Page 124 of Encounter

“I have to go. Was nice seeing you,” I mumbled, making sure to only look at Uncle Henry as I said it, and dashed away before anyone could throw more abuse in my face.

“Oh dear,” Jean whispered behind me.

The waitress brought the meals to our table, barely dodging me.

Grandpa’s stern voice was unmistakable, no matter how far I got. “One would think that without a wife to deal with, you could at least control your child.”

It was their goddamn war to fight now, not mine.I used to think I had to suffer too, because he was my Dad, and they were my family.I would sit through it all, soaking in all the negative energy, internalizing things they said, and then we would get home, where instead of the closeness and comfort I needed, Dad would pull away from me even more—as if what happened was somehow my fault.

I’m done.

I walked several blocks before my lungs finally made me stop. It got most of my anger out, but not all. Getting a taxi, I went straight home, knowing Dad wasn’t going to come any time soon. He was going to sit there and suffer, like a damn masochist.

Barging into my room, I grabbed a travel bag from under my bed and started throwing clothes into it.

Why did I even continue living here? Because of money? I would rather live on a bench than stay here for any longer. I should’ve moved out the first chance I got. Instead, I stayed, worrying about the outside world, about changes, people, and my inability to adapt to something that wasn’t this... while this was exactly what caused me to be that way—always worried, anxious, overthinking, doubting.

As I went through the bathroom products to take, I noticed my little box under the sink. If I stayed at that lunch, and took it all, I would’ve ended up in this exact position, like so many times before. Exhausted and at the end of my rope, reaching for the razor.

I can’t be that person anymore.

Grabbing it, I threw it into the trash can and continued packing my bag.

Finally succumbingto the burning in my lungs, I stumbled over the last step and plopped myself next to Chast sitting on one of the stadium’s many—many—stairs. His crooked smile felt more like a kick in the stomach as I groaned and settled next to him. He was done with his exercise, and barely broke a sweat.

We hadn't been to the stadium in quite some time, but I almost wished we had gone to the gym instead like always. I guess I haven’t put too much into it last time, because damn, I’m tired.

“You look calmer,” he noted playfully, handing me a bottle of water. “Told ya.”

Still trying to catch my breath, I accepted it and started chugging. Endorphins rushed through my body, nearly making me forget how damn furious I was when we started. Even the fresh air was successful in clearing my head.

As I laid my back over one of the steps behind me and closed my eyes, I felt Chast’s stare on me. “Still don’t wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Letting out a deep exhale, I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. Sweat dripped down my face, my legs trembled like they were made from paper, but the echo of my own heartbeat in my head began to quieten. Finally, I was able to focus on things around me, like the middle school kids playing football on the stadium field below us and the smell of Chast’s black coffee in a cup next to him.

Ever since I barged into his apartment last night, I was too upset to even explain what happened. He was more than understanding, giving me the space and not pushing for more details. I barely talked—we watched TV, made out, and went to sleep. Today, all I could do was tremble with the pressure that built inside me after the fight, and every time Dad ringed me, it would only get worse.

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