Chapter 2
Dakota
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, salty air brushing over my cold cheeks as it came off the ocean. I didn’t have work today, and class didn’t start for a few days, so I’d taken myself to one of my favorite places.
Shifting how I was sitting on the rock on the shore, I set my chin on my knees and inhaled deeply, sucking all that chilled air to the depths of my lungs.
The waves pulled in and in, then retreated back into the dark ocean, leaving behind a silhouette of seafoam like lace on the sand.
Over and over, I watched them roll up and down the beach, reaching, clawing their way towards the rocks.
The tide was coming in, and I’d have to move soon.
A heavy calm descended on my shoulders, brought on by the constant, soothing movement of the water. It’d always been a reliable escape for me; the sound of splashing waves and gritty sand was a lullaby for my soul. A sharp-toothed hypnosis wrapped in riptides.
The Pacific Ocean.
Black-winged birds soared above the water, dipping and rising on the wind. It was like a dance, the way they dropped through invisible currents of air before being swept back up into the clouds. Each caw from their beaks was stolen by the clouds, soothed by precipitation.
Movement caught my eye down the beach and I turned, my eyes settling on the shadowed figure of somebody walking along the sand.
They were coming in my direction, but I didn’t think they’d seen me—I was relatively hidden by the cliffside.
I almost never saw other people when I came and sat here.
I fixed my eyes back on the continuous tumbling of the turquoise waves.
Mist danced across my face, accumulating into a small bead on my upper lip, on the tip of my nose, on my eyelashes. I sniffled, tucking my hands against my body as a stray lock of hair blew across my forehead, sticking wet and dark and slick to my skin.
It was times like this where I always remembered him.
It was hard not to. He loved taking me here, getting me out of my normal life for a while, away from all the fighting and the cloying scent of alcohol, the haze of cigarette smoke. I loved it, too. Loved his attention, his kindness, his interest in me.
But I hadn’t known at the time just how long it was going to take me to realize what he did to me was wrong, how long it would take me to eventually detach myself from him.
Some days, I still missed him. As fucked as that was.
The figure from up the beach was closer now, close enough for me to tell it was a man.
He had brown hair that was made darker by the water dripping off it into his face, a cut jawline, a strong brow.
He was tall, darkly alluring. A storm-veiled danger.
I shrunk back on the rock a little bit, even though he hadn’t noticed me. It was instinctive.
My pulse skittered nervously through my veins. I had a knife in my pocket, but I wasn’t ignorant. Between me and this man, he’d win every time. Especially on a beach as isolated as this.
He began undressing himself, tossing his clothes in a pile on the beach.
I stared down at the ground, focusing on the grains of sand below my boots, trying to go unnoticed.
When I dared to look back up, I saw him in a pair of black swim trunks, facing the distant boundary where ocean met sky.
It was foggy that far out, and the horizon was hardly visible. I glanced back at the man.
Even from the distance, I could tell he had two massive scars on his muscular back, stretching from his shoulders towards his spine on either side, slanting downwards.
Interesting.
I didn’t know what scars like that would come from; it looked like he’d been hung by two large hooks, and then they’d been ripped out of his skin, the wounds never stitched afterwards, only left to heal as they were. Torn edges of skin fusing together, bridging a large gap of raw flesh.
The man started wading into the water, and goosebumps broke out along my arms. I knew that water had to be cold.
But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow his pace. He skimmed his palms over top of the waves, his head tilted towards the sky. I traced the contours of his arms with my gaze, his strong shoulders and back, those twisted scars carved into his skin.
And then he ducked underwater.
I could breathe a little easier with him out of my sight, and I squinted up at the clouds, misty rain tickling my cheekbones.
There wasn’t much for me to eat back at home, and I wouldn’t be paid for another two days—not that the paycheck would really do me much good.
It was never enough money. Nothing was ever enough money. I was so fucking sick of it.
Maybe Eric could find me a few extra shifts, or I could scrounge up a few more things to sell.
I was holding out hope that once I graduated, I’d be able to get a better job, get out of here.
But I still needed to manage my expectations, not expect a degree to fix everything for me. Because I knew it wouldn’t.
Even if I’d chosen my degree because of the high average salary post-grad, there were no guarantees.
A chemical engineering degree didn’t necessarily promise a chemical engineering job.
Wasn’t like I actually enjoyed the subject either, but there was a larger picture.
And since the lecture material was so difficult and complicated, it gave me something to occupy my mind with—other than just worrying about money and being haunted by memories that’d felt good in the moment but tormented me now.
I wished I could grow wings and get the hell out of here, fly as far as possible from my life and start again somewhere else—as someone else.
I swiped my fingers across my forehead and tucked my hair behind my ear, chewing the inside of my cheek while I thought about it.
At least I wasn’t completely starving yet.
And sleep was as good a meal as any; I could take the bus back to my trailer, watch a video essay on some niche subject, then knock out. Maybe a quick shower, just to warm up.
In my periphery, I caught sight of the pile of clothes on the sand again.
Wait. What the hell?
My chest tightened. How long had that man been underwater?
I’d not seen him resurface once, and it’d been a few minutes at least. Long enough for me to forget that I’d ever been watching him and to get lost in my own problems, like always.
But now that I’d remembered him, I was starting to feel panicked.
Was he trying to kill himself? Or could he not swim?
I squeezed my upper arms, digging my fingernails into my flesh, trying to keep my breathing even—to not overreact.
But I still kept watching the water, even as I willed my thoughts to remain detached, stable.
I had plenty of things to worry about other than a stranger potentially disappearing into the ocean in front of me.
And yet, with each second that ticked on, I found myself more and more concerned. Surely I’d not just been the last person to see that man alive—surely he hadn’t just drowned right in front of me. Right?
I stood up, my muscles clenched with anxiety, my eyes scanning the ocean for any sign of him. Maybe he swam up the shore a bit, and was just down the beach. I stepped forward, looking to either side of me, trying to distinguish any figures through the fog. But I wasn’t seeing anything.
Was he drowning? I’d heard that drowning was a lot more silent than one might expect, that people simply slipped beneath the surface and never came back up. No splashing or struggling. Just a quiet descent.
Shit.
Did he need help?
Was I even capable of providing help?
I looked down at my phone, staring at the clock. Yeah, it’d definitely been a few minutes—at least five or six. How long could people hold their breath before it became dangerous?
Images of this stranger drifting with the currents, dead, flashed through my mind. Arms limp, hair swishing in the darkness, face devoid of life, skin cold. How long would it take for someone to find his body? No. I shook my head, trying to swallow the panic creeping up my throat.
I looked up and down the beach again, but still didn’t see anyone.
Blinking hard, I stared at the waves, willing him to appear. I scanned every dip and curve and white cap, struggling to see anything through the dark water. I just needed a glimpse of him, some sign of life, proof that he wasn’t literally dead.
The longer I stood there, desperately searching the ocean for this man I didn’t know, the tighter the vise around my lungs squeezed.
I wanted to convince myself that I’d imagined him, but his things were still sat on the beach in front of me.
Hesitantly, I picked up a dark piece of thick cotton—a sweatshirt—then felt around in the pocket for a wallet or ID.
There was no wallet, but there was a cell phone.
No notifications. No identifying picture set as his background, just some monochrome image that he’d probably never changed after buying the device. A lot newer than mine.
But he was a real person. Who might be drowning in front of me.
Why hadn’t he resurfaced?
My pulse was frantic and uneven, making me nauseous as the seriousness of the situation infused my blood.
It’d been a lot of minutes now.
In a split-second, I made the decision. The stupid decision.
I kicked off my shoes, trembling with cold and fear, ripped off my windbreaker, and threw all my stuff on the sand next to his.
I didn’t give myself time to hesitate, or rethink what I was doing.
If I didn’t do this, if I didn’t try, I would regret it.
The guilt would eat me alive, keep me up at night—especially if he showed up on the news a few days from now.
I knew how to swim, even when the waves rolled strong.
So I walked straight towards the ocean, shivering and scared out of my mind.