The mall was bustling with noise, people of all colors chatting amongst themselves as they walked past the food court. Nicholas watched the smiles on the people that walked by, feeling their eyes on him in small recognition. He was told that he looked a lot like his father, the infamous businessman of America, connections wide enough to shatter a person's career or even their life.
He felt his phone buzz, knowing it was his father. Nicholas ignored the cruel bastard of a human being. His father was no saint. He was only disguised as one, pretending to be a hero under the illusion of perfection.
Business was a strategic game, where lying and deceit were all possible in the realm of evil, where morals withered into a blank canvas, where inspiration was found in broken families and money was the star in all eyes.
"Nicholas Muller, why didn't you answer?" asked a voice behind him.
"Dad."
Turning, Nicholas came face to face with the swept back blonde hair of his father, blue eyes twinkling with amusement, a complacent smile on his lips. His father wore a plaid button-up, matched with casual jeans.
"It's been a while, son," he smiled.
"Not long enough," muttered Nicholas, pulling his jacket closer to his body as he felt the chill of the meeting touch his skin. "What do you want?"
His father chuckled. "Come, I called you here to discuss something of grave importance. Let's get some food first."
Nicholas followed behind his father's footstep, feeling his shadow loom over him, and he wondered if this meeting would be like all the rest. His father brought him to a public place to keep Nicholas grounded when he dropped his bomb on him, an explosion of chaos just waiting to be set free.
As they took their seats, and the food came to them, Nicholas kept his blue eyes on his father, silenting scrutinizing the situation. A deep wound on his heart reopened, flashing all the broken and bruised memories from their hidden files, allowing Nicholas to relive each one.
He remembered the yelling, the blood from the accident, his swollen eyes, and he remembered his parents' hushed voices as they discussed what to do with their damaged son. The excruciating pain had only dulled over the years. The constant ache in his chest never left, not even for a fleeting moment.
Nicholas didn't touch his food.
His father sighed, frown deepening. "Son-"
"What do you want from me?" asked Nicholas, slowly.
He set his fork down, a stern look entering his eyes, but Nicholas almost laughed. His parents had no authority over him anymore. They were nothing but fallen petals, blown by his inner turmoil.
"I'd like for you to take over my business. You've stayed from the family long enough. It's time to come back home."
"No," he flatly stated.
"Nicholas," he sighed, "I know we've had our set of differences, but your mother and I would like for you to come back after you graduate. This business needs you. I can't just pass it to anyone else."
"Is that all I am to you? A prospect of good business?"
"Of course not!" exclaimed his father. "You're my son."
Nicholas bitterly chuckled. "A son is given care and devotion. You gave me pain and destruction."
His father looked surprised, not expecting an outburst from his son. The tension between them grew, a force as turbulent as the winds from a storm, a sea of emotions swirling through their eyes. Nicholas kept his face blank, but his eyes were etched in years of hardships, an irrevocable sorrow.
"What are you talking about?" asked his father, his jaw clenching. The kind gaze had disappeared, and his true colors were exposed.
"You sent me to a mental hospital, Dad."
"It was to help you!" he fiercely argued.
Tears brimmed Nicholas's eyes as he remembered the hard bed and caged windows. "Help me?" he whispered, brokenly. "You sent me to a prison because you were ashamed of me."
"They saved you! Nicholas, you were suffering. What else was I supposed to do?" his father sighed.
"I wasn't saved, Dad. Everyday I was reminded that I was crazy, that my depression was a disease that needed to be cured by medication, that my parents sent me away because they didn't love me. You and Mom thought I was crazy."
"You were sick, son."
Nicholas felt his heart tremble, his eyes watering, and his breathing wavered. He inhaled a shuddering breath, forcing himself to see the light, to see a future where he escaped his inner torment. He thought of Dina and her smile.
"You know why I tried to kill myself?" he asked, voice hushed among the loud voices around them.
His father shook his head, fists clenching as he heard his son's words and the sadness that dripped from every word. Nicholas knew his parents sent him away because a son with depression was seen as embarrassing, that society would mock their family if they knew, but all Nicholas ever needed was love.
"It was because my parents ignored my pain, and instead of helping me cope, you turned your back on me. You allowed me to wallow in my pity. You buried me under your pressures to be perfect even when I screamed for you to stop. You tortured me emotionally until I couldn't breathe," choked Nicholas. "You abandoned me when I didn't fit your perfect picture."
His father stayed silent, not meeting his gaze.
Nicholas continued. "You know what was even worse? You never loved me, after all these years, not once did you say you did. I wasn't perfect for you."
No response.
Nicholas pushed his chair back, standing as he stared down at his father, and he watched his father shiver from the raw confession. He waited for his father to say something, anything to prove that he cared, to prove that Nicholas was more than a pawn in his business plan, but that moment never came.
And Nicholas knew that his father would never love him for who he was. For the second time in his life, the gates of death opened.
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What do you think Nicholas is going to do?
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