Page 26 of Encounter

With my head ringing and heart pounding in my ears, I tried to hold it together. Their laughs echoed around me.

“Fucking whatever! You’re supposed to be smart, aren’t you?” He mocked me with a racist Chinese accent his friends found hilarious. “You better remember next time I ask you to do somethin’, or you’re gonna be de-dead.” Towering over me, he tightly grabbed a fistful of the hair on the top of my head and jerked. I nodded quickly, putting my hands up, and thankfully, he let go. “Better be careful, Gale. Don’t want to get kicked out of here, do you?”

I waited until they left. With my hands trembling so much I barely had control over them, I checked if my glasses were still intact—they were, thank god. My nose didn’t bleed, either.

Sighing, I willed myself to get up. If anyone saw me, there would be too many questions. I didn’t want to answer any of them. I didn’t want any attention at all.

Blake might have been just a handsome, rich sociopath in the making, but he never failed on delivering on his threats. I couldn’t afford to get kicked out of this school—the one his uncle sat on the board of—and I knew Dad would hardly be on my side if I said anything. As always, I was alone against the world.

First thing I did after getting back home was to get a bag of ice from the freezer and put it on my face. With a desperate whine, I pressed it against my cheekbone and went upstairs to sit down on the sofa in my room. It hurt like hell. Even my ribs ached. I just hoped they weren’t cracked.

I was finally home but the pressurized buzzing in my ears wouldn’t stop—and that had nothing to do with my injuries.

I tried to breathe through it. Through all the stress mounting on me once again after missing school while I tried to catch up with everyone and attempted to push past theincidentas Dad called it. I tried my hardest to avoid being a punching bag, but I still couldn’t stop it.

When I opened my eyes after resting them for a moment, I felt myself being drawn toward the bathroom. I knew how to relieve the pressure. I knew how to feel better, but—

I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t...

Shaking my head—and regretting the sharp pain it caused—I bit my lip, resisting the urge to go and open that cabinet. I was doing well. I knew that if I broke down and dealt with what happened only by cutting, I was not going to be able to stop. It would get out of hand, like so many times before, and that wasn’t where I wanted to be.

So instead, I dug my nails into my palms as I closed it and went to my table, hoping to distract myself with some online variety show or other mindless crap.

By the time I came back from the healing, calming journey of binging half a season of my favorite singing competition, it was pitch-black outside, and Dad was home.Early today?I sneaked downstairs to put the melted ice back in the freezer and to get some food, and saw him in the office, signing some papers like he always did.

Making sure he wouldn’t notice me, I crept back up. I still had homework to do, and I was probably going to make my sleeping pattern even worse again by staying up late. At half past one in the morning, once I was finally done, I at least rewarded myself with a long, hot bath.

Unfortunately, all it did was to make me overthink.

With the house completely dark and quiet, and Dad fast asleep, I found my way into his office again. He was a heavy sleeper, but I still moved like on a minefield.

Then again, when am Inotgoing around the world like that?

Reaching for the small key hidden inside the hollowed-out Dombey and Son book by Charles Dickens at the very top shelf of his massive library, I was barely breathing as I shifted around. Unlocking the drawer, I slowly opened it and saw the contact book right away, next to some checkbooks, documents, USB flashes, and antique letter openers.

This is it, Galen. This time, you won’t walk away.

Unwilling to let myself chicken out again and simply trying to not think about anything I was doing and just do it, I plopped it on the table and started leafing through the pages until I came to the letter L.Lahad. His name was Lahad, right?

My hand started trembling more and more as I ran my eyes over the dozens of names. The doubts started to creep in. Iknewthat if I wrote that number down, I had to use it. My brain tried to remind me who it was I was wanting to call—a man who killed several people in front of me, and then acted like nothing happened, like everything remained unchanged. Was that really what I wanted?

I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me but kept going until finally, my heart skipped a beat as my gaze landed on those five letters.

It was him. It was his number.

Anxiously glancing toward the door as if Dad was going to be standing there, I took my new phone out and quickly saved the contact. Putting everything exactly where and how I found it, I locked the drawer, hid the key and tippy-toed out of the room. After sneaking into my room like a ghost, I jumped into bed and laid under the blanket like a kid hiding from a monster.

My heart raced so much it made my bruised ribs ache, and my skin buzzed with adrenaline.

What am I even trying to do...?

Staring at the blinding phone screen, I found myself frustratingly excited and hesitant. I had the number now, but... I actually had to call it. What was I planning to say? Under what pretense was I going to contact him?

The corners of the green call button were dancing as my vision blurred from looking at it too much. My finger hovered over it. Maybe a text would be better?

You idiot, he’s a contract killer.

I can hardly imagine he would reply to random, unsolicited messages.

---