Bookworms | ✔

twenty-seven

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.