Julian hasn’t spoken to his father in three years.
His father hasn’t tried to write or call or text him, which is completely fine. Quite convenient, in his opinion. He doesn’t want his father’s contact any more than his father wants his. He doesn’t want him to get close enough to touch ever again.
He knew his father would never try and contact him, so he never changed his number. He kept it, in case his sister wanted to reach him.
She didn’t.
He doesn’t blame her.
When he gave up on the chance that she would call, though, some part of him felt like she had ripped out his heart from his chest. After the times he had protected her, she could have at least murmured a thank you before indignantly screaming at him.
Glancing at his phone, he sees an unknown number calling. Just for a second, he is filled with a sensation of hope that it’s his sister. Her disregard is a wound still fresh in his mind.
But when he picks up his phone, he hears the whisper of a voice he vowed he would never listen to again.
“Jules.” The voice strikes him like lightning, painful memories burning through his mind. He thinks he must be dreaming. He widens his eyes until his head hurts. He pinches himself, wincing at the sting. He closes his eyes, but when his eyelashes flutter back open, the view is the same.
At the realization that the voice is real, his phone slips out of his hand. He catches it just in time.
He wants to remain composed, to not show his father that he has any influence over him. He rubs his hands against his temple and sighs. He brings the phone to his ear, shaking.
“What do you want?” he asks, hiding his anxiety with exasperation.
“Jules-”
“No,” he says, angered by his father throwing his childhood nickname at him like he’s close enough to call him that. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just- just pretend like nothing happened. You don’t get to call me up and pretend that we’re best friends, and we have some- some sort of bond.” He says the last word with disgust in his tone.
“Julian. I wouldn’t reach out if I didn’t need to.”
There is definitely a desperation in his voice.
“Fine,” he snaps. “Talk.”
“Your sister’s missing.”
“What?”
“Your-”
“No, I heard you.” He paces, tapping his fingertips against each other. “You better not have caused this.”
“Julian, I’m worried.”
“Oh, you’re worried,” he says, his tone dripping with fake pity. “That’s funny. Just like you were so worried about me, right?”
The other line goes silent.
After a few seconds, his father speaks.
“She’s been gone for a week. I don’t know what to do.”
Julian can hear the strain behind his words, which feels odd. He has never seen him care like this before.
He sighs. “April probably…” he pauses. The name feels unfamiliar on his tongue.
It feels like the dam that stops the easily flowing river of his words.
It’s been a long time. Too long.
He continues. He won’t let his father see his pain.
“April probably had enough of you. She had no choice,” he says sharply.
He hesitates. “You gave her no choice.”
He can hear the tears gleaming in his father’s eyes. “Let me know if you hear anything, okay?”
“Yeah,” he says softly, because he knows no matter how much contempt he has in his heart for his father, his compassion overpowers it. Sometimes, he hates that he can’t hate.
“Goodbye, Julian.” His father hangs up.
“Bye,” whispers Julian. He presses his back against the wall and slides down until he reaches the floor, hands tangled in his hair.
Oh, April, he thinks. What happened?