Page 75 of Encounter

I still pushed myself. No matter how unsure I was about what really happened between Chast and I, and how it affected whatever we had, I kept exercising. In the evenings, I tried to go for a run, especially when my mood dipped and my mind wandered.

Chast finally sent me a message after a week or so, saying he had some work stuff to do—things to sort out as he was getting ready to go back to work.

He still made sure I was eating right and taking care of myself.That’s good, right?I tried to tell myself it meant he still cared. Maybe I didn’t push myself on him. Maybe I didn’t make it weird. Maybe, it was really just work, and he really cared only about helping me become aman, nothing else. I tried to accept that.

I had to accept that.

Chast was trying to help me become a better person. I couldn’t fuck it up like everything else. Not this. Not this time.

?

It was already dark outside when I got back from one of my runs. Dad’s car was in the driveway, so I expected a lecture—after the kidnapping, he seemed to pay somewhat more attention to where I was. Still—he had no idea where I went or what I was doing. Like everything, it was only a superficial worry. He didn’treallycare.

I surprised myself when it came to all that. Only a few weeks ago, being outside at night would have made me anxious and worried—but now, every run got longer and longer.

As I walked into the kitchen to get a protein drink, I heard Dad open the study door. When I turned around, gulping the shake and wiping my sweaty, burning face, his strict eyes already burned through me.

“Would you kindly take your phone with you when you do this?” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hey, Dad. Nice to see you for the first time today, too. How wasyourday?

Trying to hold back rolling my eyes, I put the bottle down and still tried to catch my breath. “I’ve got my eWatch,” I said, showing him my wrist. “You can still call me on it. Besides, there shouldn’t be any more people trying to kill me, right?” I added bitterly.

He promised he would be more careful with his futurebusiness decisions, but the fact that sayingthatwas his apology, and he didn’t seem to feel very guilty about it, all made me infuriated every time I remembered.

Studying me, it almost seemed like Dad was suspicious of how good I had been doing for the past week. Through all of his criticism and pushing for me to be better at school, for me to be more like him, more like a normal human being, he was now looking at me as if he didn’t really like it when I started to inch toward that goal.

“Glad this new habit seems to be helping you in managing your stress,” he said in that haughty, passive-aggressive tone he used anytime he addressed any of myfaults.

Maybe it was the endorphins from the run, but I felt dangerously confident in myself. No matter how many times I would dismiss it when he spoke to me like that or accepted it as normal, I got a strong urge to use this newfound power to strike back.

“Yeah,” I said firmly, nodding to myself. Squeezing the bottle in my hand, I knew I had only a few seconds before Dad was going to turn around and disappear into his study again, not to be seen for the rest of the night. “I get to sort my thoughts.”

Narrowing his eyes, he smirked, clearly itching to get away. “Good for you.”

“That reminds me... Do you know where the key for the attic is?” I finally pushed those words out of my mouth, even though it felt unreasonably terrifying.

Like he immediately knew the question inevitably led to that forbidden, cursed topic, Dad’s posture changed. Tensing up his shoulders and frowning, his gaze grew colder.

“Why?”

Youknowwhy.

Even though my mask of self-assurance and confidence was clearly slipping, I still tried to stand tall and hid my trembling hand behind my back. “I thought about it, and... I want to see if there are any of Mom’s things there.”

“There aren’t. You know that.” Him stressing those words sounded like he was spitting venom at the same time.

Pressing my lips together, I took a deep breath and forced myself to not stand down, no matter how much Dad’s cold, almost cruel gaze hurt me. I knew it was easier to just let this go—I learned that. I learned that every time I tried to bring this up, it ended in tears and shouting. I could never win. “I’m nineteen, Dad. You can’t— You can’t keep this away from me anymore,” I said, raising my voice.

Without blinking, he burned his gaze into me, anger growing within it. “There are none of her things there. End of discussion,” he snapped and turned around.

“You’re telling me you threw awayallof her things?” I shouted after him, and to my surprise, he stopped. My heart raced—I couldn’t keep letting him brush me off like a child. I wasn’t. I was stronger than he would like me to believe. “None of her articles, her journals? Not even you could be so damn heartless to—”

“Enough!” His voice echoed through the space, crashing and breaking against the walls.

Why does he have to be like that? Why does he have to be such an insufferable, cruel asshole?!

“Stop concerning yourself with whatever dreamy ideas you have about someone who isn’t even here anymore—someone who left—and instead focus on the present and onyourfuture.”

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