Upon A Star

Chapter 17

"Celeste, are you ok?" He asked for the thousandth time, as she remained as still as stone on the couch. "Celesteeee?" He repeated again, in hopes that this time he might just spark her attention.

Her eyes were lost on the four walls. She barely looked at the ceiling or the floor; she simply stared at the walls as if they were dictating a story to her, as if they were letting her in on some sort of secret.

Nick observed her patiently, yet on some level, clinically.

Celeste had insisted to pack her things herself, she wanted to face Cora herself, and she didn't want Nick's help. She wanted to feel like she could do this one thing herself, so Nick let her. But he did not expect that upon her arrival she would dump her suitcase in front of the entrance and simply sit on the couch and get lost in the walls.

"I have to go to 3 Oakwood Street." She simply stated and Nick jumped in reaction, his eyes flashed to her in shock that she had finally spoken, even if it was merely an incomprehensible sentence.

He smiled at her reassuringly and shuffled to sit next to her, their thighs touched but neither one of them moved away. "I'll drive you." He offered and she nodded lifelessly and got up.

He stared up at her; she was gawking at him with bored and expressionless eyes. And he was trying to read her, but it was like reading a tightly, shut book.

"Take me please?" was all she said, and so he did.

They headed to his car, and with pressure on the gas, and with the release of the handbrake, the car rolled out of the driveway and into the main road.

Blasting music on full volume did not faze Celeste. Nick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in attempt to ignore the extreme silence that they found themselves sharing.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then tightly shut it again with regret. A few minutes later, he opened his mouth again and finally spoke. "Where are we going?"

"To meet my father," she whispered timidly, and Nick finally realised why she was being hush.

-

They shared another fifteen minutes of silence before he parked in front of 3 Oakwood Street. A simple, white picket fence home that looked simplistic and homely. With fresh crème paint and colourful flowers, Celeste felt a pang of envy pulse inside of her.

She could imagine her father ignoring her whilst giving attention to any other children he might've had. She envied the fact that his potential other children grew up with a father by their side, a support figure, a manly presence to guide them and strengthen them through the darkest hours. Whereas she had no one to turn to when she needed a shoulder to cry on.

"I can't do this," she whispered, her hands clutched tightly against the door handle that her knuckles flushed white, almost exposing her bones.

"You need to."

She sighed in exasperation and opened the passenger door. She could feel Nick's eyes on her, but the thoughts that swam in her head were beginning to suffocate her.

Pressing one foot on the concrete pavement after the other, she was finally out of the car and on her own two feet.

The windowsills were planted with flowerpots and open curtains that allowed a clear insight of the house. Noticeably, this was nothing like Cora's house. This house wanted to be seen by outsiders. This house was not to be a secret that had to be strictly kept.

A figure swished past the window and it was too swift for Celeste to make out a face, so she pressed her knuckles on the front door, hesitant to knock. The wood glistened, unlike Cora's house, where the door was dark and splintered.

The door cranked open underneath her knuckles, and to Celeste's shock, the man spoke. "Hi, may I help you?"

He looked down at her, with a polite face beaming, popping two dimples like carefully carved moons. His eyes were a warm green, with a ski-sloped nose that began to scrunch up, creating folds between his eyebrows in question of the unexpected visitor that stood at his front door.

Her throat suffered lumps and the oxygen around her was running out, but she had to ignore the faint impression and stand firmly on her two feet. "Are you Michael Winter?"

"Who is asking?" His polite smile had not faded, and his eyes glimmered like two, bright stars situated in the darkest of skies. And as she stared further into his features, she realised the familiar freckles that dotted his rosy cheeks.

"Celeste. I believe this belonged to you?" She dug in her bag to find her Fairytale book that she had always suspected belonged to her biological father.

His eyes widened and sparkled, his lips curved into an O and almost a gasp escaped. "Where, did you?" He trembled as he observed every aspect of the book, and as Celeste handed it to him, his fingers traced the hard edges the way Celeste usually had.

Flipping the book open and running past pages, a sense of familiarity showcased on his face. Maybe it was the twinkle in his eyes that gave it away, or the way he smiled nostalgically at the stories that printed the pages – but Celeste knew, he had seen this book before.

"Are you truly my little star?" His voice quivered and cracked after each word, and Celeste couldn't tolerate hiding the tears that stung her eyes, so she let the waterworks flow.

"I believe so," she whispered and looked straight into his eyes, straight into the eyes that she had imagined for so long. The face that she had constantly tried to put together, but always failed.

"My little star!" He sighed relief and stretched out his arms, wrapping Celeste in his embrace. "My beautiful, little star." He choked on his tears but Celeste didn't mind, because she was drowning in her own. Splatters of tears rolled down her cheeks and landed on her chin, when finally, they dropped onto the back of Michael's shirt in a puddle.

"I've waited so long to meet you." She finally enunciated as they pulled back from the enveloping embrace.

"Your mother and I have been worried sick, all these years we thought you were gone. Truly, and utterly gone." And the wrinkles on his face told her the story that he couldn't bare to say.

The wrinkles and black bags under his eyes spelt sleepless nights spent worrying about her whereabouts. The folds on his forehead symbolised the stress, the anxiety, and the panic that their solo daughter was missing forevermore.

But then it hit her, as she inspected him she lost herself in the word that made no sense. Your mother, he had referred to Cora as if she had never seen her, as if she had lost sight of Celeste.

"I've lived with my mother," Celeste finally explained, she wanted to clarify everything, let out everything on the table rather than have facts unexplained.

"What do you mean?" He puzzled.

"Cora. I've lived with her."

"Who is that?" He paused inquisitively and continued, "Sweetie, you were stolen when you were little from your mother and I, and we have been worried ever since. The night you were sleeping, you were holding this very book. And in the morning, you were gone, and I suspect the book was taken with you, as you never let it out of your sight, since you were teeny. We sent out the police to search for you, AMBER alerts on the go for so long, but you were nowhere to be found." And it hit her, she was nothing like Cora, it began to make sense to her.

Cora had lied to her about so much, but she had never expected this. Oddly, relief washed over her that she was not related to that witch. But the fact that she lived under lies, under manipulation sickened her.

"I never knew," she whispered and tried to ignore the bile that began to crawl up to her tongue.

"How could you?" He exhaled loudly, ridding all the misery that tortured him for the past seventeen years. "Tell me her address, that woman deserves to pay for what she's done."