Page 111 of Encounter

Sighing to myself, I stretched my neck and waited for him to walk out of the dimly lit office to lecture me. I wasn’t in a mood to fight, so I had to take it, brush it off, and forget it. He wasn’t going to ruin this day for me.

“Out for a run again?” he asked, hovering by the glass door.

Sharing a distant, emotionless look with him like we were some barely on the first name basis co-workers, I nodded. “Yep. You’re up late.”

Come on then. Go on. Say it.

Glancing up and down at me, he pressed his lips into a straight line. “That’s what happens when you work hard. As much as exercise’s good for you, you should also focus on school first and foremost. It is more important than running around or fighting.”

Suppressing the spark of anger inside me, I crinkled my nose.I fought once. For once in my damn life, I fought back, and now you see me as some felon.

“I'm just trying to get some confidence. It does me good,” I said, surprising myself with how firm my tone was. “You always said I need to stop being shaky, unsure. That I’m never self-assured enough.”

I didn’t know if it was the endorphins or plain happiness, but somehow my eyes were finally truly opening to everything that was wrong with our damn relationship. Dad never wanted me to be confident—he only wanted me to be more able to follow his orders, to follow his path. He never cared for my happiness, only his image and how I affected it.

Surprisingly, he stayed quiet, but his cold eyes were enough to burn me.

As the strong sense of spite appeared inside my chest, I frowned and looked away, darting my eyes toward the open music room. When I landed on the piano, the urge grew stronger. So much so I had to close my fist.

He was about to go back—no goodnight, no goodbye, nothing—but I spoke again, breaking the dead silence in our empty house.

“There’s an instrument contest at Brickman’s Center on Friday. I... I signed in.”Fuck, how did that come out of my mouth so fast?

“That so?” Dad paused, arching his brow.

God, I felt so angry, so spiteful. Motivated, almost. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat, and straightening my back proudly.I can be great at things. I can win this, no matter how lowly you think of me.I had to show Dad I wasn’t a scared little boy anymore. “Will you come and see me?”

It was almost like he knew as our eyes met—like he knew what I said and how I said it was some declaration of war. Spiteful attempt to fight back against him, to prove him wrong.

“I can’t promise anything. My schedule changes constantly... I’ll put it in my calendar.”

When I blinked, he had already disappeared back into his den. How very like him—giving me just enough hope, but still protecting himself in the very likely possibility that he would never turn up. He used to, when I was little. He used to, even if it was to be disappointed with me...

Finally free to let out my emotion when I was left alone, I exhaled shakily and licked my lips, wheels in my head slowly turning.Wait. Did I just— Fuck!

Now I have to do it. I have to go to that damn contest and win!

What the hell have you done, Galen?

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