Bookworms | ✔

fifty-six

Stepping into his childhood home felt odd. Walking through those cold, metal gates as an autumn's shriek rolled down his spine and a gust of wind floated animosity through his every step. The tiled pathway aimed gold towards his family, yet all Nicholas could see was the rusting of old traditions.

I used to live here, he thought. This used to be my home.

A colossal structure boasted its strength through the numerous empty rooms that resided within, an illusion of perfection, a perfectly trimmed front yard, smooth with evergreens and wilting flowers. Skeletal trees lined the sides, resonating with a deafening silence until Nicholas heard a familiar ringing in ear.

This was the silence he remembered, the sharp stab of depression, the acute pain of loneliness. A mansion that rivaled those of celebrities and it couldn't even bring a drop of joy to its inhabitants. Only tears marked the soil. Only broken glass marred the frames.

He sighed when he came face to face with the front door, a quaking fear rumbling within.

Knock Knock.

His family's butler opened the door in the same black suit he always wore as his lips thinly pressed together and gray, bushy eyebrows scrunched in confusion. His graying mustache mimicked those of a typical butler from classic movies, a defining feature of his prim and proper background. Nicholas smiled at the memory.

"It's been a while, old man," he joked.

"Sir, you've returned," stated Sergio, his only friend during those lonely days. His arms quickly engulfed Nicholas in a giant hug, practically sobbing into his shoulders. "I thought you'd never return after all they did to you."

Nicholas chuckled nervously. "Trust me, I wouldn't be here unless I had to."

Sergio pulled away, his height surpassing Nicholas by a significant inch. "I heard you now work for your father and are engaged."

"I am."

"Why would you do that?" he asked, not understanding the situation in the slightest.

His father must have withheld details from Sergio to preserve his reputation not only at the workplace but in his home as well.

Before Nicholas could even answer, a pair of heels clicked against the floor while footsteps thundered behind them. His parents came in to view, fake smiles plastered on their lips. Their eyes gleamed at the sight of their son, but Nicholas knew a darkness lingered.

A chill rolled down his spine at his father's icy glance.

"Nicholas, you're here. Come, we were just about to have dinner," his father said.

Without a word, Nicholas followed them to the dining hall. His throat felt dry, feeble body losing its strength from the emotional baggage that came with their house. Scintillating gold lined fixtures of every room like jewels of European monarchs. The hallways stretched for miles in all directions, a winding of twisted turns and foreign drapes. Under his shoes, the white marble teased his reflection, mocking Nicholas for his humility.

Blinded by the radiance of his childhood home, he felt a small itch growing within like canines sinking into his supple skin, a ripe adult fresh for picking at a devil's hand. In Nicholas's case, it was his parents.

Tonight wasn't a formality. It was a warning.

When the trio took their seats, no words escaped their lips except the usual questions. His parents had a layout of the night, but Nicholas had it all figured out before they knew. They underestimated him.