Part VII

Hayden frowned slightly as he unlocked the front door. The lock stuck like it always did, making him grunt in frustration as he jiggled the knob. The lock gave way and he nudged the door open with his foot. With a sigh, he leaned back and examined the dark hallway.

“Seriously, Dad?” he called as he shut the door behind him. “You can't turn the lights on?”

A bitter laugh came from the kitchen. “I didn't feel like it.”

Hayden rolled his eyes and switched on the lights, basking the kitchen in fluorescent white. His father sat with his back to him, hunched over the photo before him. A coffee mug sat next to him on the table, empty.

“Dad,” Hayden swept up the coffee cup and placed it in the sink where it would eventually get put into the dishwasher. “Get yourself together.”

“Don't talk to me like that,” his voice was crisp and sharp, making Hayden flinched for a moment. “I'm still your father.”

“Mom wouldn't want this,” the words were full of bitterness and sadness yet they came out sharper than he had intended. He knew it was wrong for him to throw that at his father but it wasn't a lie. His mother had always kept the family in shape, cleaning up the messes they made even though they had hired housekeepers.

“What does that matter?” his father’s voice was husky, tired. “She's dead now.”

“Dad,” Hayden yelled, slamming the heel of his palm down on the counter. “Get yourself together already!”

His father's head snapped up, eyes glaring at him. The hardship of losing a key member of their family had taken quite a toll on both of them but Hayden didn't let it show as much as his father did. Gray hair had started to creep in on the man's hairline despite the fact that he was barely forty. Dark circles seemed to always be under his tired eyes and he was quieter, more withdrawn.

“Yes, she's gone,” he agreed. “So why are you crying around, acting like your tears will bring her back?”

Hayden had wished that his voice had cracked, that he had felt some emotion as he said those words yet nothing hit him. His heart didn't ache and his head didn't spin like it had many times before. His gut seemed to flip as a single tear fell from his father’s eye, slipping down his cheek and onto the tabletop.

“So let's get over it, okay?” he asked. “Let's get over it already!”

Anger raged through him, the opposite of what he wanted to feel. He wanted to feel sad, depressed, upset, anything other than rage. The sudden urge to punch something waved over him as he turned away from the kitchen and towards the hallway that led to his room.

He stopped and turned back. “I've already lost my Mom. I don't need to lose you either so please, go back to how you had been.”

His dad hadn't always been the best father but he did make an effort to be there for his family. He had tried but in the grand scheme of things, his business had always come first. His money was always more important.

Hayden's footsteps echoed through the hallway as he made his way to the room. There had used to be family photos on the wall but his father had taken them down the day after the funeral. He had put them in a box and shoved it in the back of the hall closet, telling Hayden to never get them out again.

He missed them. He missed the happy smiles that were on their faces and the memories each image brought back. As he walked down the hallway, it seemed as if he was walking into a tomb. There were no signs of human life and no hints that there had ever been there.

As the door opened smoothly on the hinges, he stood in the doorway, surveying his newly-cleaned room. He hated how spotless it was. The bedspread was wrinkle-free, every piece of clothing he had left on the floor was either now in the wash or hung in his closet.

The urge the rip the shirts from their hangers and throw them around the room was sudden and strong as he moved around the room. He wanted to tear the sheets from the bed and toss them to the floor. He didn't care if it made or mess or not—he just needed a way to get rid of the feeling inside of him.

Instead of creating a mess, he dropped onto his freshly-made bed and curled up into a ball. He pulled his knees up to his chest as a small whimper escaped his lips. He hadn't expected the tears to flow so easily yet he didn't mind. Just as long as he would feel numb by the time the tears stopped.

Some people hate the way they feel after crying but Hayden felt the most relief after he let it all out. Once all the emotions were all gone, he'd feel numb, emotionless and somehow in control of his own thoughts once again.

There was a knock at his door, startling him. He sat up, wiping his face as the door cracked and his father stepped in.

“The business banquet is tomorrow,” he spoke. “I want you to be there.”

He shook his head. “I don't feel like it.”

“Hayden, you need to be there,” he persisted. “I don't care if you don't want to be there. You're in the public spotlight just like I am. You need to show your face every now and then.”

He smirked. “Ah, yes. Because I'm famous. Are you sure you don't just want the added reporters because of my presence?”

His father shook his head. “You're my son.”

“I wish I wasn't,” he muttered. Looking up at his father, he nodded. “Okay, fine, I'll be there.”

“Bring someone with you,” he added. “A girl.”

“Not gonna happen,” Hayden shook his head. “Not in a million years.”

“You'll do what I say.”

“Dad, I don't even have a girl that I'm that close to,” he explained. “And I don't want to be that close to someone anyways.”

“Find someone and bring them,” he snapped. “I don't care if you're close to them or not. Don't do it for me but do it for the attention it'll draw.”

“I knew you just wanted me for the publicity,” he sighed. “That's all I am to you—money signs.”

His father didn't reply but rather exited, shutting the door behind him. Hayden laid down on his back, a sigh escaping. His vertebrae hurt, the bones cracking and popping as he took a deep breath and let it out.

“Just—,” he sighed. “—leave me alone please.”

The gray ceiling seemed to loom over him like a storm cloud on a rainy day, making his chest hurt. It felt like a hundred pounds was resting on his chest, crushing the air out him.

He stood up and smacked the light switch, turning the lights off. He didn't bother to change out of his clothes but just pulled his shirt off and crawled under the covers. The last thing he wanted to do was attend one of his father’s banquets, let alone bring someone with him. He mentally went through the list of people he could bring with him and although it wasn’t a long one, he knew that none of the possible candidates would work. All of them would take it as a signal that he was interested in them. The ones he could call ‘friends’ were the ones he kept as far away from him as possible. The closer they got to him, the more damage they could do.

His mind wandered to his trip to the cemetery yet something felt off as he remembered buying the flowers. It felt like his brain was skipping over an important fact, one he could really benefit from remembering right then.

Artemis.

Of course! How had he forgotten about her? She seemed a little odd at first but now it seemed normal. The way she had acted was cold, withdrawn, and exactly what he needed for tomorrow.

He sat up, sheets falling away from his body as he climbed out of the bed and started to pace. If he could somehow manage to convince her to go with him, he could make an impression on the media and his fans but also his father. His father would never want him to bring a plus one ever again.

A small smile crept across his face.

“Wait,” he stopped walking. “Who am I thinking about again?”

In his mind’s eye, he saw the foyer of the house he had stood in, bouquet in his hand. But before him stood a faceless person, long black hair draped over their shoulders. He knew it was a girl—that much he could remember yet he couldn’t recall anything else.

And then he did. It came to him suddenly, forcefully.

Artemis.

How had he forgotten that again? He leaned his head to the side in thought. She seemed like such an ordinary person yet something about her was so different. But that wasn’t what was bothering him. What was bothering him was the fact that every few seconds she seemed to disappear from his memory.

Frowning, he sat down on the bed and rested his hands on his lap. He needed to figure out a way to get her help before tomorrow. She was his only hope now.