy. That man had came so dangerously close to discover the little lost child within him. He could see through all Ryan's smiles and laughter, commenting on how fake they were.
The brunet entered his life and changed his outlook.
Troy was Ryan's guiding light. An angel who hold on tightly to Ryan's small hand when he was lost and carried him up when he fell.
But all that had come to a past. Troy would never be his. He belonged to his wife and daughter.
He slotted the magazine back onto the pistol, unloaded six bullets and gave the barrel a spin. Russian roulette. He lifted the pistol and pressed it firmly on his skull, feeling the cold metal biting into his skin.
Click.
Ryan Evans strolled down the corridors of the Evans mansion, eyes hidden behind his shades, facial expression blank and voice monotonous. He was a gentleman with an imperious bearing – confident and proud of himself.
A well educated man who handled things professionally and not emotionally. It was no doubt he was the perfect heir. The perfect son.
If people only knew…
…that fine gentleman tried to end his life last night.
Author: Chapter 3...all about Ryan.