A Streak of Bad Luck (2)

I left. I didn't know if Emilie was still crying, but I knew that she must feel sad in the mess I just made.

But Emilie was right about me being a bastard. Penny was right about me being a monster. I couldn't control my temper.

I hailed a taxi to move my luggage into a pavilion on the street. I didn't know where to go. I didn't have money for rent. It wasn't a good idea to live in a hotel. The only friend I borrowed money from was Jason. Yet I lost my temper with him yesterday. Jason had refused to talk to me since then.

I only borrowed money from Jason for these past years. I treated him as a genuine friend. I never minded looking embarrassed in front of him. He was my only friend.

I felt like being abandoned by the whole world all of a sudden.

...

While lighting a cigarette, I sat on a bench in the pavilion. I felt lost when looking at the cars passing by.

My life wasn't supposed to be like this. Yet I felt like an isolated island in the city. I was lonely. I was helpless. All my negative feelings were because of that woman, the woman I would never have back for the rest of my life. Yet I just couldn't live a life without her.

I felt cold in the wind. I put a scarf on to keep the wind out.

I sat in the pavilion for the next hour. I smoked there in a trance. When it was getting dark, I felt a strong desire to be rescued from my despair.

My phone rang all of a sudden. It was D-George. I wiped my face and then reached out for my phone.

D-George was my dad. He was dull and nerdy. My dad had worked for a state-owned company for 15 years. He was in charge of procurement. He was made the deputy director in his department the first year he got into the company. Yet he was still the same deputy director after 15 years. It was common for the procurement people to take some rake-off, yet D-George never took a single bit. His colleagues respected him, though they found George dull as well. When I was 17 years old, I started to call him D-George. D stood for "dull", yet my dad always thought it stood for "diligent".

I picked up the phone and heard D-George's emotionless voice. "Howard, I'm arriving in Poston City soon. Tomorrow I'm gonna attend an exhibition. I suppose I can stay at your place tonight."

I froze. What was wrong with my weekend? Such bad luck? I would never let D-George know that I had become penniless and homeless. Though my dad was dull, he had a temper.

I tried to refuse him. "D-George, can't you just get yourself a hotel around the bus station? I'm having dinner with my co-workers tonight. I'll be home quite late."

"Don't mind me. I know you keep your key under the doorframe. I'll let myself in."

"I don't put my key there anymore. There are a lot of thieves out there."

D-George still wouldn't let me get away. "Then I'll wait for you. Don't get back too late."

"D-George, you've been on the bus for quite some time. You must be tired. Why don't you find a hotel? It's in the rush hour and you don't take taxis. The buses can be so crowded!"

Yet D-George insisted that he wasn't in a hurry. He said, "Your mom has made you a sweater. I brought it here."

...

My dad then hung up the phone. I paused for a while and then realized what had just happened. I hurried to pack up and tried to hail a taxi. I had to get back to the house, which belonged to Emilie now.

Against Emilie's will or not, I had to live there tonight. If D-George ever found out about what I had been through, he might be so upset.

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