Chapter 2

2 Apollo Castiello

There are pains that are impossible to ignore.

- Wild Instinct 2

The snow under my feet caused short steps, and each step felt like a struggle against the penetrating cold that seeped beneath my clothes. The early afternoon, covered in ice and a blanket of white, made me turn back home again, a temporary refuge amid the solitude surrounding me. I had gone out intending to meet my friends, those who knew the lighter version of me, but somewhere along the way, I simply gave up. It was a pattern that repeated itself, a vicious cycle I couldn’t break. I didn’t like going out much because I knew that when I got close to them, no topic would engage me, and I would end up feeling even more excluded, as if I were looking at them through a fogged-up window.

The weight of loneliness became more evident on weekends, moments when laughter and joy seemed to echo in all directions while I stood still, immune to what was around me. Lately, I didn’t care about anything. What once brought me pleasure now felt like a reminder of my disconnection from the world. Life, with its ups and downs, had become a blank canvas, and I no longer knew how to fill it.

The boots on my feet were covered in ice as soon as I reached the door of my house. I stomped my feet on the mat, trying to shake off some of the moisture, and stepped inside. The small, well-ventilated house was silent, an almost destructive silence. It was a silence that wasn’t merely the absence of sound but the presence of a void echoing against the walls. A silence that settled in a month ago when my mother decided to leave. When she abandoned my father and me, making us lonely and almost strangers within our own home. It was as if, upon leaving, she had taken with her not only her presence but also any trace of warmth and joy that once existed between us.

I removed the gloves and hat that had been protecting me from the cold outside, and the contact with the warm, dry air of the house was almost a relief. Thanks to the heater, I no longer shivered, and my breathing was less labored, but the warmth I felt couldn’t thaw the chill that had settled in my chest. I looked around, noticing the small details that once felt familiar but now seemed strange and distant. The picture on the wall, the plants by the window, everything echoed the same feeling of abandonment I felt. An empty house, filled with memories that now haunted me, a constant reminder of all that had been and what had been lost.

As I moved through the house, I felt that every corner was imbued with what it had been. And, even though the warmth of the heater enveloped me, the cold I truly felt came from within, a silent storm that kept me trapped in this state of emotional paralysis. The only thing left was the hope that, someday, the sun would shine again in my life, warming not just the environment around me but also my heart.

“Dad?” I shouted as I passed through the living room, the expectation of a warm reunion dissipating in the silence that enveloped the house. A feeling of unease began to form in my chest. “Dad, I’m back!” I shouted again, this time feeling a slight worry settle in my voice, like a biting cold beginning to envelop me.

I decided to climb the small stairs, each step feeling heavier under my feet, and I tried to look into his room. The door was ajar, a thin barrier between us that seemed, however, impassable. I was quick to see his hand hanging over the mattress, a clear sign that he was there, but in what state? Opening the door all at once, the hallway light partially illuminated the disordered room.

“Dad.” I ran to him, my heart racing. What would I find there?

“What do you want, Apollo?” His voice sounded drunk, an echo of a reality I already feared. With some effort, I placed his arms over my shoulders and dragged him off the carpet on the floor, pulling him with difficulty to the bed. The smell of alcohol was intense, like a miasma that made me feel nauseous.

I quickly yanked the Bourbon bottle from his hand, along with the other two he had emptied at an alarming speed. “Weren’t you going to hang out with your friends?” he asked, the frustration rising in my throat as I searched for clean sheets and a comforter to cover him.

His breath reeked of alcohol, a mix of disgust and denial. “Yeah, I was,” I said, trying to control my panting breath, which reflected the anxiety building inside me. “But I could already hear a voice in me saying I needed to come back.”

My dad smiled derisively, and a wave of anger and sadness washed over me. I squeezed my eyes shut and lowered the window panes, closing the curtains, as if I wanted to block out the world outside, but the winter chill invaded the room through the gaps.

“Seriously, Dad, what are you thinking? Do you want to die too?” I huffed, indignation overflowing. The cold wind from the second window swept through the space, sending a shiver down my spine.

“If she could, I can too.” His voice carried bitterness, an open wound that never seemed to heal, and I knew exactly who he was referring to.

“But she didn’t want to!” I yelled, frustration overtaking me. I pressed my temples, regretting it instantly. “Dad, rest.” I let out a long sigh, the words coming out with difficulty. “Get the alcohol out of your veins and bundle up.” I placed the white comforter over him, a simple gesture but filled with meaning.

I was already leaving his room when his calloused hand pulled me back by the arm. I turned my face to look at him. The man I once saw as a hero now seemed lost, without any reason to live. His pale skin, unshaven beard, disheveled light hair, and blue eyes, once so kind, were now empty of hope, making my heart ache.

“I’m trying, Apollo.” His choked voice made my eyes waver, and a knot formed in my throat. “I want what’s best for you, and I wish she were here to help me.”

Then my dad began to cry. Again. Not a day went by when he didn’t talk about Mom and let himself be overtaken by tears. And every time that scene repeated, I felt like I was dying along with my mother. It was an endless cycle of pain that settled in our home like an unwelcome guest. My heart broke seeing my dad’s state, the fragility that had once been unknown now so evident. The state we both were in, marked by loss, by sadness.

“Rest.” I kissed my old man’s forehead, trying to transfer a bit of my love and understanding to him, as if that could alleviate the pain.

I took the Bourbon bottles and left the room, the feeling of helplessness following me. The house was steeped in a deafening silence, and I knew I needed to find a way to break this cycle, to bring back the light we had lost.

But at that moment, all I could do was hope that my dad would find the strength to get up, to fight again. And as I left, a question echoed in my mind: what if he couldn’t?

As I closed the door behind me, I shut my eyes and desperately thought about locking myself in my room, isolating myself from a world that seemed to spin without me, and drinking, drinking until my blood turned to alcohol, until I was consumed by a fog of intoxication that would allow me to see the illusion of my mother again. I wanted to daydream about our dinners and movies every night, the laughter and conversations that filled that empty space in my heart. But reality, cruel and relentless, hit my consciousness like a punch to the gut.

She’s gone.

The heavy truth I tried to ignore now echoed in my mind like a painful mantra.

My mother is gone.

Lily Castiello is gone.

She died.

The words danced around me, each cutting deeper than the last. As much as I wanted to accept this new reality, the weight of her absence still hurt like an open wound, and the pain seemed to intensify with each moment I spent without her. It was a void I didn’t know how to fill, a shadow that dragged behind me, constantly reminding me of what I had lost.

As I descended the stairs, each step resonated in the silence of the house, and I felt like a ghost wandering through a place that had once been full of life and joy. I went to the kitchen and took care to throw away everything containing alcohol that I found. The empty bottles were like silent witnesses to my dad’s struggle against grief, and I knew that was just an escape he found to fill the void left by her departure. But I didn’t want it to be that way. I didn’t want to see my dad sink into a bottle, losing himself even more in the darkness of his pain. He had to find another meaning in life, and so did I.

As I poured the remnants of the past into the trash, a sense of determination began to grow inside me. It was time to stop letting myself be carried away by pain and sadness. I needed to find a way to honor my mother’s memory, to continue living for her, even if it meant facing the hardest days of my life. The struggle wouldn’t be easy, but I was determined to try. Not just for me, but for her, for all that she represented.

Then, the landline in the living room rang, its sharp sound cutting through the heavy silence that filled the space. The noise made me abandon all that alcohol in the trash, a decision that felt so easy and necessary in light of the possibility of something new. I went to the living room, anticipation growing with each step, and lifted the phone to my ear, my heart racing.

“Hello?” I answered, trying to hide the unease in my voice.

“Apollo Castiello?” The formal male voice spoke my name with a certainty that made me shudder.

“Yes.”

“Hello, Apollo. We are from NewScene and all the blah-blah-blah you already know. We’re just calling to let you know that you have been accepted for the role of the character in our new film.”

No… No… No, it couldn’t be. The words hung in the air, as if reality were playing a trick on me.

“Are you sure?” I heard myself ask, and disbelief made me sit on the sofa, as if my legs could give out at any moment.

“Talent is your second name, Apollo.” The director’s voice sounded animated, and I could almost visualize his smile.

Man… How long had it been since I acted? How long had it been since I felt such anticipation? The world of cinema seemed to have forgotten about me, and now, suddenly, it was calling me back.

“Uh, thank you.” I said, a brief smile spreading across my lips, the bitter taste of the past dissipating for a moment.

“You will be acting alongside Mia Lauren Hudson; we’ve already contacted her a few…”

“No, no, wait…” I stood up, too confused to process. “Mia Lauren Hudson? But isn’t she married to a rival director?”

She was. Mia Lauren Hudson had been married to Bradley Hudson for about two years. The same Bradley who always made me feel inferior and irrelevant in his shadows. She was married to the biggest traitor bastard. And it was strange that someone like Mia Lauren would be in a relationship with someone like him. She had always been so talented, so full of life; how could she get involved with someone who didn’t recognize her worth?

“NewScene never lets talent slip away, Castiello.” The director’s voice was upbeat, oblivious to the storm of thoughts forming in my mind. “We’ll have a meeting today at 5 PM.”

“But why…” I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “Never mind. 5 PM, I’ll be at your office.” I hung up, adrenaline pulsing through my veins, a mix of excitement and apprehension.

I ran my fingers through my hair, making it tousle, and a short smile spread across my lips again. The first thought that came to mind was telling my mom. Yeah, I still wasn’t quite used to this new reality, but the happiness of returning to the screen was almost palpable, a flame that was beginning to reignite.

However, I knew that acting alongside Mia Lauren Hudson would still bring me headaches. But for now, I would try to enjoy the excitement that came with the idea of acting again, of living a new story. After all, the past was a shadow, but the future looked promising. And even if fate placed me alongside Mia, I was determined to make this chance count. What could go wrong, right?