Category : Books-Fiction

Sub Category : Romance

Chapter 29
Chris nimbly picked up the last of the books scattered all around the premise. The children really know how to make a mess of the place. His back ached with how many times he had to bend his back to pick up the books. 
“Destined Love...... by Zool.” Chris read out loud and placed it into the shelve, along with the rest of the new additions. He found the story interesting and beautifully written. He can't deny that the concept of love at first sight as a story works perfectly well as a beautiful fairytale that gives hope to children.
“I made pumpkin soup, would you like to stay to have some?” Mrs. Helda asked, walking up to him. Finally, choosing to emerge from her office. 
As much as he would love to indulge in yet another scrumptious home cook food, he turned down the offer, his own stomach growling in displeasure. “I just remembered that I have something to do.” Chris rejected the offer as he backed towards the door, almost colliding into Bea that was entering the house at the doorway after sending away the children. He bid a silent goodbye to her, offering no form of explanation for his impromptu departure even after catching the quick look of suspicion from Bea. 
Chris was glad that Bea didn't question him and allowed him to leave in peace instead. He wasn't sure if she had done otherwise would he have been able to pull through with the decision he has finally come to after an entire day of contemplation. 
With every step he took closer to the hospital, his determination wavered ever so little. His feet growing heavy, even like deadweight at one point and Chris had to remind himself in his head like a mantra that there's no turning back now. 
Chris was surprised when upon entering his mother's room, he saw Oliver siting at the table, doing what Chris could only presume to be jotting down work related information into a brown leather diary. 
Oliver looked up at Chris and he could see that the doctor was just as surprised to see him as he was to see him. Chris spilled the first thing in his mind, “Thank you for caring for my mum when I’m not around."
Oliver's features softened, “She’s my patient, my primary job is to care for her.”
“...….And I’m sorry about what happened that day.” Chris apologized for his outburst. He looked to the wall where he planted his unforgiving fist at. It was as though the event from yesterday had not even happened. Any traces of blood has been wiped clean. The wall sparkling clean, a pearly white. 
“You don’t have to worry about it.” Oliver assured him as he stood up, collecting his materials from the table, preparing to leave the room to not disturb mother and son.
“Did my father come?” Chris’s face twisted ever so slightly having to address that man as his father, the word leaving an unconfortable taste on his tongue. 
“He has come to discuss your mother’s condition with me-" Oliver paused when he noticed the tensed look on Chris, sensing the boy’s displeasure rolling off in waves, he added, "But he has never taken a step into this room.”
“Why?” Chris asked, finding it hard to believe. 
“He says that you didn’t want that, he would like your approval before he comes into the room.”
Chris grunted. His father was probably just afraid of facing his mother and was merely giving excuses. 
Oliver spoke up, drawing Chris's attention, “Listen Chris, I'm in no position to meddle in your family issues but can’t you see that he is at least trying to fix his past mistakes.” 
It wasn't a question, it was a statement. 
“My mother would want me to forgive him, but what difference would that make? Will she wake up?” Chris asked, looking at his mother with a pain expression, bitter at his own words. 
“You might get to know a side you never knew your father had.” 
Once again, not a question, a statement. 
After a long pause of hesitation, Chris sighed. "Fine. I'll do this for mum.”
                     XXXXXXXXXX
Oliver watched as Chris left to obtain his father’s information from the hospital's front counter. He swallowed dryly as he took one glance at the woman lying on the bed before staring up at the ceiling and pondered on his actions. Truly, what is he doing giving advice to Chris? Any professional doctor would have known better than to interfere with a patient's personal relations. 
In a way, he understood Chris’s confusion and sympathised with his situation. If his very father were to disappear for years only to return as a completely different person, any child would freak out and not know how to respond. For Chris to be able to face his fears and confront his father is truly commemerable act for a mere 16 year old teenager. 
Oliver can only hope nothing goes wrong on Chris’s end. 
                    XXXXXXXXXX
With his phone in one hand, Chris stared at the piece of paper on his desk, on the little piece of paper was a scribbled phone number and house address the receptionist at the counter back at the hospital was kind enough to give him. He has been pacing circles in his room for an hour, he was sure he must have drilled a hole in the wooden floor, everytime he was about to dial the number he would freak out and stop halfway.
Chris didn’t have the determination to call his father. Even though just an hour ago, he was so sure that he would be able to do it, however, when it came down to it, he realised he couldn’t. 
Frustration building up, he crumpled the paper and just as he was about to trash the paper in the bin, his phone rang. Chris, who wasn’t expecting a call so late at night, dropped the crumpled paper on the floor.
He looked at his phone and to his utter surprise, it was Bea. Chris picked up the phone rather clumsily, his thumb brushed ever so lightly across the red phone icon, almost cancelling the call instead of picking it up. 
“Bea?” Chris asked, hesitantly. 
“You left in a hurry earlier, so I was a bit worried, is everything alright?” The familiar voice on the other line confirmed Chris that he wasn't hallucinating. 
Chris couldn't help his heart from warming at the thought that she was concerned for him. 
Chris took a deep breath before asking, “What would you do if your parents were to appear before you after all these years?”
“Their dead. That won’t happen.” Bea deadpanned. 
Chris couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping his mouth, “Haha, I meant it in a hypotechnical way.”
“I believe that I would be so happy I’ll probably cry.” Bea replied. 
The mood of the call lightened, but Chris still felt heavy hearted. “But, what if they were to come back as an entirely different person? Like, they were to appear before you as someone you no longer recognize.”
There was silence from the other line from what Chris could only imagine was Bea being deep in thought. 
A few moments passed too long and Chris was just about to change the topic when Bea suddenly spoke, “I wouldn’t dare imagine what it would be like. I might not be able to take it.” 
Chris nodded his head in agreement and when he realised that Bea wouldn't be able to see it, he cleared his throat and said instead, “My father was an alcoholic abusive man...... " Chris gulped nervously when he heard a gasp from the other line. When the ensued silence probed him to carry on, he continued, "...... he left when I was very young and I thought that he was gone for good but just recently, he has come back a completely changed person and is wanting back into my life.”
“I’m scared. Is it selfish of me that I can’t accept the new person he is?” Chris voiced out the number one worry plaguing his mind. 
“You should hear him out at least. I’m sure he’ll want to explain himself.” Bea expressed. 
“I don't think I'm ready.” 
“No one's ever truly ready.” Bea offered. Chris didn't need to see to know that Bea had on a smile on her face. He couldn't help but smile into the phone. 
They conversed for a while before Bea excused herself to hit the sack. 
Chris felt so much better after talking to Bea and much more assured. He didn’t feel as nervous or afraid as earlier. Talking to someone gave him the remaining confidence he didn't knew he needed to make the call.
He picked up and uncrumpled the paper and punched in the numbers into his dial pad, for what would be over the 100th time but this time, it would be the last as this time, he actually pressed the call icon. 
The call rang about 3 times before it was picked up. 
“Hello?” His father on the other line asked. 
Chris opened his mouth to speak but for some reason words didn’t seem to come out.
Greg pulled away his reading glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. During that process, he brought the phone away from his ear and looked at his phone weirdly. He was surprised to receive a call so late into the night. If Greg had actually paid attention to the caller number and if it wasn't for the fact that it was nearing 1 in the morning, he would have instantly recognised that it was Chris calling having called him before. “Hello?” He asked again, louder this time and slight irritation laced in his tone. Someone was cleary on the line, he could hear the heavy breathing of the person on the other line. Greg wondered why the other person was silent. 
Greg was about to hang up when Chris uttered a shaky introduction, “I-I’m C-Chris.”
Chris! Greg stopped doing his work abruptly and focused entirely on the call. He was so surprised he stood up, bad move, forgetting to push back the chair before getting up, his knees knocked against the desk table. He let out a groan in agony. 
“We need to talk.” Chris said, ignoring the sudden combination of weird noises coming from the other line. 
“There’s a café down the road from your school. I’ll meet you there around 10.” Greg suggested, rubbing his sore knees. 
“Okay.” Chris was familiar with that café. He agreed before hanging up. 
Chris had no idea that a simple phone call would be so taxing and tiring. He dropped his hand along with his phone unceremoniously to his side. With his left hand he lifted the paper from the table and recited the address for the umpteenth time out loud. He really didn't need to, for it was already ingrained into his memory. 
He did the right thing right? Everything will be fine once he and his father reconciles, right? Chris went to bed that night with an unsettling feeling pulling him, seemingly trying to tear him apart from the insides and Chris couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why and thinking about it only made his head hurt. Closing his eyes and reciting the address like he was counting sheep he convinced himself that tomorrow, by tomorrow he'll be able to confirm his suspicion. 
He just had to survive the night. 
                     XXXXXXXXXX
It was exactly 2 months after the boy’s  14th birthday, the boy had an oversize grey hoodie on, one he had thrown on and he couldn't be more pleased with his decision, it was starting to drizzle and he had no doubt in his mind that a heavy pour would befall. He pulled the hoodie over his head, he had just dyed his hair, and he doesn't want it ruined by rainwater. His hands tucked deep in  the safest place in the world- his pockets, he picked up his pace.
At least the top half of his hoodie was drenched by the time he reached the house. 
He reached for the door handle and when he found it locked, he knocked, or to be more accurate, drummed violently on the door. 
The door opened and Chris saw his mother greet him with a wide smile, “Welcome home, Chris.”
The then 14-year old Chris blatantly ignored his mother, not even looking her in the eye, he pushed pass her, entering the house. 
Chris was just about to proceed up the stairs, one hand already on the railing when his eyes shifted to the dining table and he froze at what he saw. There was 3 chairs surrounding the table but what made Chris's blood run cold was the silverware on the table, there was exactly 3 plates, 3 spoons, 3 forks and amount of food catered for 3. Any appetite that Chris possibly had dissipated and he felt sick, so much he felt like throwing up. 
His mother, was completely oblivious to his sudden change in demeanor. 
"I'm leaving." Chris uttered in between gritted teeth as he turned back, already making his way to the door. His hands in his pockets clenched so brutally tight, he was sure that his nails pierced his palm, drawing blood. 
"What do you mean you're leaving? I finally have a day off today to cook and I made your favourite dishes." His mother grabbed onto Chris's left arm. 
Chris flinched, snatching his arm away, causing the woman to stumble a few feet back due to the impact. 
It was there and then that Chris lost it. He felt his anger boil through the roof, the fact that it was pouring outside did nothing to help his already haywire emotions. 
“He left us four years ago! He’s gone! Can’t you see the reality that we live in?! He's never coming back!” Chris yelled, his voice breaking in the process. Everything felt wrong. He didn't recognise his own mother. He has never ever raised his voice at his mother before, let alone shout. He had always silently accepted it. But today, he was suddenly painfully aware of the severity of the situation and he couldn't just ignore it any longer. 
His mother looked about to say something but Chris cut her off, banging his left hand on the wall that was so conveniently right behind him. The thin walls trembled ever so lightly with the impact, a roar of thunder ripped through the sky just then. It was only then did Chris realised that he had backed himself up against the wall, fearing the violent emotions threatening to surface. 
His mother started walking up to him and Chris panicked. “He never loved you, he never loved me! If he’s still out there, I hope he never comes back!” He shouted. It worked, his mother stopped dead in her tracks, looking hurt and devastated. 
“If you love him so much, you can just leave as well.” Chris mercilessly said. 
His mother stared wide eyed at her son. Chris saw the look on his mother's face. Disbelief? Confusion? Regret? Dissapointment? Probably all. 
"If you won't leave, I will." Chris said. And he made his way to the door, yanking it open and sprinting outdoors, in the pouring rain. 
“Where are you going?! Chris!” His mother chased after him.
Not even once did Chris look back despite all of his mother’s cries, his only thought was to run, run, run, and not go back. His head hurt, his vision blurring and he wasn't sure if it was because of the rain. His chest hurts as he felt like his lungs were failing him and collapsing, restricting his ability to breath, he felt like passing out. 
Chris bolted and managed to run across the road right before the traffic lights flashed green. Chris’s mother was just about to run pass the road when a car honked and she backed into the side walk. She helplessly watched from across the road as her one and only son was drowned by the mass of bodies on the other side of the road, losing sight of him. 
His mother probably never knew this but Chris looked back then, he released a huge sigh of relief when he saw his mother still in one piece, looking fazed and in a daze but at least still in one piece. 
Chris remembred after running away, he never returned home or contacted his mother for days. And when he finally did return it was already too late. His mother was in a deep deep slumber. 

All Rights Reserved @ by Anne Teng 
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