“What’s going on?” Dad asked with a deep, serious tone. He stared at me, probably seeing my reddened face filled with hate. But it wasn’t hatred for Ash. I knew that much to be true. I didn’t hate him. If anything, I liked him more than I’d liked anything in a very long time. It wasn’t him I hated. It was... me. I hated myself.
Ash didn’t call me a name back.
He didn’t try to match my energy.
He just stayed quiet.
And sad.
I did that to him... I made him sad.
That hurt me the most, so why couldn’t I just force myself to apologize? Why couldn’t I say I overreacted? Why was I so messed up? My heart felt as if it were pounding wildly against my throat somehow. Why did it feel like I’d choke if I said one more word?
Say something, Karla. Say sorry. Say you didn’t mean any of the things you yelled at Ash. Just apologize.
Do it.
Now.
Say sorry!
“I want him to leave, Dad! Please. Get him away from me!”I cried. I approached Dad and tugged on his suit sleeve. “Please, Dad?Please?Please get him out of here.”
Dad’s eyes glassed over as he stared at me. He then looked at Ash with a stare filled with regret. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Listen, Ash...”
“It’s OK, Mr.East,” Ash stated. “I get it. I’ll go.”
He then turned and walked away.
I held my breath for what felt like fifty hours, just to make sure he was gone.
The moment I heard the front door close, I let out a heavy sob. I couldn’t believe some of the things I’d said to him. I couldn’t believe the disgusting words that flew out of my mouth. He was my friend. The only friend who wasn’t afraid to see me, not only in the shadows, but in the light, too.
Dad didn’t know what just happened.
He didn’t know why I was in a full-blown panic attack. He didn’t know what had taken place between Ash and I moments before he arrived. If he had known, he might’ve sided with Ash and checked to make sure he was OK. If he had known what truly was said, he would’ve asked Ash to stay. He would’ve comforted Ash for his emotions and told him that the words I used toward him weren’t true.
But he didn’t know.
All he knew was that his daughter—his mean-hearted, troubled daughter—was in the middle of an active panic attack.
So all he did was wrap his arms around me. He pressed me close to his body as if he had no plans of letting me go. I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want him to let me go. It was the closest thing I’d had to my father in over a year. I didn’t know how much feeling his embrace around me would make me break that much harder.
“Let me go!” I screamed. “Let me go!” I cried. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I didn’t know who I was sorry to—maybe Ash, maybe Dad. Maybe my mom. “Please, Dad. Please. Just let me go.”
“Never,” Dad swore. “I willneverlet you go, Karla.”
He couldn’t let me go.
He wouldn’t.
If anything, he held me tighter.
I cried more.
He cried, too, but still, he didn’t let me go.
19Ash
