Emerson Castell loves facts.
Enjoying the how and why of everything, she never fails to let her obsession seep into every aspect of her life, including her relationships - or lack thereof.
Leo Caruso is no stranger to a busy social life, but after...
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I couldn't find it in me to say the next following phrases. I opened my mouth and I stuttered, and then I shivered, because it was as if Hell had frozen over that night.
She hugged me, and after a few moments I realized it wasn't just because she wanted to offer her comfort. Her nose was as cold as ice as it brushed against my cheek. She was smart enough to have donned gloves in this weather, but she still pressed her hands against the warmth of the back of my neck and held onto me tighter.
"Leo, you have to tell me some time," she said, in a low whisper that sounded like a shout in the eerie quiet of the evening. "I care about you."
"I know," I whispered, an answer to both of her statements. And I cared about her too, so much it sometimes hurt.
"Well then, what happened to him?" Her tone was soft and gentle—slightly shaky as well, but not from having broken down earlier like mine.
I let go of her slowly and shifted to the side. Sighing, I placed my elbows against my knees and my hands under my chin as I stared off at the black sky. That day reminded me of the time we'd watched the stars together on my birthday, only it'd been warmer and the atmosphere far less grim.
"My uncle called me an hour ago. He said he had been trying to get a hold of my grandparents, but their phones kept going straight to voicemail. They're actually at a dinner right now with old friends." Her fingers brushed my back and began to trace light circles against it, calming me down as I paused yet again.
I couldn't keep it a secret any longer. "He said my dad had a heart attack. And that the doctors aren't sure about his condition yet."
She gasped, her lips parting in surprise. "How—how did that happen?" I assumed she was surprised since I showed her a picture of me and my father once, and he didn't appear unhealthy—or like how most people would imagine a person would have to look to have a heart attack.
"It was primarily stress-related. But I know that my great-grandfather died of a heart attack and my grandpa has high cholesterol, so it all runs in the family." I found myself pressing my hand over my own heart. I didn't want to suffer the fate of the rest of the men in the family, yet I knew that the damn cigarette I had just smoked put me one step closer. "It happened so suddenly. He was leaving work and my uncle said my dad had told him he was feeling uneasy during the day. He refused to go to the hospital because he didn't think anything was wrong with him. And then he collapsed right before he got into a taxi."
"You're going to see him, right? You have to."
"My uncle booked us plane tickets the moment my dad was admitted to the hospital. God, Emerson, I don't know what to do." I ran my hands over my face and through my disheveled hair. "I-I have avoided talking to him for months. Months. Do you know how many calls I've dodged and texts I've read and refused to answer of his? His birthday is on New Year's Eve and just the other day I was contemplating whether or not to talk to him." I snorted at my own stupidity and put my face back in my hands. "What if he-he...dies and I never get to tell him anything. I'd be the shittiest son in the world. I am already."
