The Unseen Wounds

CALEB

This whole thing, it always starts like this, doesn't it? Julian. My Father.  He thinks he can just tell me where to be, what to do. No, not this time.

“So, you actually came,” I said, not looking up, charcoal scratching paper. She was standing by the door of my loft, just inside. Like she was still deciding if she wanted to be here. Good. Let her decide. This wasn’t some sterile office lobby. This was my space.

“Where else would I be, Caleb?” Ava said. Her voice was too calm. Always so damn calm. “Julian made it clear this project is… non-negotiable.”

I snorted. “Julian makes everything clear, doesn’t he? Especially when it benefits him. He wants me in his little corporate cage, acting like a good little Sterling. Not happening.” I finally looked at her. She had a folder clutched in her hand, like it was a shield. Or a weapon.

“He wants results, Caleb, same as always,” she said, stepping further in, setting the folder on a stack of books. My books. “And you’re good. He knows that.”

“Good? No. Useful. He wants me useful, under his thumb,” I tossed the charcoal onto the table. It rolled, nearly falling. I caught it. “And you’re part of the package, huh? His little minder.”

“I’m the lead junior architect on Project Chimera. You’re working with me,” she corrected, a little edge to her voice now. Better. “Or did you forget that part?”

“Oh, I remember. Julian’s grand plan. Keep his two wild cards close, right?” I paced a step, then turned back to the drawing board. “He pulls all the strings. Always has. Thinks he can just move us around like chess pieces on his perfect little board.”

“Is that why you refused to meet at the office? To… make a point?” she asked. She was looking around, taking it all in. The chaos. The canvases. The smell of paint and turpentine. My life.

“Among other reasons,” I said, picking up a fresh piece of paper. Blank. A challenge. “I don’t let him into my space. This is mine. He gets the glass towers. I get this.” My hand moved, sketching lines, not really thinking about what I was drawing. Just moving.

“He’s your father, Caleb.” Her voice was softer now.

I stopped. The charcoal dug into the paper. “That doesn’t mean he owns me. Or my work.” I looked at the blank page, then at her. “So, Project Chimera. Let’s see what you’ve got. Julian probably gave you a thousand blueprints already.”

“Concepts,” she said, opening her folder. “He wants fresh ideas for the waterfront. Something bold, iconic. He mentioned your previous work, the way you transform… ruins.”

“Ruins,” I repeated, a bitter taste. “Yeah, I know a little something about ruins.” I pulled a chair across the floor with a scrape. “Sit down. Let’s see it.”

She sat, pushing a stack of old magazines off the chair first. She laid out some sketches, clean lines, elegant curves. Good. Really good. My fingers itched.

“So, a park, residential, some commercial… a mix,” I mumbled, tracing a line on her sketch with my finger. “But there’s a gap here. How do you connect the disparate elements? The old fishing docks, the new high-rises?”

“I was thinking of a pedestrian bridge, almost like a living ribbon, weaving through the space,” she explained, pointing. “It would connect the historical and the modern, a pathway that invites exploration, not just transit.”

“A living ribbon,” I echoed. I picked up my charcoal again, drawing quickly on my own paper. Not her design. Something else. Something I was just seeing. “Julian would hate that. Too organic. Too… unpredictable.”

“He might. But it’s what the city needs. A sense of flow, not just separate blocks,” she insisted. “Why do you always assume he’ll hate anything that isn’t rigidly structured?”

I stopped drawing, looking at my hand. It was shaking, just a little. “Because that’s how he works. That’s how he lives. Controlled. Perfect. He thinks he can control everything. Even people.” My voice was low. “He tries to control me, my art. Always has.”

“Caleb,” she started, but I cut her off.

“He did it to my mother. You know she was an architect, right?” I almost laughed. It wasn’t funny. “Elena Sterling. Brilliant. More brilliant than Julian, honestly. She had ideas, real vision. She wanted to build beauty, not just monuments to Sterling power.”

Ava looked at me, really looked at me. Her eyes were wide. “I… I didn’t know.”

“No one does. He buried her legacy, just like he tried to bury her spirit,” I said, the words tumbling out, harsh and raw. “She loved this city. Loved the art of it. But he… he suffocated her. With the family name. The expectations. The Sterling way.” I slammed the charcoal down again. It snapped in two. “She died. Young. Deeply unhappy. Because of him. Because of the bloody Sterling life.”

The silence in the loft was heavy, thick with the smell of paint. Ava just sat there, quiet. My chest felt tight.

“He tries to suffocate me with work, too. With his rules, his projects, his legacy,” I said, my voice cracking. “He wants to turn me into him. A corporate drone, polishing his damn empire.” I picked up a new piece of charcoal, gripping it tight. “I won’t let him touch my art. He’ll never touch my art. Not like that.”

My hand moved, fast, furious. I didn’t know what I was drawing at first. Just lines, shapes, anger. Then it started to take form. Her. Ava. Not a blueprint. Not a sketch for a building. Her.

Her eyes, sharp, seeing. Her mouth, a quiet strength. The way she held herself, poised but ready to move. There was a vulnerability there, too, in the curve of her neck, the slight tension in her shoulders. But also ambition. So much ambition, burning bright.

I drew her against a backdrop of swirling, chaotic lines, broken angles, but also emerging forms, hopeful and wild. Something new. She was the anchor, the heart of it. She was my defiance. This wasn’t just a sketch. It was me, pushing back.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the drawing.

“I’m drawing my future,” I said, not looking up, my hand working faster, possessive now, protective. “I’m drawing what Julian can’t have. What he can’t control.” I glanced at her, her face questioning, a vulnerability in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. The ambition was still there, but underneath… something else. Something hidden.

I touched the drawing, my fingers lingering on the charcoal lines that formed her face. My energy was raw, buzzing, a live wire. “I see you, Ava. Everything you hide behind the ambition. Don’t let them turn you into another blueprint.”