Gaslighter

40

CHAPTER FORTY

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2022

          My father decided to be the bearer of good news for once just as March came to a close.

          It had seemed like one of the longest months of my life, dragging on so sluggish it felt like a cruel joke considering how fast the rest of my senior year of college had flown by when I'd been struggling to keep up with my workload and doubting I'd meet all those deadlines. With my screenplay written but not officially submitted—the longer I could avoid talking to Chase about it, the better, or so I thought—all I had left ahead of me were my finals and a few scattered final papers. That I could handle.

          After continuous months filled with nothing but news that wrecked me to my very core, unleashing a kind of emotional exhaustion and distress I couldn't even begin how to explain to someone without fearing judgment ("aren't you supposed to know how to handle the pressure after having grown up in the limelight?" and all those not so kind remarks), I was welcoming any sort of positive influence, no matter how small. With finals right around the corner, if I didn't find an outlet for all the stress I was under, I would never be able to focus on studying, and being held back a year thanks to my unbelievable penchant for self-sabotage would be humiliating.

          I'd grown used to everything in my life being so negative that I couldn't even fault my stomach from sinking the second I noticed he was calling. I picked up the call with shaky hands, praying the floor wouldn't collapse beneath my feet with the weight of whatever it was he wanted to tell me, and, even though the temperatures had increased slightly, violent shivers spread across my spine.

          "Hello?" I answered, heart racing like a speed car in anticipation. To ensure I wouldn't fall in the middle of a crowded hallway, I made the wise conscious decision to lean my shoulder blades against a wall for some support.

          "Cariño, I have good news and great news. Which of them would you like to hear about first? Make sure you're sitting down."

          "I am," I lied, like the liar I was. I couldn't even pretend to be shocked at how easily lies slipped out of my mouth, since that had turned into my new normal, as shameful as it was. For good measure, I looked around for a place to sit, but my only options were the benches scattered outside on the quad, and it was a windy day. After all the hard work I'd put into styling my bangs that morning, I was vain enough to choose to remain indoors in spite of his advice.

          That said plenty about my character, I realized.

          Even when it came to small things such as the visual appeal of my hair, which no one else cared about but me, I willingly ignored advice given to me by the people who genuinely worried about my well-being. I did it because I could, because I was so desperate to prove I had my whole life together (spoiler alert: I didn't), and because the only person I'd listened to and went to for advice for nearly four years had hurt me so deeply, right down to the bone.

          That was me going on a tangent. Somewhat.

          Even after everything, my thoughts were constantly flooded by memories of Chase and wishes of what could have been, of ways it could have worked out for the better, of ways I could have avoided all the suffering. There were times I'd try to protect myself and my ego by convincing myself he, too, was hurting, but that wasn't a fixed, immutable condition anymore. Instead, the rumbling thunder in my head wanted me to never forget he didn't care—if he'd ever had.