Dear Kyle,
is it bad that I never felt remorse for what I did at work?
The day seems like it was yesterday.
It was just another day of work. Picking up the phone, and talking to angry customers.
I always hated my job. But it paid well and it was the only job I could get that wasn't flipping patties. I worked at my dad's suit business as customer service.
I remember the call exactly. It was an elderly lady complaining that her husbands suit hadn't been tailored properly. I never knew what it was but I snapped.
I told the lady to fuck herself and slammed the phone down, going outside for a quick breath. And then dad came, a scowl that said "you've fucked up."
He yelled at me for a solid five minutes, and then demanded me to call the woman back. That's when I got so angry. So angry that I punched him, and then again, and again. For those couple seconds I wasn't in control. It was like someone was doing all these actions for me.
My body was on autopilot.
His crisp suit was wrinkled and stained with his blood as he stood up finally. He looked down to my knuckles that were bruised and bloodied and looked at me with such sadness in his swollen eyes that it almost hurt me. That was the closest I've ever been to regret. Well besides you. But that's different.
Dad didn't press charges, but he did file my outburst over the phone it with the company, which sent me to you.
You see, I was supposed to learn how to manage my anger. Since I was little, I had always been angry. So angry.
But that wasn't the worst part. I didn't, and still don't feel remorse for my actions.
You always said that it must have just been a bad day and that it didn't represent me. It just showed that on that day, I snapped.
I had always tried to shield you from that part of me.
The angry part of me. And it worked for a while. And then it finally stopped lurking beneath the surface and showed itself.
And now you're gone, and I'm still here with a hole in my soul that seems only you can fill.
