Chapter 8 – Reese #2
Val, on the other hand, appeared sweet and happy and was always standing at Dakota’s side in every picture, hanging onto his arm.
In some of them, he was smiling up at him, and in one picture I came across, where Val looked about eight and Dakota a young teenager, he was tickling him.
The photographer had caught him mid-laugh.
Dakota looked almost happy in that picture. Genuinely happy. No hollow eyes, no thousand-yard stare. Just a regular teenager teasing his younger brother.
In most of the pictures, though, there was a sadness in his dark eyes; a discontent that no young child should have. His brother Everett, on the other hand, always looked arrogant. Confident. Smug.
Seeing them juxtaposed like this, it was clear they were nothing alike. Dakota was warm where Everett was cool, soft where he was hard, and kind where he was cruel.
None of these pictures helped assuage any of my guilt or clear up my confusion surrounding Dakota; no, they did the opposite. I now had even less of an idea of who he was.
There was nothing to indicate that Dakota had some kind of sordid, fucked-up past. He seemed like the perfectly proper son of a wealthy, successful man that exuded benevolence.
The only indicator that something had happened was the gap in time.
Roughly seven years ago, there was an entire year where there were no photos of Dakota.
What the hell had happened? Had he gone somewhere?
I found a photo of him where he had a long pink gash across the entirety of his face. It looked like it was in the process of healing, but I wasn’t an expert on wounds, and a big one like that? Who knew how long it actually took to heal.
He wasn’t smiling in that photograph or looking at the camera. There was an emptiness in his expression, one I’d come to recognize but not understand. It was disquieting, seeing him and so young and so…lifeless.
He said he’d done that to himself, but I found it hard to believe. I really didn’t know what to believe when it came to Dakota, though.
I sifted through countless articles about Albert Voss; apparently he’d always been a prominent figure in New York society. His wealth had come from a great-grandfather that had been some highly successful oil baron.
I didn’t care how Dean Voss got his money.
I kept scrolling and scrolling, then stopped at an article from seven years ago.
Child Violin Prodigy Dakota Voss, Renowned Adopted Son of the Voss Family, Slashes His Own Face After Psychological Breakdown
Holy fucking shit.
A picture of a younger version of Dakota playing the violin on a stage somewhere was pasted below the headline.
The website was some sleazy tabloid site, so how much of that was believable?
I scanned the article, which claimed that Dakota had some kind of mental breakdown when he was fifteen, that he’d been playing on stage in front of hundreds of people in some prestigious opera hall when he suddenly smashed his violin and walked out mid-song.
The article went on to say that he later cut his own face and spent time in a behavioral health facility.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Dakota was telling the truth? Or was this tabloid full of shit?
Hold on…
I stared at the picture under the headline, at a fifteen-year-old Dakota who looked utterly done with life. And right next to it was Dakota as a smiling eight-year-old with a missing front tooth.
All the blood in my body went cold as realization sank into me.
I knew that face.
I’d known that face since I was nine. That was the face that had made me want to play violin. That was the face I used to watch when I was a sad, angry fourth-grader.
I’d known that face for an eternity, it felt like.
I’d loved that face once. And then I’d forgotten it.
One of the first things I’d ever told Dakota was a lie; I did know who he was. I’d always known, the knowledge had always been there, lingering in some forsaken pocket of my mind.
He saved my life once. Had given me everything I’d needed at the time.
If I’d never seen his face, if our music teacher had never shown that video of him to the class, then I never would’ve started playing the violin.
The car accident never would’ve happened.
I blew out a harsh breath as I shut my phone off and set it down, then rubbed at my temples. The headache pulsing behind my eyes made me want to go back to my room and lie down, to just forget about the rest of the world and pretend nothing and no one existed.
As shocking as this revelation was—that Dakota was that boy—it honestly felt like I already knew.
I’d known, somewhere in my bones. I’d recognized him on a soul-deep level, and maybe it wasn’t his personality that grated on me so much as his entire existence because it was a reminder of everything I’d lost and why I’d lost it.
None of this shoddy research had gotten rid my curiosity, though. Now I wanted to know more in a desperate kind of way that freaked me the fuck out.
It felt close to the point of obsession, and that…
“Fuck this,” I muttered, throwing my textbook into my backpack and leaving the library. I was here to study and play music, and that’s what I was going to do.
After my final class of the day, I decided to sit outside and read.
The rain had stopped early in the afternoon, so I was able to find a near-dry stone bench sitting beneath an ancient oak tree.
Its gnarled roots had broken through the ground beneath one of the bench’s legs, making me wonder just how old the bench was.
I got my book out and started to read.
When the natural light began to dim, my mind was a lot calmer than it had been earlier. I put my book down on the bench and watched the clouds turn pink and purple and orange as they drifted above me.
Sudden movement to the left of the building drew my attention.
Fuck.
It was Dakota, walking along the far side of the courtyard with some guy.
Dakota’s posture was tense, and I couldn’t see his face clearly from here, but his head was angled slightly down, his hair covering his eyes, shoulders hunched and raised.
The other guy was taller and broader than him, standing very close to Dakota as they walked.
He was in fencing gear, holding his mask under one arm, and when Dakota suddenly rounded on him and said something, he poked Dakota in the chest with an aggressive finger, then threw his head back and laughed.
What in the fuck was going on? Who was that?
I slowly closed my book and put it in my backpack, not wanting to draw their attention. I wanted to walk away and pray that Dakota didn’t see me, but when the other guy patted Dakota on the cheek twice—really hard—a flare of anger burst through my chest.
Who the fuck was this guy? And why was Dakota just letting him…do that?
Because he was. He was just standing there as the guy got in his face, his fists clenched at his sides.
I looked around to see if anyone else was nearby, but there was no one else back here. I’d purposely chosen a secluded area behind one of the buildings because no one seemed to come here.
I didn’t think Dakota or the other guy had seen me yet, so there was still time to sneak away.
But when the fencing guy’s posture became more aggressive, every muscle in my body tensed. My brain was screaming that things were about to get worse, and…
And I needed to do something.
I jumped to my feet and started walking toward them before fully thinking anything through.
“Hey!” I shouted. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and my only thought was to stop whatever this was. I’d been bullied too many fucking times to just stand by and watch while someone got hurt.
They both turned toward me, and my heart skipped a beat as recognition hit me.
Oh, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
That was fucking Everett.
Dakota’s brother.
The closer I got, the more I realized just how idiotic it was to approach them without a plan—or even a valid reason.
Everett regarded me with the most disdainful expression I’d ever seen on anyone.
He raked his dark brown eyes up and down my body in a scathing assessment before settling his gaze on my birthmark.
The smile he gave me was cruel, and a part of me was screaming at myself to turn around right the fuck now and walk away because this wasn’t my problem.
But I didn’t.
“Can we help you?” Everett asked. His voice was so different from Dakota’s—cultured and smooth and dripping with boredom—that for a split second, I wondered if I’d been entirely wrong in identifying him as his brother.
But no, it was Everett. There was no mistaking those unkind eyes, and now they were locked on my cheek again with a wealth of disgust.
I stopped about ten feet away, my chest heaving and heart racing from all the adrenaline pumping through me. I glanced at Dakota, who wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were glued to a spot on the ground between him and his brother, a muscle in his jaw ticcing.
I took a step toward Dakota. “Um…yeah, I—”
“Fuck off.”
Dakota’s words were like the crack of a whip covered in thorns, and my ears rang with the echoes of his harsh tone. I was so surprised by the vitriol in his voice—that he was capable of sounding so nasty—that I just stared at him.
Was this the same person who called my birthmark pretty and teased me relentlessly?
It wasn’t. So which was the real Dakota? Or was there no real Dakota?
He finally lifted his eyes to mine, and I stopped breathing at the hollowness in his gaze.
I’d forgotten that was how he first looked at me because at some point, it had been replaced with other things. Filled with mischief or amusement or curiosity.
I saw Everett glance between us in my peripheral, but Dakota had my complete attention.
“But—”
Dakota took a step toward me, his expression hardening. “Get the fuck out of here. Don’t make me say it a third time.”
“Oh, yes. You really don’t want to get the rabid dog riled.” The amusement in Everett’s voice crackled like static, nothing but meaningless white noise in the face of Dakota’s cutting words.
It was strange, the pain that wound its way through my chest. Sharp and visceral, cutting into my sternum and going right through soft tissue. I didn’t understand it, but…it didn’t matter.
Neither did the useless tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked back to the bench—but not before hearing Everett ask, “Who the hell was that?”
“Nobody,” Dakota muttered.
That’s right.
I was nobody.
I gathered up my things and made my way back to my room, feeling as empty as Dakota’s eyes.