𝗜𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝘁 𝗔𝗳𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀 | 𝐁𝗼𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐲/𝗥𝗙𝗞

XL: "The Other Man"

Maurice Bellamy started his morning in Cambridge, Massachusetts with a cup of steaming café au lait made to his liking by the lady of the house. The said house was a humble Cape Cod cottage; it was smaller than any house he had sheltered in after his Paris slum days, yet it held such deep and incomparable tranquility.

Standing behind the living room window, he basked in the quintessences the town could offer: solidly unbroken blue skies; maples and oaks, all dark red and brown and yellow under the summer sun; the conifers stood tall and gave off a greenish-yellow light.

On the roads and sidewalks of the town, there were fallen leaves that made a crackling when stepped upon and sent up such a sweet scent when crushed that it was only the very old who walked over them and thought of death and decay. And the townsfolk wasn't too bad either — particularly Delilah; the unlikely match for an opulent Frenchman like himself.

On the rocking chair left by the previous owner, Maurice seemed to have forgotten the problems he was facing — business conundrums, familial ultimatums, et cetera — they were lifted off his shoulders like a soaked towel after a day at the beach.

Delilah, in her sui generis nature, had occupied half his brain, while the other was by his strangely merciful daughter; if it wasn't for their relation, his mind would go to think she was orchestrating his downfall as he did with her. But she took him in, sheltered him from his vices and gave him a bed with a fresh pillow to lay his weary head on — it was only fair he gave her the benefit of the doubt.

In the master bedroom, Evelyn was seated at the dressing table; the stool was cushioned, making it easy to sit on for hours on end. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked while hooking a pearl earring into her earlobe.

"I'm not going to let you do this alone," Paul answered. He lackadaisically rolled his shirts and shoved them into a suitcase.

She let out a sigh of relief; having him around would make it easier for her to decline Bobby's invitation for a nightcap on their moonlit tryst — if he ever tries. "Bobby can be a bit touchy; he doesn't get along with everyone." But she wasn't foolish enough to not forewarn her lover of what he was getting into.

"If he's a gentleman, he'll leave you alone."

"It always seemed like he'd never leave me alone."

Flashbacks of Hyannis Port only three years ago rushed through Evelyn's disordered mind. One that stood out the most was when Bobby convinced her to give love a chance; to make that fateful decision on the night of her birthday. It all seemed beyond unfair when the storm no longer rage and the sun let its light bleed on the event — what kind of man forces love?

Paul hastily tightened his shoelaces so he could console his lover. He got off their queen bed and laid his hands on her bony shoulders. "Don't give in to him. He feeds off attention, Evelyn, the one you often give him," he said in an aggressive yet guiding manner.

It shook her to the core when he had been right in every deduction he made of Bobby — he was an excellent judge of character. "You're right. You're always right," she sighed.

"Come on, your dad's waiting." Paul bent down to get a grip on his suitcase, along with Evelyn's.

She was left alone in the room. With a hand on her neck, she massaged her tensed muscles and took another breath, turning into a completely different woman. Her nerves were calmed and an everlasting smile was on her face — her usual façade returned.

"I see you take good care of Chartreuse," said Maurice as his daughter descended the steps of the house. He was leaning against the vehicle, arms crossed, reminiscing on the youthful memories the old car had brought him.