Chapter 1: No Choice

DYLAN

I was struggling to drag my luggage as I left Maddie's apartment. She was shouting and screaming telling me how unfair I am for leaving her.

"I stuck with you, even if you were a dumbass with no dreams, I can't believe you are leaving me!?" she shouted dramatically. I rolled my eyes, and heaved a sigh. From outside, I spotted Geoffrey laughing at me while he was leaning on his Ducati.

"It's your loss not mine!"

A pair of shoes flew from inside and I gasped when it almost hit the side of my head.

"Calm down, will you!?" I exclaimed.

I sighed aloud when I saw that those were my Reebok Instapump Fury x Vetements Graffiti. I faced her and was shocked to see her eyes smudged with mascara while crying. "Goodness, don't cry. You look hideous." I started, frowning. I really liked the shoes she threw outside; they were like vandalized shoes but they were on fire, I swear.

"You know, Mads, you could find someone better than me—"

"There's no one better than you!" She trailed. I almost threw up when she said that. The audacity of this woman!

My mouth parted and I let out a groan. "Of course, there is Jackson Helms, sure he is better than me. You gave him a reward for passing Harvard, didn't you?" I ironically smiled at her after that sarcastic statement.

She gaped at me and I shook my head. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, there's someone better than me."

"But..."

"Let's get this over with Mads, I hate when somebody messes with my Vetements, okay?" I said.

"I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry," I cut off. "You don't need to explain, don't worry, I know." I said as I lifted my luggage up, it directly went down the staircase and I heard Geoffrey's laugh from outside. "Piss off!" I yelled. I launched down and reached for the pair of shoes that fell underneath the staircase. "God they are filled with filth." I almost wanted to throw up a tantrum. Geoffrey came near me and held the luggage.

"Brother, you should've stayed in your pad," he stated aloud, making Maddie hear it.

"You have a pad...?"

I grimaced and pushed him jokingly, "Piss off, man. You're not helping." I chuckled.

I carried my luggage and held the shoes. And after that Maddie screamed furiously, Geoff and I looked at each other then we ran to his car as fast as we could. We rushed so quickly that Geoff almost threw my luggage in his compartment as if it was nothing but trash!

"Holy shit, girls are crazy!" he exclaimed.

"Why'd you throw my bag like that?" I complained.

"She didn't know you're a multi-millionaire?" Geoffrey said and I shrugged.

I sneered at him, "You think I'm still a millionaire now? I got disowned." I said.

He nodded and raised his eyebrows then moved his head sideways, "Well, yeah, you have a point."

I was looking outside the window while my thumb was pressed against my lips. I could feel Geoffrey momentarily looking at me while he's driving.

"Piss off Geoff, don't look at me, look at the road." I stated. I heard him chuckling and saw him nod.

The ride was unbelievably short, I kind of want to drive in the city much longer. I was too busy focusing on a black hole inside my chest, you can't see it, but you feel it. It's making me weak and incomplete.

"Here you go." I flew back from my thoughts when Geoffrey spoke.

I nudged his shoulders and fist-bumped him, "Thanks man, big help. Edgar isn't working for me anymore." I said and remembered Edgar's sad face as he plainly called me 'Dylan'. I went straight out to his compartment and took my luggage. "Welp, dad made him work for Gerald," I bobbed my head.

"If you need any help..." he trailed off. He put his hands inside his pocket, he was swaying back and forth.

I immediately shook my head. "No man, the reward I got for my recent film was huge. It's still selling up to now." I said, matter of fact, I smiled at him, "I'll tell you if I need you." I told him, reassuringly.

He rolled his eyes and after that wiggled his eyebrows. "As if you can call the other two—" he gestured his head, I know he meant Geronimo and Gerald.

"You never know, maybe I'll call to piss'em off eh?" I joked.

We laughed together.

Yes of course, Geoffrey of the triples was the only one who treated me like a brother. He was the eldest, the one to go out first, then followed by Gerald and Geronimo. I was thankful I was on his good side. He is a very nice brother to me, every time Gerald and Geronimo bullied me, he'll be there scolding them. He'd be there reminding my father that I was still his son, he'd be there reminding my brothers that I was full of use.

The triplets and I, we didn't come from the same mother, my mother was Alejandro Hearst's mistress, after knowing she's bearing a child, he let her live in with him then when I was born, the servants told me that dad was the happiest, unfortunately my mother died days after labor.

I haven't seen her, there were no pictures of her, my father would always tell me I look a lot like her: I got her jet-black hair, her almond eyes and her devilishly pinkish soft lips.

I didn't have the chance to meet her, she requested to be cremated and scattered in her hometown in Amsterdam.

He looked at me and sighed. "Good luck, brother. I wish you the best in your career."

We bid our goodbyes and he went off; I followed his car until it's gone. Then after that I entered the studio. I sighed heavily and I laid down on the floor. I could feel the black hole in my chest, churning and whirling in my inside. It felt like somebody was squeezing and twisting my flesh.

I closed my eyes tightly and my heavy tears started to fall. I released an agonizing scream. I tried banging my head on the floor and I realized that nothing's much more painful than stirred emotions. Nothing is more painful than a grief that is kept for a long time. A whirlpool of different kinds of pain from different scenarios in my life.

"I'm trying!" I growled, I punched the floor and wept harder. With my clenched fists I covered my face and then cried like a little boy.

Remembering my father's blank stare made me feel hopeless. When he told me I was a shame, I felt my dreams shattering. Suddenly every film I directed turned to nothing. All of my hard work became futile. The sleepless nights I've spent directing different animation and clips are just nothing but sleepless nights, they didn't mean anything anymore.

All the courage I've gathered in different places for myself immediately went away to go somewhere unknown, as if they were not real at all.

I have never cried this hard in my entire life, and the last time I cried was not because of a family feud it was because of a sad movie.

My only consolation is that somewhere, Candice Larsen had it worse, and my current predicament couldn't stand a chance against hers. My stomach churned again as I remembered Candice Larsen's miserable face, her expression was blank and shocked.

It has been three days and I've been keeping in touch with Jenny. I was staying at Geoffrey's house because I do not want to go home or go to Maddie's apartment. My dad eventually knew and he wanted Geoff to kick me out. "What a father." I mumbled and shook my head.

I stared on the ceiling for a while and I tried recalling Candice's eyes, and her wide smile. It was all crystal clear in my mind, she had five moles on her face. Her face was the sky and her moles traced a constellation. I smiled at the thought, I could recall the little hairs on her face, her wrinkles when she smiled, even her freckles across her nose, it formed a map.

A warmth in my chest rose, I couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't just recall her, I had to paint her on a canvas. I immediately rose up and went to my painting room. I searched for brushes, and for different hues of paint. I reached for my color pallet and figured out what color could match her complexion, her moles, her wrinkles, her shades, her eyes, her brown wavy hair.

Even if my eyes were open, I could still see her vividly.

I arranged my pallet until everything was set, the only thing left to do is to get the brush and strike it in different ways to present her perfectly.

White, Yellow Ochre, and Cadmium Red were inviting me, just by looking at them I knew I'd get her complexion seamlessly. Her skin is fair and glossy, like white sand radiating under the heat of the afternoon sun, or almonds blanched and then peeled. I'll add Cerulean for her blush.

A combination of Burnt Sienna, Terra Rosa, Viridian and White would be perfect for her contours, this would give justice to the height of her cheek bones, emphasizing every edge, each soft curve. For her beautiful wavy hair, Transparent Oxide Red, Viridian, White and Tera Rosa, which will present the waves and the silk elegantly.

I inhaled the scent of paint and the wet canvas, and I imagined Candice to be a girl who loves lavender and so I mixed the pigments Rose and Ultramarine Blue for the background which created a perfect soft purple, like lavender.

My eyes felt tired just by stroking the canvas with a brush. Painting gives me a different kind of relief, even when I was only using my hands, I could feel my soul dancing in mellow music that only I could hear.

I have to be sensible of the noises around me: the smell of paint against a canvas, the pigments, the shushing sound of the brush against the fabric, I shouldn't lose it—sensibility gives me a sense of direction. It creates the tune and ambiance.

I added white to the shade for a softer purple and they complimented each other.

Then when I was about to start Candice's fair complexion, the telephone rung loudly and all of my senses went away.

Surprised, I stood up from my chair and I felt the mixture of both frustration and fury as I thought about what this phone call had interrupted.

I carefully placed my brush palette down and headed to the living room to fetch the call. As I got there, I inhaled a few times. A moment later, I picked it up.

"Hello?" I said.

"Oh, Dylan!" I was surprised to hear my producer's voice from the other line. "I'm sorry for calling you unexpectedly, you seem irritated." He laughed nervously; I could tell.

I bowed to look at my shoes. "What is it, De Castro?"

He sighed from the other line. "Well... I know you've worked hard for all of our projects Dylan it was evident you won different awards for it, and you certainly gave me a huge profit and you know how thankful I am for that—"

"Why does this sound like a farewell speech?" I asked bluntly.

He exhaled heavily, "Well, Dylan... my boy..." he started.

I was kind of annoyed about the delay of the real topic.

"Stop beating around the bush, De Castro, what is it!?" I snarled.

"We are canceling you in all of our projects." He finally stated.

"What?" I asked in disbelief. "What about the artists we've hired?"

"Do not worry about them, it is you being canceled and not the project."

"What!?"

"I'm sorry Dylan—"

"What rights do you have? This is a breach of contract—"

"Mr. Hearst was leaving us with no choice, Dylan!" he cut off. "He said we either cancel you or he'll cancel the whole broadcasting company!"

"Shit!" I cursed, I didn't let him say another word, I dropped the call.

I immediately dialed the manor and in an instant there he was, the one who keeps tearing me into pieces, answering the call with a heartless chuckle. "Rumor has it, you're canceled?" he asked.

I was keeping in my mind that even if he's giving me a very hard time, he is still my father. I wanted to play witty, I wanted to show him that I am not affected at all. "Damn, old man—that's my source of income." I tried to keep my voice steady as possible but it was so hard. The grief was pushing my voice to break. "You cut my allowance and froze my bank accounts, remember?" I sarcastically asked.

"You could have everything back, if you come here and do what I want," my father's authoritative voice boomed from the other line. I heard him gulp, surely, he was drinking his favorite whiskey while sitting like a king on his favorite couch.

I smirked, "Do what you want your face—"

"Imbecile."

"Thank you."

Afterwards there was a moment of silence. I am hearing my heart beating while I can hear his disappointed sigh from the other line, and when I have had enough of the silence, for the last time, I'll try to convince my father. I'll try to convince him.

"Father, give me a chance to do my craft—"

"Stop, Dylan, please." He asked, and so I did. His plea was so sincere, as if he was so tired of waiting for me to grow, it hurts more than all of the words he's been calling me. I listened to him in silence. "I only want you to use your potential in Science, you are more than the crap you are involving yourself with.

"It's not crap father—"

"Isn't failing to receive an academic acceleration not enough that you should fail Harvard, as well? You're a disgrace." Those words came out as a swift breath, yet, it felt like millions of daggers were thrown at me, all at the same time.

I inhaled, and exhaled so I could calm my nerves down. I was trembling. I wanted to defend my passion, my craft but I know I couldn't compete with my father.

"What..." I trailed off, "What do you want me to do?"

He gasped at my statement, and after that a sigh of relief. "Someone dropped their pass to Harvard, they canceled it, now it's a vacant slot and Harvard needs someone to top her GPA on the test, " he began, "Find her, Paul will send you the details and do your best to take her place, if you fail, I won't hesitate to cut any connections from you. I'll do my best to erase you from the history of the world so you wouldn't be able to apply to anything. You have no choice." Then he ended the call.

I threw the telephone away and it flew somewhere.

Out of anger and frustration I pulled my hair and kneeled down on the floor. The painful swelling in my chest grew furiously until there was nothing there but despair and rage. I tried banging my fist on my chest hoping that it would somehow ease the pain but it grew further into a scary emotion. Until I couldn't take it any longer, I wailed so loud. I curled my body on the floor whimpering and groaning, thrashing aggressively. I wept like a little boy.