Dial

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by czmmmm

by czmmmm

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[Mitch]

I didn't really mean to pull out my phone. I shouldn't dial the next digit. I stopped talking to Scott for a reason. A whole list of reasons.

It's harder every time not to call. I can't call. He left seven months ago. He stopped calling four months ago. I've held out this long. I can hold out longer. I don't have to call. But I want to.

Maybe I should recite the list. Maybe it will work better if I say it out loud. "He's moved on to better things." It's true. He's going to go so far if I let him. I shouldn't hold him back.

"I'm a bad influence." Scott was devious even before we met, but I'm the one who made him feel comfortable breaking the law even before middle school.

"I'm in over my head and I don't want to drag him down with me." He deserves more. "I can't put him in danger."

"I'm going to die. I have to stay away. I have to soften the blow." Somehow, this always feels like the most persuasive reason. There were probably better ways to leave Scott, but what are they? I can't lie to him. I can't even sugarcoat it. He knows every trick. I just have to keep silent.

And when I'm rotting away at the bottom of the ocean, he can say, "It's not like we talked anymore anyway." I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Deep breath. One. Two... black smoke—no, three. Four. Burning plastic. The smell. I blink and I still see the fireball erupting from what used to be the gas tank. Next time, I'll be in the car when it blows up. Or maybe they'll shoot me. Maybe they'll abduct me for ransom and snap my neck afterward. I'm going to die. I have to talk to Scott.

I can't talk to Scott. "It was always going to end." I've known that since the beginning. I just didn't count on getting so attached.

"There's nothing he can do to help." That isn't true, not really. Just a few words of encouragement would make all the difference. I really need that right now.

"It's not just my secret. I can't risk my freedom, my life, and my parents' lives just because I need someone to talk to."

I don't have to actually tell Scott what's going on. I'll just find something else to talk about. I hit call.

I couldn't help it. Every time I've looked at my phone these past five months, I've come closer and closer to going through with it. I'm too tired now, too worn out to resist. Everything is going wrong. Everything I was afraid of is materializing, and it's too much. What happened to my resolve? It was so steadfast, and now it's crumbled into dust, useless. All my reasons sound hollow. It will be so much better when I talk to Scott.

I don't know what to do. Less and less money appears in my bank account each month, and the reports Jonah sends are growing longer and longer with excuses. Last month it was high operational expenses. The month before, long-term investments. This month, "periodic seasonal profit fluctuations." I might have bought that if profits were down ten or fifteen percent, but eighty? Something is wrong, and Jonah is trying to cover it up. He isn't even trying very hard. I don't know how to confront him, and he knows it. Is he letting the business tank? Is he letting someone skim off the top? Is he stealing money for himself? Is he paying somebody off?

Calling him out did nothing. It took all my courage to tell him last month that I expect profits to rise, and all he said was, "Of course, of course. I'm sure it'll pick up again, don't worry. Always does. I want it to succeed just as much as you do, you know." He was lying through his teeth, and this month's report proves it. The numbers are even lower than last month.

Talking to Jonah, though, as much as I had been dreading it, wasn't my final recourse. Sometimes a problem has an obvious solution, something you've known all along but you've avoided because anything else would be better. But now I have tried everything else. I tried ignoring the dropping profits, but that only made Jonah more brazen. I tried throwing money at the problem. The informants I hired gave me a good idea of what working on the docks was like, but none of them got any useful information about where my money is going. Last week, two of them stopped posting updates. That can only mean one thing. This morning, I sent the rest orders to report on the others to Jonah. They had loose lips, at least where money was involved, and I can't afford for them to spread information to anyone else. Jonah will take care of them. He probably already has.

A normal business owner could just fire people like Jonah, but I can't escalate this. Escalation won't lead to hurt feelings or angry ex-employees. It would only lead to violence, and there's no one on my side to back me up. It isn't an option. The final option, the course I avoided for so long, was too ask for help. I went to my parents. Jonah actually respects them. But they won't help. They refuse to intervene. "Figure it out Mitch. You simply have to be able to keep things running. We won't always be here." I can't say I expected anything else. They got me a car when I turned sixteen, and my own house when I turned eighteen. Independence, independence, independence. I get it. But I can't do this alone.

This is it. There's nothing left to try. If this continues, Jonah will stop sending money altogether. Word will get out. Soon, it will be common knowledge that Mitchell Grassi is a coward. I'll be a disgrace to my parents and to the whole line of Grassis. I'll be an easy target. Lots of money, lots of power that I don't know how to use... I'm just waiting for someone to try to take advantage. Jonah already has, and whoever tried to blow me up, and soon more will come. They'll decide that killing me is best way to get ahead. It's primitive, but survival of the fittest is the only model that still works when no one follows the rules.

Someone picks up and I jump out of my seat. "Scott!" My heartbeat is too fast. I've been dying for this moment.

"Mitch. Are you safe?"

"What? Yeah, I just-"

The line goes dead.

Check out more of my stories on ptxxtp, where I've been posting a lot lately. <3