Shadows of the Pitch- a Virgil Van Dijk Fan fiction

Chapter 2: Sweetener.

I couldn't shake how embarrassed I was, how distraught too. In that moment, watching the paint roll into the cracked pavement, I swear my heart was in my throat. I didn't stop to listen to the mans apology. I just walked. But in my frustration, it all suddenly hit me; how tired I was, how I hadn't eaten proper food in almost two months, how my family back home thought I was doing well. It truly felt as if life hadn't been real up until now. I felt stuck.

I reached for my phone, and called my dad.

'Hello? Connie?' My dads crackly, warming voice came through the speakers, causing me to smile though my tears.

'Hi dad, yeah it's me.' I sniffled, wiping my practically frozen nose on my sleeve.

'Are you alright? You sound upset. Would you like to talk about it?' He asked, and with his words, I could feel my heart sink back to where it belonged.

'Yes, please.'

My dad was a very traditional man. He worked hard for what he got, saved up his money and moved to England from Estonia, with nothing in his arms but me as a baby. He was the strongest man I knew, and the only man I trusted. He taught me everything; my own language, how to dance, how to do those stupid maths equations I used to cry over as a child. In a way, he was both my mother and my father. I didn't know anything else, but I didn't want to, or need to.

I walked for about an hour talking to my dad, unloading everything that had happened within 3 months. Walking through the frozen park I told him how much I hate my classes, and how much of a waste of time I think they are. I passed by some local cafes, smelling all the pastries and freshly ground coffee, and told my dad how much I missed his home cooked meals. It felt amazing to get all of these emotions I had been repressing off of my chest, but I also felt guilty. I couldn't expect my dad to fix any of what's happened to me lately, all he could do was listen. Which at the time, meant more than the world to me.

Sooner or later, I finally told him about my failed dream. The bar.

I didn't realise it then, but I had done an entire loop of the town while walking, and had ended up almost two minutes away from my 'bar.'

'I spent the last of my money on this expensive paint for the walls, and I dropped it.' I sighed, my hands so cold they could have just snapped off of my wrist.

'Oh Con... It'll be okay. I promise, I can drive to see you, and we can work on remodelling the bar together?' My dad proposed through his thick accent, sounding hopeful.

I kept my head down while I said 'No, dad. It's fine. I'm going to contact the estate agent tomorrow and put the place back on the market, it's just not-'

I stopped in my tracks.

Looking up across the road, I saw the man from earlier. He stood there with a beaming smile, and 3 cans of paint beside him. My chest tightened.

'I'll give you a call later once I've thought everything through, okay?' I quickly stated before hanging up.

I didn't know what to do, or say. Slowly, I walked to the man, having to slightly look up to meet the mans gaze.

'I'm sorry, about earlier.' He chuckled. His voice was deep, and articulated. Something I really didn't expect in Liverpool.

'How did you know that the paint was for this place?' I questioned. My brow furrowed, wondering if he had been listening to me cry/ramble to my poor dad for over an hour.

'To be honest, coincidence.' He pointed to the sold sign still hanging wonky in the window. 'I saw how hurt you were, and I wanted to make it up to you.'