painted in the stars ; cordelia goode

↬ chapter eight: in your arms

The news of your father kept you up for weeks, this whole time you lived a life barred from ever seeing him, and the first thing that comes to your knowledge is the fact that he's battling a disease you would never wish upon anyone.

You despised your mother yet you felt for her. She had her reasons, they were completely wrong but she believed in them, something you wish you had yourself. Confidence.

Confidence would've made you fight your mother, fight her for every moment she stole from you and your father. Yet you forgave her. A woman who never wanted to be a mother, a human who made the choices she knew were best for you even if they weren't great.

The phone stood still on the night stand, untouched throughout this whole time. You turned around, sniffling and wiping your nose, you checked your notifications, forgotten messages from Phyllis, Cordelia and a recent message from your mother.

1 week ago

Phyll: Drinks later on tonight? I'll payyy

Phyll: Seeing as you haven't responded, we can go another night, stay safe!

1 week ago

Delia: Hey, drinks w/ phyllis tonight?

Delia: also I miss you. A lot.

Delia: god I feel like a teen when I say that but still, I miss you

Delia: Y/N?

3 days ago

Delia: Hey, message me back when you see this, Phyll and I are worried about you.

3 days ago

Phyll: Hey kiddo, just wanted to check in to see if you're alright! Cordy and I miss you tons and we hope you feel better soon! Lots of Love!

1 day ago

Delia: Is everything all right?

1 hour ago

Mom: 3980 E Markarth Rd. tomorrow. i'm bringing charles.

You roll your eyes as you see his name in the message and proceed to shut down your phone again. Twiddling your thumbs as you stare at the millions of small littles hills on your ceiling, you contemplate whether it's even worth going at all. You think of your father and what you'll say to him but nothing comes to mind, a blank in your mind.

After years of no contact, what words can bring the both of you closer in just a simple sentence.

You bite the side of your cheek, closing your eyes to keep the tears at bay.

You whisper to yourself, "I fucked up." And maybe you did, but an opportunity has arisen, to show your dad that despite the years kept at bay from each other, the same love you had for him as a child still glowed bright.

You bring yourself out of bed, strolling into the kitchen, canvases strewn around haphazardly. Tiptoeing around the art, you manage to reach the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of tea, one that you hoped would soon calm the storm within your soul.

And you sat in the kitchen, drinking and crying, hopeless, for a while.

As you drank your third cup of tea, you heard your phone chime in the room. Once again prancing around your painting, careful to not step on any of them, you walk towards your room and take a peek at your phone.