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We talk a while longer, even though I’m itching for the man to leave so I can get myself a refill without his judging eyes. He tells me that he’s assigned my father a live-in nurse who will stay out from under our feet most of the time, but will be here to help my father with his mobility while also ensuring that he takes his medications and isn’t alone to do anything to harm himself, whether on purpose or not when I’m not home.
Finally, he leaves, and I pour another heavy gulp of whiskey into my glass before gathering my strength to go out and finish the damn luncheon. A funeral, becoming the CEO of the family company, and now finding out that my father is at risk for suicide…
Jesus Christ, will this nightmare ever end?
***
I close my eyes as I stand outside of my father’s bedroom door while the nurse hovers behind me with his medication in a small paper cup. I told her that I needed to be the one to speak to him before he takes his first dose, knowing that even in his weakened state he has enough willpower to steamroll this poor nurse, but now I find myself reluctant to even begin the conversation…but it has to be done. I steel myself, and knock. I know my father can be stubborn at times, but this is a matter of life and death according to the doctor, and I just can’t swallow any more death without losing myself completely. When he doesn't answer, I push the door open and walk into his barely lit room, only to find him sitting in his armchair, staring absently into the void.
“Dad, we need to talk,” I announce as I close the door behind me.
He flinches at my voice, pulling him back to the real world. He then turns his head in my direction, looking at me with empty eyes. “What is it, son?”
My stomach drops at his tone, and I inhale and exhale slowly knowing this won’t be an easy chat. I walk a few more steps toward him, and once I stand in front of his chair, I squat down to be at his level. Eyes to eye, I deliver the news as calmly as I can. “The doctor says you need to start taking antidepressants,” I announce, causing Dad to immediately sigh in annoyance. “He thinks your mental state is deteriorating, and if you don't get help, you might not survive.”
Dad looks shocked at first, as if he’s been caught, and it makes my heart skip a beat. So he really has been thinking about killing himself?
But Dad quickly recovers and scoffs, head shaking dismissively. “I don't need any pills to fix my problems. I can handle this on my own.”
“Dad, it’s not about handling it on your own,” I reply, anticipating his behavior. “It’s about getting the help you need to recover. You’ve been through so much, and it’s okay to ask for help.”
He looks away from me, staring out the window that stands ahead “I don’t want to take those pills. They’ll just make me feel numb.”
“But Dad, they could also make you feel better,” I tell him earnestly. “And honestly, I’m not going to give you much of a choice. If you don’t take the pills, then I don’t know if I can take over the company. If I’m going to do that for you, then you need to take the pills for me.”
He doesn’t respond for a long moment, and I fear that he won’t budge. But then, finally, he looks back at me with a defeated expression.
“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll take the damn pills since you’re so willing to let my life’s work go to shit if I don’t.”
Relief floods through my body, and I reach out to grip his shoulder in comfort. “Thank you, Dad. I know it isn’t easy, but I need you with me. Okay?”
He doesn’t respond, but he pats my hand on his shoulder a few times before returning to looking out the glass at our estate once more. It’s a small victory, but it’s a start.
Out in the hallway, I tell the nurse that she’s good to go, and finally make my way to bed. I’ve got a headache pounding at the base of my skull from all the alcohol I’ve been drinking throughout the afternoon and evening, but it’s been long enough that I’m starting to sober up. It’s entirely unpleasant, though.
A hot shower chips away the pain in my head somewhat, but once I crawl beneath the sheets of my bed, I can't seem to find any peace. The house feels like it’s full of ghosts, everything reminding me of the family that I was forced to bury this morning, and when I close my eyes, I swear I can hear them all talking and laughing on the other side of my bedroom door. It’s all keeping me awake, and I know I can't stay here in this empty house with all these memories hunting me down.
Before I know it, I jump out of bed, dress in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, walk through the silent halls to the garage, and take one of our cars. As I turn on the engine, it takes me less than a second to figure out where to go.
I then hit the road, heading to the Van Dieren estate. It’s late, and the decision is reckless, but by now I’m totally sober and I’m unbearably restless. The only thing that doesn’t break my heart when I think about my new reality is being with Julia, so almost unconsciously, I can't shake the feeling that I need to talk to her face to face.
When I pull up to the Van Dieren’s estate, the black metal gates standing tall—and closed—in front of me, it becomes crystal clear in my mind that I should’ve just called her to talk. But now that I’m here there is no turning back. So once I stop the engine, I pick up my cell phone and call the oldest sister of the family.
“Hey…”
“Hey,” I greet back, my heart speeding up at the simple sound of her voice. “Eh, I’m outside. Can I come up?”
“What? Seb, it’s late. Is everything okay?” she asks instead, concern evident in her tone. “I expected to hear from you during the day.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing seems to come out. Closing my eyes for a moment, I lean against the headrest and say, “I just need to talk to you. Are you available?”
“What’s going on?” Her concern keeps growing.
“I’m, uh…I’m in front of your gates,” I repeat. “Can you let me in?”
“Like… now?”
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice small and filled with shame as I realize it might have been a terrible idea after all.
