Page 74 of Withered

Jake told me to drive and he’d follow me, so I’m constantly looking behind me. Mom texted me earlier that she and Dad were going somewhere, and I couldn’t be happier.

I stop the car near my favorite park and get out; my heart is racing at a rapid speed. Jake parks his car behind mine and exits as well. I want to ask him everything; rather, I want him to tell me everything, but it could backfire.

“Why did you stop here?” Jake asks as he nears me.

“I just want to take a walk,” I say.

He nods but doesn’t say anything. No snide remark, no comment.

When he doesn’t respond, I ask, “Want to join?”

“Sure,” he says.

Although the crease on his forehead is still visible, he looks like he is thinking a lot, yet he appears calmer than before. Jake follows me as I walk toward the park. He doesn't say anything, which is troubling.

I open the gate and immediately spot the rusty bench. It is dark, but the nearby lamppost illuminates it in a dim glow. I walk on the pavement, which is on the other side. The park looks the same, except that it is mostly covered in leaves.

Flopping down on the bench, I signal Jake to take a seat.

“You came to sit here. Couldn’t we just go home?” He mocks me, an eyebrow raised.

I fold my hands and offer him a stiff smile instead of saying anything.

He sighs and takes a seat beside me, and I mock him, saying, “You could have gone home. You know the way out.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you here in this creepy playground.”

“It’s not that creepy.” I take a glance around and picture a horror movie set. “Maybe a little,” I say, and he chuckles.

We sit in silence. I take a close look at the park and notice some of the playing tools are destroyed, the grass has grown a little too tall, the chilly wind is taking the leaves with it, and the sound of Jake’s breathing.

Jake interrupts my thoughts. “I am sorry.”

“You said that earlier,” I say in a low tone.

“I am saying it again,” he says it instantly.

“It’s all right, Jake. Everyone has their moments when they make rash decisions. I had some as well.” I look at him. “I just think it was reckless of you to stroll out of your house and then go all the way out of town into the woods,” I say, using my words carefully.

“And then you come here to find me… Was that…prudent?” He states.

“And we are fighting again.” I sigh and turn away. Why do we always end up fighting? Why is it difficult for us to have a genuine conversation?

“I am not,” he clarifies.

“Yes, you are,” I say a little harshly, and he shuts up.

“What made you go to the woods?” I ask him.

He said he always goes there to think, so this has to be something. It must have hit a nerve, which is why everyone is worried. He stays silent for a few more seconds, his jaw clenching.

I give up. “Leave it. I don’t want to hear.”

“It was my father,” he says it suddenly. I didn’t expect him to tell me.

“Your dad?” I mumble, unsure where this is going.

“Yeah. He wants to see me,” He says it in a tight voice laced with what I feel is anger.

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