Getting Chased

Chapter 8

It's Friday, it's Friday, it's Friday.

This has been the single, solitary thought my brain has been able to create all day. When I tried to write a draft on Miriam's topic 1, I ended up writing: Another fall scent that will drive your man wild is Friday. I seem to have a one track mind.

Half of me is dreading this day because I'm not sure what will come out of it. I don't know if I'm going to tell him that I don't want to see him anymore, even though I very clearly do. The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm going to end up hurting him, and he doesn't deserve to get hurt. He deserves to pick up a princess and ride off into the sunset, if that kind of stuff still happens outside of Disney movies.

I sigh out loud, rubbing my hands over my face in agitation. I don't want to think of the look on his face if I told him to leave. To leave forever and please don't come back; not because I don't like you, but because I don't want to see you hurt because of me.

The thought of never seeing him again makes me feel empty inside.

My phone starts ringing loudly, causing me to jump out of my daze. I pick it up and make sure my voice is smooth.

"Hello, this is Ava Demarc from Zapp Magazine, how may I help you?" I put on my business with a smile voice, flowing words through the phone.

"Hey, Ava."

The voice on the other line makes my heart speed up. "Hi, Dad! What are you calling for?" My dad never calls me, aside from holidays.

"I just wanted to make sure you were still coming up to New Jersey for Thanksgiving. There's also a little extra news." He says the last sentence very cautiously, and I worry he's about to tell me he's getting married again.

"Dad, I'm really happy for you and Marie, but you've been together for two months. Maybe just think things through. I know you're an adult, and you can do wha-"

My dad cuts me off as I begin to get too far ahead of myself. "Sweetheart, me and Marie still have a long way to go, we aren't getting married any time soon. It's different news than that." I hum to let him know that I'm following along. "So, you remember Gary?"

My face falls in confusion. "Yeah, the guy who would push me so aggressively on the swing that it flipped over the pole and made me break my leg? Of course I remember him, he's probably the reason for my swing phobia."

My dad scoffs. "What in the world is swing phobia, Ava?"

"It's like I've gathered an intense fear of swings out of fear that I'll land on my knee and fracture my tailbone again, that's all." My dad sighs at my dramatics. I push it even further. "It's like a deeply rooted, swing related PTSD."

I can practically feel him roll his eyes. "You were nine, Ava. Get over it, hun. Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that his daughter just graduated college two years ago, and she's moving up to Massachusetts to become a therapist. Already has her own practice set up and ready. I was hoping maybe you could grab a session?"

His voice is soft, because he knows he's dealing with a tough subject. Therapy isn't going to help me quit drinking, and it's not going to help with whatever emotions branch from there. That's called rehab, and I'd prefer not to go there either.

"Sorry, Dad. I don't think the offspring of a psycho who throws children over ten foot tall bars of swingsets and tries to hold back their laugh when they hear said child's leg bone crunch could help me solve my issues. She should start with her dad first." I reply snarkily.

I will never get over that day.

My dad exhales heavily, letting me know with his breath alone that he's disappointed in my decision. "Okay, Sweetheart. If that's how you feel. I'll see you on Thanksgiving, your cousin is coming to dinner too."