Silva and the Stars

15 | but I love you

I wake up drenched in sweat, breathing hard. I throw the heavy blankets aside and stumble out of bed, grabbing my phone before I step out onto the balcony. I shut the door behind me. The cold night air kisses my skin, and I tilt my head back to look at the waxing moon.

That dream felt so real.

I shake my head, trying to slow my breathing. 

The disappointed look in my Dad's eye, his words 'I wanted to talk to you son.' Then, the next time I had seen him in my dream he hadn't acknowledged me, as if I was so far beneath him.

"It's all a dream," I tell myself.

But the problem is, it's not. The scariest dreams are fixed in reality.

He's dead and we'll never get the chance to talk again. Yet, Rachel's words shadow me. How she wished she could speak to her father, hear his voice.

I'm clenching my phone tightly in my hand. I had that opportunity right now with all those voicemails I had neglected to listen to. That I was too terrified to listen to.

My father was a hypocrite, impressing on me the importance of family, of loyalty, and he turned around and cheated on my mum. Before they even had me, he had sired a bastard on the side. In doing so, not only had he wronged my mother, but also robbed the boy a father who was proud of him, who treated him as if he was worthy of being loved.

When someone no longer believes they are worthy of love, they believe their actions have no bounds, in their mind, they know they can never measure up. So instead, they have two choices:

Either find someone else to measure them.

Or act in accordance with every twisted thing they know defines them, in order to get what they want.

I close my eyes as the darkness closes in around me.

I've been running from this for too long. I know what I have to do.

I turn my phone on and squint as the bright, artificial light assaults me. It's only 1:49 am in the morning, too early to be doing anything. But my conscience won't let me wait a moment longer.

I go to my voicemail and play through them one by one, from oldest to newest, listening as my father's voice floods me as if he's still here. As if at any moment he'll walk out of the door behind me, making some smart-ass comment about finding Rachel in my bed.

"Connor has..."

"You shouldn't have left..."

"Is this how you expect to run a company..."

His voice cascades through me, each whispered word bringing another shock to my system, my knees weakening.

But my heart beats resolutely through it. One by one, his voicemails tell a story, each revelation forming the image of a broken man, a king without his crown. Each message counts down to the present reality - to a life where his heart is no longer beating, where his voice doesn't echo in the boardroom beside me, where his eyebrows don't draw down in fury.

"You shouldn't have gone...I've been diagnosed...sometimes I forget who your mother is...who you are."

His words choke me, a sob reverberating through my chest, tears spilling down my cheeks.

"Please come home, one last time, before I forget who you are all together. Please, son, it's my only wish. This isn't about the company anymore; this is about family. I know we've had our differences...but I love you." The last message disconnects.

Leaving me shaking.

These voicemails are the proof Rachel and I need to wrestle control of the company away from Connor. My father admitted to having Alzheimer's, admitted to Connor getting him to sign documents he could no longer understand, admitted to keeping it a secret from everyone. Even his business partner.

My father would rather appear incompetent than appear weak. Or ask for help.

But in those voicemails, he bared all that to me, put all his pride on the line for one last chance to reconnect.

And I threw away the opportunity.

Just like I've thrown away so many opportunities in my life, sabotaging them before I could make myself into something that bore a resemblance to success, to him.

I don't want to use it. 

I don't want anyone else to see my father as anything less than the suave businessman that he tried so hard to present to the world. I don't want to shatter the illusion of his legacy. There must be another way.

But in my heart, I know that Rachel and I have run out of time. We're leaving tomorrow, the wedding photographs in hand, the rings weighting our fingers, our proposal for the board memorised to perfection. 

There's a 60% chance they will take us up on it, but the recordings on my phone would make it a solid 100% in winning our battle against Connor. It would invalidate all the shares he amassed while I was gone.

I wipe the wetness from my cheeks, staring up into the night sky, the infinite inky blackness, the slow dance of stars so far away. They're laughing at our petty problems, tinkling with joy at my self-absorption, at the raw feeling splitting me open inside.

The sensation of my heart cracking into two disparate shards.

I need to tell Rachel.

I turn to go inside, my shoulders heavy, burdened by the knowledge my father has gifted me from the grave.

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a/n: Thanks for reading! The next update will be on Sunday. I'm always grateful to hear any feedback you have so feel free to vote and comment your thoughts. How do you think Rachel will react? And who saw this coming? haha me lol. ♡