*TW: talk of death and suicide*
I stopped making routine trips into town when Barry McBride threw a ball of mud at my head and dared me to hex him at the summer festival when I was 15.
Of course, I refused to do so. Though, Barry did pee his pants on a school trip only a few weeks later and Nan seemed suspiciously pleased and unsurprised by that.
Despite the humiliation of that event, I still walked through town when I needed and gone for my shifts at the store, but I grow my own food and shop online to avoid the malice of the townspeople. The days I deign to enter the market or a restaurant are few and far between.
But, today is special.
Today marks ten days since my father woke up.
To celebrate, I dared to venture out into the land of living and pick up his favorite chocolate croissant from the crowded café on the square he loved so much.
Despite my resolve not to care about the town's opinions and steel myself against their criticism, I may have spent too much time in front of the mirror. As soon as I'm down the street from my house and crossing the paths of townspeople, I wonder if I dressed too lavishly.
It's simple black trousers with silver boots to match the silver stars and moons beaded onto my vest. Maybe it's my wide-brimmed black hat that makes Mr. Crenshaw sneer or maybe it's my beaded clutch with fringe that has Ms. Nguyen spinning around to gossip with her friend.
Either way, I'm already on edge by the time I make it to the hustle and bustle of the square: the day young and weather giving a rare reprieve from the chill we've been frozen in for weeks.
But, the regular stares and jeers from the pedestrians seem more intense and frequent than usual. Most of them have learned to ignore me by now, desensitized to my scandalous presence, but today, they're all blatantly staring and pointing.
I glance around in confusion as I walk under the awnings of businesses, leaves crunching under my heels and purse making too much noise. I briefly wonder if it's my outfit or appearance in town that's causing this disruption, but a few of their whispers are carried in the wind. I hear clips of my name and my dad's and suddenly my skin is on fire, hairs raising on the back of my neck as I quicken my pace.
I guess word is finally out.
It's clear they've heard about the change in my father's condition and I'm suddenly sheepish, the talk of the town for a reason I'm not used to. I honestly didn't think they'd care, but so little happens here, I'm sure they've clung to this event like leeches, sucking up all the gritty details they can get.
Unlike the women of my family, my father was never really shunned or deprived of social interaction. He had lots of loyal friends and attended many events, always friendly and outgoing. The only stain on his reputation was my mother and me.
Typical.
So, I suspect the town is more curious than malicious, but their stares and whispers still make my skin crawl. By the time I make it to the peeling white paint and metal seating of the cafe, my heart rate is at dangerous levels and my palms are so slick I can scarcely grip onto the handle of the door.
As soon as the door is blown open by the wind and my trembling hand, the few patrons inside the black and white building turn to look at me. Spoons stop halfway to their mouths, conversations are cut short, and even the woman at the register stops punching keys.
I let the door slam shut behind me, jumping lightly at the sudden noise. My cheeks burn and I focus on fiddling with my rings as the diner slowly returns to a low hum of noise, sun filtering in through the window and highlighting the photos of the town's landscape hung on the wall.
Waiting for the person in front of me to finish their order, ears ringing and feet itching to turn right around and leave, it takes me a minute to notice that the woman at the register is still silent.
I focus my gaze ahead for the first time since entering the café and freeze instantly, heart lurching in my chest and blood draining from my cheeks when I see the familiar, soft emerald eyes are already trained on me.
He's half-turned, wallet in tattooed hand and pink lips popped open slightly. His chestnut hair curls behind his ear and vanishes under the collar of his corduroy jacket. He blinks a few times, breathing deeply, and I have to break the intense stare before my heart explodes.
True to his word, Harry has managed to stay away from the hospital, from the shop, and from my house these last seven days. He completely vanished from my life like I asked him to, begged him to... Not what I wanted, but what I needed.
But, I felt his absence more deeply than expected, each moment without him feeling less. Less vibrant, less exciting, less warm... just less. When my father would tell a joke or share a sad anecdote from his past, I found myself turning to share the moment with Harry, but he wasn't there.
I'm both grateful and crushed that he's determined to leave me be like I asked.
Though, he's never left my thoughts. Not once.
"Sir?" The cashier leans around to try to catch Harry's gaze and he suddenly snaps out of it, closing his mouth and turning back around.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding as Harry pays and moves to the side of the counter, allowing me space to place my order. Dreading being in his vicinity, I hesitate slightly before walking forward, my heels seeming much too loud on these sticky tiles.
The woman, who I finally recognize as Janet Myers from school, forces a smile as I step up. She gives me a quick once over, but I ignore the distaste in her eyes as I tell her what I want. I feel Harry's eyes on me the whole time and barely register the door opening once again, a couple stepping inside behind us. His intense stare and intoxicating woodsy scent are too overwhelming to concentrate on much else.
Before I can even speak, a cook from the room beyond the register calls out to Janet and she abruptly holds up a finger to stop me, disappearing behind the corner. It takes everything in me not to meet Harry's imploring eyes, pretending to examine the pastries in the glass case next to the register while I wait for Janet to return.
The couple behind us are lost in their own conversation and Harry takes the opportunity to lean towards me, breath fanning my ear and making my skin prickle.
"I know I have a tendency to pop up a lot, but I swear I didn't follow you here or anything... I mean, you never come into town, I had no idea you'd be here."
With a deep breath, I finally look up to catch his curious stare and amused smirk, palms held up in surrender. It takes me a minute to realize he's teasing me and I chuckle against my better judgement.
Rolling my eyes, I pull my bag up higher and lightly knock into his shoulder. He sways dramatically and his gruff laughter closes around my heart like a fist, having missed that sound so dearly. It's a peaceful moment, but it's tarnished by the murmurs growing in volume behind us. It takes everything in me not to turn around and just focus on the bright day ahead.
Harry doesn't feel the same way though, glancing behind him briefly with a fierce glare before turning back to me, all mirth from a moment ago vanished.
I keep my gaze forward, but can see Harry clench his jaw from my peripherals. I try to distract him, voice steady. "My ego isn't that large to think you purposefully came to a café I never frequent in hopes of running into me."
I'm pleased when he snorts a laugh, but remain desperate to distance myself from him. Janet seems to be taking her sweet time and I really wish she'd come back because being this close to Harry is making my head dizzy.
It's quiet again, and I continue to ignore the eyes I feel burning holes into my back. Harry leans back on his heels and when he speaks again, his voice is gentle and kind, "how's your dad?"
"He's good... speech is much better and he's started to grab things. He's slowly coming back down to Earth, finding himself again. Every day is better, easier."
Harry hums and the sound makes my cheeks flush. His lips quirk up into a smile, dimples deep and eyes soft, genuinely pleased with the news. I can't help but bask in his happiness and return the joy.
But, his smile doesn't last long. The couple's muttering grows louder, overshadowing the heartfelt moment, and we both hear my name mingled in their words. Harry's jaw twitches and nostrils flare and I make the mistake of placing a palm on his arm to calm him.
His eyes flit to it and his chest heaves with a deep breath, fists clenching. My hand does little to cool him, the whispers sharp and no longer ignorable. He averts his gaze, taking in the rest of the shop, and finds almost every pair of eyes focused on me. I steel myself for the inevitable, Harry's temper short and untamable.
"Can we help you with something?"
I hear the two let out an offended gasp at Harry's biting words and scornful glare. I wince and turn slightly to see their reaction from my peripheral, recognizing them instantly as Mr. and Mrs. Singh. I hadn't seen the couple in years, but they were friends with my father once upon a time.
My recognition of them only makes my cheeks burn brighter as Mrs. Singh tucks her dark, short curls behind her ear and her husband clears his throat and fixes his striped tie uncomfortably.
"Um, no. S-Sorry, we were just..."
"Just what?" Harry hisses, crossing his arms and facing them fully. I squeeze his bicep and turn with him, but I can't bring myself to meet the Singhs's almond eyes. "Just gossiping about Nova like a bunch of 12 year olds, as if she's not standing right in front of you? As if she can't fucking hear you?"
Now, it's my turn to gasp, Harry's name a hiss in my mouth as I let go of his arm in shock. My neck flushes hot and I finally look up to apologize for Harry's vulgarity, catching the couple's horrified expressions.
If Mrs. Singh was wearing pearls, she'd be clutching them.
The whole café has stopped to listen in on the confrontation and I silently plea Janet to come back so I can place my order and leave, Harry practically trembling with rage. The couple stutters, blushing profusely under their dark skin as they try to form a reply.
Harry scoffs at their silence and gestures widely to the rest of the room, "In fact, that goes to everyone else in this place, in this fucking town... Stop treating her like a pariah or talking shit as if she can't hear you, as if she's not human and hurt by your hate. Stop acting like children and shunning her for no reason! It's fucking pathetic."
"You need to leave." Janet has answered my silent prayer and finally come back to the counter, but she has terrible timing. When I look back at her, cheeks burning with mortification, her eyes aren't trained on the man yelling at her patrons, but on me.
I clench my jaw and breathe deep as she pulls out a white paper bag and shoves it at Harry's chest.
I resist the urge to argue with her, to beg her to just allow me to place my order. I'm beyond that point now, heart hammering in my chest and feet aching to get me out of this uncomfortable situation. Without looking at them again, I shove past the couple and practically sprint outside, feeling a dozen eyes on me the whole way.
Loud footsteps follow me out the door and I only pick up my pace, knowing who's behind me without having to look. I ignore him, trembling with a mixture of frustration and humiliation as I turn a corner. He calls out to me, my name a plea on his lips, uncaring of the looks people shoot us as we pass. I pretend I don't hear him, but that only makes him get louder and when we reach an alleyway beyond the café, I finally round on him.
Harry stumbles back in surprise, not expecting me to actually stop. He swallows and rights himself as I take a steadying breath in the cool shadow of the brick alley.
"What was that all about, Harry?"
I see the anger flash in his emerald eyes at my accusatory tone, "it was about finally confronting those twats for their shit, for harassing you your entire life. For sticking up—"
"I don't need you to stick up for me, Harry!" There's a bite to my words that makes him wince and cheeks pale, "I can fend for myself, just as I have been my entire life. I don't need your help, Harry, nor did I ask for it... You're not my boyfriend."
He reels back as if I hit him and my chest pangs with the truth of my words and the way he looks down at his feet, shaking his head. The enclosed alley echoes our frustrated words right back to us, cutting deeper the second time around.
"I'm fully aware of that, Nova." His nostrils flare and his hand flares wildly as he tries to control his temper, "but, I'm so fucking tired of watching these people mock and tease you, practically exile you just because you're different. It's not right. Not when you've been nothing but kind and compassionate to these people who don't deserve it."
His frustration roils off him in waves and is reflected in the angry hiss of his aura. My shoulders slump as the fight drains out of me, feeling defeated and embarrassed. I can understand his anger, I lived it for the better part of my life.
But, it's not productive to act the way he did, it only makes people more inclined to fight back and it fills you with bitter resentment.
I've struggled and fought to keep that hate out of my heart for years and I don't want it to seep into Harry's.
"You're only adding fuel to the fire, Harry... You can't change other people, only they can do that. Yelling at them on my behalf is only going to add ammunition their rumors and gossip tomorrow.... I understand your irritation, but you only made it worse."
And this finally seems to get through to him, face falling and eyes darkening with guilt. He swallows audibly and the sigh is heavy in his chest, "I didn't... I didn't think about that, I was just so angry... I-I snapped."
I examine the harsh lines under his eyes and growing stubble along his jaw, the shadows of the building only emphasizing just how exhausted and haunted he looks. Like it always does with him, my rage slowly wanes and is replaced with concern.
"You've been snapping a lot lately, Harry... Why is that?"
He runs a frustrated hand through his greasy curls, huffing in exasperation and avoiding my heavy stare. A few people walking by the alley peak in curiously, but have the decency to avert their gaze from the seemingly intimate moment.
"I told you... you make me all confused and worried and angry and I just... act fucking irrationally around you." His voice rings with agitation, pulling his plump lips into his mouth as a light blush dusts his sharp cheeks. The sight makes my breath rattle and I feel my soul reaching out for him again.
For some reason, Zoe's words last whisper through my ears like a breeze and I clench my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut against them. Against Harry's confession that he doesn't love her, against Zoe's speculation of where his affection really lies. I fight the desire to clutch onto those promising confessions, knowing the heartache they'll inevitably cause.
But, words form on my tongue and spill out like a running faucet, anyway. "Why do you think that is, Harry?"
His head snaps up, eyes blinking rapidly as he stutters, "w-what?"
My throat is so dry that swallowing feels like rubbing sandpaper together. My face is suddenly warm and I desperately don't want to repeat myself, to ask the silly question again. Afraid to put myself out there, afraid of rejection, afraid to hear that cutting laughter once again.
It's better for my health if I just leave this alone, no matter how hard my heart fights against it.
So, I swallow the question and shake my head, chuckling to myself, "never mind. It doesn't matter."
I move to walk past him and into the light of the street, but Harry's calloused hand reaches out to grasp my wrist and I shudder against the touch, heat radiating up my arm. Despite myself, I stop and our faces are so close I can taste the toothpaste he used this morning.
My stomach bottoms out when I see the tender shift to his light eyes, the furrowed brows, the longing expression on his sculpted face. His gaze dances across my features, lingering on my lips with so much hidden depth that my ribs shiver and flesh pulses.
He calls my name and the way his tongue wraps around the vowels sounds like poetry, like a declaration. I want to feel him moan it into my neck, whisper it against my ear, breathe it into a kiss. It's painful and pleasurable and I steel myself against it.
"Nova, wait... I—"
But, the words about to bloom between us wither and die when the heavy footfalls of Mr. and Mrs. Singh echo through the alley and it's them calling out my name this time, cutting through the dizzying tension.
My soul snaps back to reality and I flinch backwards from Harry, pulling my arm from his grasp and ignoring the sharp tingle from his missing touch.
"We just..." Mrs. Singh hesitates, glancing between the two of us and appraising the obviously intimate situation they've interrupted, "we just wanted to apologize... it was proper rude of us to speak behind your back, but it was nothing malicious... we promise."
I'm still slightly faint from my interaction with Harry, rubbing my wrist absentmindedly, and desperately trying not to look at him. It's impossible to focus.
Her lanky husband walks into the shadow of the alley and has the decency to look embarrassed, "not sure if you remember us, but your father was a mate of ours... We heard that he-he woke up, is that true? Is he okay?"
There's so much hope in his voice, in the way his wife wrings her hands that I'm thrown slightly. I'm reeling this turn of events and the last ten minutes that I can only manage a weak nod, my heart still suspicious and caged.
Simultaneously, they both slump with relief and faces light with joy, "that's wonderful news... I'm sorry we handled it poorly, but we were too nervous to approach you right away. Still, I'm very happy to hear about your father. Happy for you both."
"Thank you." My voice is small and quiet, smile polite and shaky. I feel Harry's gaze on me again, but I'm too stunned to face him.
I think this is the first time someone from town has ever exchanged such niceties with me. Ever even extended such simple human decency, that the surprise of it has a lump forming in my throat. Besides the regulars at the shop, most people either hardly spare me a glance or scorn me in public. I find it hard to control my emotions as we chat a little longer, nervous and emotional.
Before the couple leaves, they apologize again and Mrs. Singh even wraps me in a quick, warm embrace that leaves me shocked and silent as their footsteps echo down the alley.
"Now I feel worse for yelling at them."
I snort lightly as we fall into a heavy silence, still spinning over the events of the morning. As I calm down, I wonder briefly why Harry stopped me before, what he would've said had we not been interrupted. I steal a quick glance at him, heart thudding when I see his gaze fixed on me.
I clear my throat awkwardly, needing to escape the secluded dark of the alley. It's oppressive and warm and tight, "I should go see my dad now ... was gonna bring him something from the café, but guess he'll have to settle for hospital food."
It was supposed to be a joke, but Harry's eyes flash with guilt and his brows furrow, letting out a deep sigh. Suddenly, he sticks his arm out, holding the greasy paper bag out to me.
"Here, take mine. This was my fault in the first place." I'm about to reject the offer, but Harry knows me too well. "Seriously, it's fine... Your dad probably deserves it more, anyway. The bloke did just woke up from a decade-long coma, after all."
His smile is wide and cheeky, dimples so deep I could swim in them, and I can't help but beam in response.
I know he's probably just saying that so I'll take the food, but I allow it. Laughing lightly and shaking my head, I grab the goodies from his hand. "Thank you, Harry."
He nods, suddenly sheepish, and I desperately need to get away from him because my heart can't take much more.
"Sorry for being such a dickhead. Again."
I try to lighten the mood, holding up the bag with a smile, "well, the croissant makes up for the dickheadedness."
He huffs out a laugh, meeting my gaze with a much lighter expression. I nod goodbye, heading out of the privacy of the alley first, but make the mistake of glancing over my shoulder before I turn the corner. Harry is frozen in place, hands clenched in his pockets and head down, jaw clenched and shoulders slumped.
I'm in a daze on the way to the hospital, head swimming with that last troubled image of Harry, wrist tingling with the ghost of his fingertips, ears ringing with his unfinished sentence.
I clutch his food to my chest, absentmindedly opening it to see their famous chocolate croissant inside, the exact one I was planning to get my dad.
Troubled by Harry's outburst and shocked by the kindness of the Singhs, I'm ruminating on the events of the morning and not paying attention while I enter the hospital and walk through my dad's open door.
"Guess what I brought?" Except my sentence is abruptly cut short when I glance up and nearly choke at the image before me.
My father, sitting in bed with clasped hands and red-rimmed eyes, staring up at the broad, dark frame of Antonio. My godfather looks right at me before abruptly turning towards the window, but not before I catch his ruddy cheeks, sniveling nose, and wet cheeks.
I stutter uncomfortably, knowing I've walked into an intense and emotional moment between two men who were once best friends.
The soft green of my dad's aura and the deep blue that surrounds Antonio bounce off of each other, almost reaching out to the other. The loyalty of the green and peacefulness of the blue are complimentary hues and souls, often making strong bonds with the other.
It hurts me to look at.
I'm shocked by Antonio's presence, not sure how he found out about my father's condition from two towns away. Shocked that he would be brave enough to visit him after everything he did.
My soul is instantly on guard, smile slipping and jaw tightening as I eye Antonio's broad back and my dad's upset expression. He shouldn't have come here. Not so soon after my dad's awakening. This is exactly what the doctors cautioned us not to do.
"Morning, Nova." My dad sniffs and wipes at his nose, turning to me with a wobbly smile, but Antonio's stays with his back turned, shoulders shaking just slightly.
Cautiously, I step into the room, keeping a wary eye on the man in the corner, "hi, dad... I brought your favorite chocolate croissant from the café downtown."
My dad's grin widens and he breathes out a laugh, reaching out with slightly trembling limbs to grab onto the bag. "Wow, I've been dreaming of those p-pastries. Thank you, dear..." he trails off and shoots a glance at Antonio, "you remember your godfather, right? A-Antonio?"
His question stuns me slightly and I falter. From my dad's wording, it's clear that he knows Antonio didn't step into his role as a godfather after the accident. Maybe that's what they were discussing before I walked in: that after I lost both my parents, the task Antonio was given as a godfather was fruitless, that he was not involved in my life.
Not that I wanted him to be.
"Yes, I remember him."
But, my words are tight and my dad notices, glancing between the two of us warily. Antonio refuses to look at me and I run through our last interaction while I try to calm down: him apologizing for his part in my trauma, giving me a letter from my mum I still haven't opened, crying and trying to make amends for everything that's happened.
I've tried not to think about that day and all the heartbreak that occurred in just a few hours. First with Antonio's pleading and explanation and then with Harry's desperation and using me.
There's still a bitterness in my heart that cannot be remedied overnight, but I don't harbor the ill will I did for Antonio originally. I want to forgive him and move on from the past, but him showing up today only fuels my rage.
To visit and upset my father, his best friend, right after he woke from a coma? To even face him again after Antonio had a long affair with his wife?
It's cruel and intolerable.
There's a heavy, tense silence in the room, only broken up by the sound of my dad's chewing —uncaring of the uncomfortable atmosphere. Eventually, Antonio lets out a heavy sigh and finally turns, having controlled some of his emotions. His face still haggard, he keeps his eyes on my dad, reaching out to tap his foot covered by the blanket.
"Welcome back, Wren. I've missed you more than you know," his voice cracks and his honey eyes snap to me briefly before focusing on my father, puffy and red. "thank you for... everything you said. I've waited so long to talk to you again, to clear the air... to ask for forgiveness. I love you, mate."
I bite my tongue, mind racing with what in the world they could have uncovered in the few hours since the hospital opened to guests. My heart thumps painfully in my chest as I analyze my father's grieving eyes and sad smile.
Does he know?
"I love you too, Antonio... You're still family, no m-matter what."
And Antonio looks like he's about to break down, face crumpling at the words as he smiles at my dad. He taps his foot once more before catching my gaze and giving me one somber nod. Then, he turns and strides out of the room as quickly as his legs will allow him.
The loud beeps of his monitor are the only sounds that break the oppressive silence in the room as Dad finishes the croissant and ignores my imploring gaze, rage simmering off my figure. I still feel Antonio's presence in the room, souring my mood and making my nerves taut.
"I was surprised to see him here." My dad just hums disinterestedly before biting into the soft bread and letting out a pleased moan that I ignore, "what did he want?"
I try to sound nonchalant, but the clear bite to my words and phrasing of the question has my dad looking up from his pastry with furrowed brows and guarded eyes.
"He was my best friend, Nova. He c-came to visit."
Was.
Clenching my jaw, I want to pry further and find out what they could have possibly talked about to make them look like they just watched Marley & Me. There's really only one topic I can think of that would elicit that kind of reaction: my mum.
The thought makes my stomach turn and my dad watches me carefully, stormy eyes analyzing every crease in my expression, "based on your reaction... I think you already know what we were d-discussing? Why Antonio came here?"
His question eases the angry pinch in my face, jaw going slack as I take in the gravity of his words, the knowing glint in his eyes as he observes my reaction. I blink rapidly and shake my head, sure I didn't hear him right because there's no way that he knows....
"What?"
"Antonio and your mum."
And my heart thuds to the bottom of my stomach, skin flushing hot as I collapse onto the bed. My mind whirrs with this revelation, trying to fill in the gaps of time and information and understand exactly what he's saying and the repercussions.
I'd always thought that he was oblivious to the affair and what happened after it ended. He never gave any indication otherwise, but it's clear he didn't just learn about it today. No, it seems as if he's known for a while...
"You knew?"
He slowly swallows the rest of his food as I wait, head spinning and stomach churning. His jaw works and he looks out the window, eyes faraway and full of so much sorrow that I can't look directly at him.
"Not at first, no. But, I caught on pretty fast... they weren't very good at hiding it." The sardonic smile on his lips is haunting, "I tried to c-convince myself that I was just paranoid, imagining it... but, I would be a f-fool to believe that. It was painfully clear... they loved each other."
The shock of this revelation has the blood draining out of my face and the fissures in my heart cracking further. I tried so hard to keep this information form my dad, to protect him from the devastating truth that the love of his life and best friend had betrayed him so deeply. But... he'd known all along?
Oh my spirits... my poor, poor father.
"Why didn't you say anything? Do anything?"
He laughs and the sound is hollow and ashamed, "because I was a coward, because I loved your mother, because I was too h-hurt to make sense of anything... I didn't know what to do. My best friend and my wife? It didn't seem real. And you... you were so attached t-to Antonio that I was afraid... afraid you'd prefer him over me."
His words cut through me like a knife, indignant and offended by the accusation. "Dad, I would never—"
"Of course, I know better, but I just felt so betrayed and insecure... I was scared b-both girls in my life would prefer my best friend. It was pathetic," He shakes his head, eyes stormy, and I grasp his trembling hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, heart breaking at his words. "I was just stewing in my anger for weeks... spent every day thinking of how I-I would confront them. But, right when I got up the courage... Antonio just... stopped coming around. He disappeared from all of our lives and J-Juno...
"I didn't have it in me to antagonize her, to get closure... I don't think she could've handled it. She was so fragile, so depressed, I didn't have the heart to confront her. My f-focus shifted from getting revenge, to taking care of your mum. She stopped sleeping, stopped eating... and then—"
The words are strangled in his throat and he shakes his head, eyes welling with tears. It's only then I feel the coolness on my cheeks, hear the rattle of my breath. The fact that he would set aside his own hurt and rage to comfort the woman who inflicted those emotions on him... it pains me to think about.
"I should have known... I should have gotten her help. She always struggled with depression, always had d-dark thoughts—"
"She did?" The words are weak and choked through cries, my heart stuttering in my chest at this information. Clearly my mother was troubled, considering her death, but I only remember the few weeks leading to her death being bad.
She was never a joyful person, but I didn't think that was because she was actually miserable.
My dad swallows and hangs his head, eyes dark, "your mother battled depression her entire life... She was always unhappy, always haunted by something neither of us could see or fight.
"When you were a baby, it got really bad out of nowhere. She had to be hospitalized because they thought she was going to hurt herself... or you." He shudders at the thought and clenches his eyes shut against it. "Those w-weeks leading up to her death... it was like going back in time to those horrible months. She had that same hollow glaze to her eyes, same lethargy... I should have known b-better, done something."
My mind reels with this information, this side of my mother I didn't know existed. She was clearly troubled and suffered greatly, but I didn't know this was a lifelong issue... I had stupidly assumed it was brought on by the loss of Antonio.
With lurching heart and stomach, I imagine my mum sitting in an isolated, sterilized, cold hospital tormented by her own mind. It's too agonizing to dwell on. "There's nothing you could have done, Dad. Nothing any of us could have done."
The words are heavy on my tongue, thick like a lie. It's an assurance I've tried to tell myself for years, but never truly believed. That my father had the same guilty thoughts as me, it's both comforting and miserable.
He squeezes my hand, smile sorrowful. "I know that now, but... you can't help but think what you could've done to save them, m-make them stay."
I close my eyes against his grief, feeling a camaraderie with him no one wants to share. We've both been haunted by the same 'what ifs', the same awful regret.
Clearing my throat, I speak my own truth, my own demons, "I know what you mean... I always believed I was the one to blame for her death."
His head snaps up, expression horrified and baffled, "why on Earth—"
"I knew about the affair, Dad... I knew for months and kept it from you." With a deep breath, I steel myself to say the words out loud, admit to my sins for the first time. "I wrote a letter to Maria and told her about the affair. That's why Antonio left Mum, why he ended things."
He reels back, blinking rapidly as his skin pales with shock. I expected to find hurt or betrayal in his expression, but am shocked to find a horrified bewilderment in the shadows of his ocean eyes and slack jaw.
"You knew? My god, Nova... I figured you'd learned about the affair recently through love letters or Antonio himself, but you actually knew while it w-was happening?" He gulps and shakes his head, a deep sympathy in his gaze. "No child should bear that responsibility! And then to blame yourself for doing something not a single adult in your life had the courage to do... You can't... you c-can't blame yourself. You did the right thing."
But, I'm shaking my head before he's finished, standing from the bed and making my way over to the window where Antonio was just standing, "I betrayed her trust... Went behind her back and took away the only thing that made her truly happy," I shoot an apologetic glance towards my dad, who cringes at my words. "She committed suicide after finding out the truth and I know she hasn't forgiven me... blames me."
"You can't know that, Nova. You were a bright light in her life and—"
"She's haunting me, Dad." His brows shoot into his hairline and I know he doesn't really understand the paranormal, but I try to express it the best I can. "Ever since her death, her spirit has been haunting me. Not as a comforting presence, but as a malicious poltergeist."
He lets out a heavy sigh and shifts in bed. "I refuse to believe that she would blame you for her misfortunes, would haunt you for them... Maybe it's not what you think, maybe she's not cursing you. Maybe you're the unfinished b-business keeping her from moving on."
I can't help but snort at the preposterous assertion. I do believe I'm what's keeping her soul tied to this mortal plane, but not in the way Dad thinks. No, she wants to see me hurt, see me suffer the way she had. "Her spirit... it's hateful and resentful, just as it was when she was alive... You're blinded by your love, Dad."
His expression falters, eyes flashing with pain and mourning. He chews on his chapped lips and thinks of what to say, ultimately sighing in defeat. When he meets my eyes, the pity that mars his true-blue irises is hard to look at.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Nova. Your m-mother was imperfect and made many mistakes, but she never hated you... she'd want you to be happy, to be thriving."
I look away, nose tingling and eyes burning with repressed tears. My soul years to hold those words close to my heart, but they just roll right off my skin. If my mother's spirit was here, I'm sure I would feel her recoil from his optimistic take on her haunting. But, like in life, she's too cowardly to face the consequences of her actions. Refuses to accompany me to the hospital.
We're silent for a long time, my mother's memory filling the gaps of our broken lives and darkening the room with her demanding and unforgettable shadow.
After all this time, my dad and I have finally had a real conversation about her. Before the accident, the wound of her loss was too fresh to poke. I'm sure it's still that way for him, spending so little of his conscious life learning to grieve her.
Despite the tragedy and agony of uncovering that deep ache, it's therapeutic in itself.
Stewing in grief as the minutes tick by, it's only now that I realize how long I've been here. The sun has already made her journey to the other side of the sky, ready to retire for the night.
My father is the first to break the quiet, voice soft and choked with emotion. "I know your mother would be very proud of you, Nova, just as I am... I can only h-hope you won't stay here because I woke up, keep putting your l-life on hold for me. I want you to live and to love."
He stops, and the mood in the room shifts as he looks up at me sheepishly, a knowing smile on his lips, even if the sorrow form moments ago still lingers in his eyes.
"Unless... you already do love? That boy that came by the other day..."
"Dad!" I gasp, eyes wide and cheeks hot as I bury my face into my palms. I'd suddenly rather be discussing my mother right now. I try to play off his unfinished innuendo, "I told you Niall and I were just friends."
My ploy doesn't work and my dad just narrows his eyes playfully, chuckling, "we both know I'm not talking about Niall. C'mon... I s-saw the way that boy was looking at you."
And he is now the second person to tell me those exact same words. Is there something in Harry's gaze that I'm missing here.
I bite back my smile and shake my head, the brief lighter moment suddenly eclipsed by talk of another lost love.
I take a deep breath and collapse into the uncomfortable chair between his bed and the window, unsure which heavy topic hurts more to speak about: the betrayal and death of my mother or the one-sided and painful love for Harry.
"He... doesn't love me, Dad. He's made that very clear." By laughing in my face at the confession.
Twiddling with a loose thread in my pants, I don't meet his eyes, but feel them on me all the same. "There's no chance in hell that boy doesn't love you. It's s-so obvious."
But, all I can do is roll my lips into my mouth and shake my head. I'm sure anyone who doesn't know our situation could look at us and make that assumption, they don't know all the pain and heartache dealt in our relationship over the last few months.
Love or not, our time has long passed.
Heart heavy and legs heavier, I stand from the chair and lean down to place a swift kiss on my Dad's forehead, "I should get going, Dad. Long day."
And it really has been. Everyday has begun to feel mentally draining and even though I want to stay with my dad and continue catching up, I can scarcely last another hour without falling asleep.
He nods and reflects my smile back at me, eyes just as tired. There's something in his expression that twists my gut, pulls at me to stay. I frown at the instinct, but my dad speaks before I can dwell on it.
"Thank you for keeping me company..." he trails off and his eyes are wet and voice thick as I sit next to him on the bed. "I'm constantly amazed by you, Nova. You've been dealt so much pain in this life, but became an exceptional woman despite it. I only wish I had been there to see it, wish we both were... You may not see it yet, but you have a lot of your mother in you. In your fight and passion... I only hope you can learn to let go, because she never did."
A lone tear slips down his cheek and I'm unsure what he means about letting go, but I swallow my own cry and lean in, wrapping him in a warm embrace. So much time lost between us, so much regret, so much hurt laid bare at our feet.
His shoulders are bony and frame frail, but I squeeze him anyway, my heart beating at my ribs full and light. "Love you, Dad."
"I love you, too."
Suddenly, I feel his thin, trembling arms wrap around my waist. Tears prick at my eyes and my throat clogs as he gives me a light squeeze, burying my face into his neck.
The first hug from my father in nearly ten years.
I revel in his warm grip, finding my home in his arms and feeling safe for the first time in a long time. I memorize the feeling his large palms rubbing up and down my back, the tickle of his sandy hair against my cheek, the cool drip of his tear along my neck.
Reluctantly, I pull away and his arms fall to his sides, lips quirked into a small smile. I leave a last lingering kiss on his lips and start walking from the room, boots squeaking on the floor. I glance over my shoulder before turning the corner, his gaze set out the window, towards the ocean.
The sun turns her face towards him, casting a warm glow on his skin and making him look more alive than ever. He smiles to himself and I smile at his back, closing the door behind me.
I begin my trek home in the darkening evening and wrap my coat tighter around my body to shield myself from the brisk cold.
The streets are fairly empty, only the falling leaves providing me with company. The waves beyond the horizon drown out the call of the birds and there is an odd shift to the wind that has my feet picking up the pace.
It's eerily still outside and the sunset fades at an alarming pace. My eyes search for another living soul, but am met with none. I am alone on these empty, narrow streets, the shadows elongating and the pathways darkening.
Night falls suddenly and all at once, the atmosphere of the town turning. The branches of the bare oak trees turn into claws reaching out to snatch me. The darkness between buildings seems like its pulsating with life, something sinister lurking in those shadows. Every leaf falling, every odd echo from the alleys, every sound of a scurrying animal sound like whispers of my name.
A cold sweat breaks out along my spine as panic suddenly squeezes my hear and I nearly trip over my boots, reaching the edge of the square just as a sharp howl cuts through the night air.
A dog howling at twilight is an omen of death.
I stumble, heart beating in my chest like a drum and ears ringing so loud I'm sure I imagined the noise.
My mind often plays tricks on me, sees or hears things that aren't really there.
A chill that rattles my spine, like Death himself stroked the skin there. I'm almost running now, feeling as if eyes are peeking out from the dense trees.
The darker the road gets before me, the more the shadows seem so menacing, the more I feel as if I am being watched.
Being hunted.
The cobblestone path narrows and curves and I finally make out the outline of my sloping roof over the trees and my chest heaves with the relief of it, nearly sprinting towards the safe haven.
But, my relief is short lived. The moon's eerie, pale grow provides a backdrop of light to emphasize the dark figures resting atop the shingles of my roof, the ones flying just above it. I can't make them out at first and my pace slows to a crawl until I get close enough to make out their inky wings and sharp talons.
When a murder of crows circles a dwelling, they are warning the inhabitants of their demise. Intuitive creatures, they swarm to areas where ill-fortune is to be felt —harbingers of death.
Their sharp death calls are unceasing, each one louder than the last. I cover my ears with my palms and will them to stop, dread settling into my stomach like an anchor.
My palms grow slick as the tree line thins and I get so close that I can make out each onyx feather and sharp beak. Their haunting, beady eyes track my movements, the omniscience there seeming other-worldly.
Their caws grow shriller the closer I get and by the time I reach the path up to my house, the sound is sharp and loud enough to make my ears bleed. In a flurry of feathers, one crow swoops down from the precipice of my roof to fly right over my head, the wind from its wings making my hair lift.
I yelp and duck, racing towards my front door and slamming it behind me. I collapse against the tarnished wood, the birds expressing their protest in furious squawks.
My heart feels as if splinters have dug themselves into the valves, each beat pinching and painful. I can't take in a full breath and my head is dizzy with terror, my mind reeling with these horrible omens and what they mean.
Something is very, very wrong.
I've not even caught my breath, still leaning on the door and trying to drown out the ominous calls of the crows, when the outside world suddenly falls silent. In one fell swoop, their flapping wings, gnashing beaks, and sharp caws cease.
It doesn't fill me with the relief I crave, though. The sudden silence is full of foreboding, fueling my veins with ice. My ribs rattle and I hold my breath, knowing I'm in the eye of this dreadful storm.
As if answering my silent premonition, there's an abrupt chill from underneath the door that has me leaping away from it, my ankles feeling as if the cold fingers of Death just tried to grab me.
Then, heavy and hollow, there's three knocks against the door. Strong enough to splinter the wood, but soft enough to seem void —as if a ghost had rapped at the door.
With trembling hands and fragile heart, I start to reach for the knob, "who is it?"
Silence.
The hair prickles on the back of my neck and my stomach churns with sudden nausea. Something primal and instinctive tells me not to open that door, that even pushing it open a sliver will unveil a great evil.
Still, my hand won't stop moving, acting apart of my own mind. Drawn to whoever, whatever, is on the other side of that door.
When I grasp the metal, it nearly burns my flesh with its icy cold, like touching a glacier. The hair raises on the back of my neck, whole body trembling. Steeling myself, I hold my breath and swing open the door with clenched teeth and tense shoulders.
But, only darkness meets me on the other side.
Vision slightly blurred and heart thrumming, I lean further out the door to eye the surrounding area, but there's no one there.
If you hear three knocks on your door, but there is nobody on the other side, Death has come to collect a soul. Someone close to you has passed onto the other realm.
I stand in the threshold, letting the bitter cold of the night wash over me. My feet lead, lungs frozen, and heart still, I wait.
Wait for what dreadful news I know now is bound to follow.
The universe could not be clearer.
I've been receiving their messages for months: the owl that followed me for weeks, the tarot reading that foretold great tragedy, the magpie watching me just a few weeks ago... all omens of death, all warnings I had tried to brush off.
Tonight, the universe gave me three signs, more concrete and damning than ever before.
So, when my phone trills in my bag, I already know.
When I see the hospital's familiar number, I already know.
When I answer it with trembling fingers, I already know.
Before Zoe even speaks, I already know.
"Nova... I'm so sorry... it's your father..."
But, I already know. The universe giveth, the universe taketh away.
And Death has finally come to collect, my father's soul the ultimate price.
____________
oof...
listen her dad was always going to die, but man... I was soooo close to just offing Nan instead. Be grateful I didnt do that lmao.
thoughts on this chapter? predictions?
I want to warn you guys now that the next chapter very heavily deals with death and grieving (and will reveal the tea leaves lol) so, if you cannot handle reading that right now I completely understand and you can message me and I will just tell you what you need to know to not be confused for the rest of the chapters. xx
Also, this chapter seriously kicked my ass it was super long and hard to write so I hope you enjoyed it. Updates will be a lot slower bc this semester is going to need all of my energy. Please follow my twitter/insta bc I post a l lot of bonus content on there and share updates on the story. It's all @ badbrits
Nova's outift:
take care of yourselves xx