Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 37 (cont...)

Here is the second part of Chapter 37, since the first was so short. There aren't many chapters left! Hope you all are enjoying :) I think my last chapters will be long, and hopefully won't be uploaded with too much time in between. Enjoy!

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The sound of silverware falling against a glass plate startles me, and I look up from my own. My father collects his fork that now lies on the table beside his dish, avoiding eye contact while his cheeks flush and my mother begins to speak.

“Stella, why would you have let him get you alone like that? You know he isn’t logical; he’s capable of anything! One second, that’s all it would take, and he could seriously hurt you – he could’ve taken you, even!”

“Mom, he was never planning to kidnap me. Do you remember anything about Jason Little? Anything that involves planning or strategy can be safely kept on the list of things that he’s incapable of.”

“Stella, this isn’t a joke,” my father pipes, softly, but intently, “You can’t underestimate that boy based on his wit. If he were smart, he wouldn’t have treated you badly in the first place, but he did. His stupidity didn’t make him any less of a danger then, and it’s not going to now.”  

“He’s right, Stella. You just need to be careful. Not only you, and not only with Jason, a bit of caution never hurt,” my mother concludes before reaching for her water glass.

She always tries to soften her advice by reminding me that “everyone” should be more wary, and that “everyone” has that particular fear that burdens them more than the rest – I guess sometimes it made me feel better, like I was a little less alone in what happened to me. Too many times though, it just made me feel selfish because if everyone is afraid, and everyone feels alone, then I guess the time I spend fretting over who could possibly threaten me next could be better spent helping someone else.

My preoccupation with my parents has kept me from noticing Charlie’s reaction to their words. He sits stiffly beside me, his cheeks slightly red like my fathers, and his hands moving nervously in his lap.

“I – I won’t let her go off by herself again. And now I know what he looks like, I’ll make sure he’s never around. I’ll keep –”

“Oh, stop,” my mother comforts, “We don’t you expect you to be her body guard. I appreciate your concern, of course, but Stella would kill me if I let you leave this table feeling like we’d laid a burden of responsibility on you.”

She offers a genuine, yet animated smile at Charlie while I try to think of something sarcastic to say, but fall short because my mind is consumed with the notion that that I should, and do, feel endlessly guilty. So, I just start apologizing – ripping band-aids off one after another, because maybe I can’t save myself by making light of the situation, but I can try to save the people I love by reminding them that it’s really my fault anyway, that I’m to blame, and that I’m sorry.

“She’s right, Charlie. I’m not your responsibility at all; I never want you to feel that way. I’m sorry that you even have to deal with someone like him even indirectly. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell either of you all of the details about Jason’s visits,” I face my parents again, “I know you guys have dealt with so much already, and I just feel bad that you still have to worry about him being around me.”

“Well it is our job to worry,” my mother says, scooting her chair away from the table and standing. She takes her own dishes and makes her way back to the kitchen. “No one rush, I’ll just get a head start on cleaning up.”

“So, Charlie, you’re from Georgia, right? Stella told us you went to Atlanta recently to train.” My father begins to make small talk with Charlie, and I’m so thankful. When my mother returns, she sits down again and joins into the conversation.