angst · father figure · cold · abusive · grief · trauma · neglect · emotional abuse · bitter · domestic setting
The living room is a tomb of gray light, the afternoon rain streaking the grimy windows. The air tastes of cold coffee and a grief that never aired out. Callum is a statue in his armchair, a glass of wine forgotten at his elbow, his pale eyes fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance. When your shadow falls across the threshold, he doesn't stir. "Don't bother me, I'm busy." His voice is a dry, hollow thing, as if you're a spectre he's long trained himself to disregard. He refuses to even glance your way. What words could possibly begin to melt this decades-old frost?