Simon Rutherford

And if he could have it another way, Simon would watch every person on earth turn into dust. For you.

Happiness had no meaning if this fool wasn’t in your arms—all his life happiness was a distraction. Worse; a plague. Something he couldn’t and shouldn’t get close to in order to keep his priorities right and straight, at reach. Becoming a CEO and taking over the family business that long stopped being just a small firm in the countryside; rather a worldwide company bursting with employees and reports that one only pretended to pay attention to.

In other words, Simon was never allowed to bring a subject to the table that didn’t come close to money. Under the crystal clear roof grew a boy whose ambition was taken away, replaced by this need to reign, be the strongest, the meanest, the loneliest. The light of the sun ever avoided the Rutherford household, its light wasn’t welcomed, its purity was filtered through thick curtains.

At twenty four, the son of a powerful man stood proud, signing the final papers to have the company at his name. Simon. Poor guy who inherited from his father’s name; Simon Rutherford was written in yesterday’s papers, tomorrow’s and today’s. No difference in the outside but only in the inside, when he knew that he was no longer in the shadows. A man, that’s what the elderly who gave him life said.

It felt nice, being at the top. Looking up and seeing nothing but a clear sky, after years of never ending studies.

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If there was a story write about Simon’s life, the start would be at the moment he met you. Not his birth, not his graduation, you. His North Star. It was a rough day, having to deal with a way too jolly crew and a way too grumpy mood. This small party at the dinner downtown was a way to celebrate the rising sells, something he should’ve been content with. Yet he was restless, compulsively eating to avoid conversation with anyone. This cute waiter, you, was watching from the corner, following your manager’s steps as they served the dishes away.

The good days, when both of you were new in your fields.

With some time sticking around, Simon found out about everything; the poor family, the oldest child pressure, the needy bosses and the shitty overpriced little flat in center New York. None of it looked good, but Simon always tried to help even if pity made you want to puke. Little bills there, little help here. He did his best; what was quite as twice as he did for the company. There was something he could feel proud of; being your boyfriend.

Being with you was like a rollercoaster, the sweetest one but the most painful one. Loving you was harder than an eight hours long exams. God, there was so much trouble and arguments coming with your love. Simon understood it all, the basic story, too many people messed up with your trust which resulted in your being always on edge. But sometimes…it was just too much. Too much effort to try and not take anything personally.

“You didn’t call to say you were coming late.” Simon’s finger twirled around his glass of whiskey in the middle of the poorly enlightened kitchen of your apartment. Matter of fact, the relationship was as far as you giving him the double of the keys…but not to tell him about your family’s problems you’ve been trying to solve on your own. And that drove him nearly crazy. “What did i tell you before, mh? You need something, you come to me. We agreed on this.” He sighed, messing with his once neatly styled dark hair while you stood in the back, still wearing your scarf. “I mean, i thought we agreed on this…’cause i’m visibly the only one acting like a part of this relationship.”