Chapter 10
Dakota
Forest green vinyl creaked under my thighs, my pen tapping on the table while I waited for my coffee.
I was back at the diner I’d gone to with Mason…
for some reason. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and I needed to do something about it, rather than let my brain be perpetually consumed by this unfurling obsession.
The same waitress from before—Sofia—brought me my cheap mug of coffee, dropping some little plastic cups of creamer on the table along with it.
“Can I get you anything else?” she questioned. “More creamer? Sugar? Food?”
“No thank you,” I answered. “Just the coffee is good.” I gave her a small smile as she nodded, friendly and cute, then left with her ponytail swinging.
My Unit Ops work was spread out on the table, and I was marking up my printed copy of the lab procedure for the polymers lab, making sure I understood the steps, underlining and circling vital information, adding little notes.
I’d found that doing this usually made me a bit more comfortable in the lab, which I needed.
I wasn’t usually loud enough to ask questions.
The yellow pendant lamp over my head cast golden light on the table, filtering softly on my printed packet.
I could hear food sizzling in the kitchen, plates clanking together, a receipt being torn off the roll.
A car pulled out of the parking lot in front, turn signal blinking as it left the crumbling parking lot.
It was a cute place. None of the people in here had a clue how much my life had changed the last time I’d stepped foot inside.
I remembered myself in the bathroom, anxious anticipation making me tremble. My air-dried ocean hair, my smudged makeup, Mason’s big sweatshirt, the sound of my name on his tongue ricocheting in my skull. I’d known something was going to happen, but at the time, I hadn’t known what.
Mason was a fear I could touch.
I craved that.
Suffocating me through an orgasm.
An older man stepped up to the counter, catching my attention from the corner of my eye, and I turned to discreetly watch him speaking with a waitress in a calm, measured tone.
Polite, steady. There was a tiny flicker of fascination in my brain.
I didn’t consider myself to have Daddy issues necessarily…
but there was certainly something inside me that craved approval from men like that.
Authority figures, men that people listened to.
The opposite of the wild instability I felt with Mason.
I turned back to my lab procedure, silently wishing for that sort of authoritative stability for the millionth time in my life.
There were two sides of me; the messy, reckless part, and the part that wanted to be held.
Usually I led with self-destruction; vulnerability wasn’t something I was comfortable showing.
My coffee was still hot as I stirred in all the creamers, my spoon clinking against the sides of the mug. Other, worse thoughts tugged at the back of my brain.
Things I really didn’t want to think about. Not here, at least.
I sipped my coffee as fast as I could without burning myself, put some money on the table, then left the diner while the familiar bad feeling began to settle over me like a blanket.
━━━━━
I popped a piece of mint gum in my mouth and tried to shake out the anticipation tightening my muscles. My skirt was short and tight, my top showing off my stomach and low-cut enough that I couldn’t wear a bra. Not that I really needed one.
I took a deep breath, staring at myself in the shitty mirror above my shitty sink in the shitty bathroom light.
My eyes were still a little bit red, but it hopefully wasn’t too noticeable now that I’d put makeup on.
I didn’t know why some days were worse than others, but that’s just the way it was.
Some days, I was right back there, in that other trailer, years in the past, feeling his skin on mine.
I hate myself.
Taking a deep breath, I gripped the edges of the sink while I released a shaky exhale.
There wasn’t a single way I could have any of those memories in my head without feeling so terrible about it that I wanted to curl up in a ball and dissolve into nonexistence.
I’d gone to one, singular therapy session after everything ended, but I’d need years of sessions to ever get over it. I knew that. I just couldn’t afford it.
It wasn’t like there was an abrupt ending either. Everything just…fizzled out.
Leaving me more broken and confused than before.
My brain didn’t like that.
There was a lot of relief when he left, but also a lot more depression than I wanted anyone to know.
Because sometimes it felt like he was the only person that ever saw me, or cared enough about me to want the problems, the messy stuff.
He is the messy stuff. All of it is because of him.
Don’t forget that. Don’t let yourself miss him for one goddamn second.
Mila knew some of it, knew some of the reason I was so fucked up, but even that was difficult to talk to her about.
I flicked off the bathroom light and stomped out into the hall, the thick soles of my boots heavy on the carpet, my hair swishing long and loose down to my ass—almost like a safety blanket.
I liked the feeling of it brushing the bare skin on my back, liked letting it fall around my shoulders or face, liked feeling the blunt ends with my fingertips at my hipbones.
Grabbing my bag and my phone, I pushed out the front door, locking it behind me. The sky was already most of the way dark, a few stars twinkling above the park, dark trees silhouetted against the indigo nighttime.
I plopped myself down on the top step leading up to my trailer and wrapped my arms around myself, bending forward to rest my chest on my knees while I waited for Mila’s yellowed headlights to come bouncing around the corner.
A cool breeze tickled my skin and lifted a few strands of hair around my face; I tucked them back behind my ears.
Somewhere to my left, I heard shuffling footsteps, then the flick of a lighter.
One of my neighbors. Cigarette smoke puffed out of his mouth and curled into the darkening arc of the sky, the cloud illuminated by the dirty yellow light beside his door.
I could see a few dark spots inside the plastic of the lamp—bugs, probably. My porch light was the same.
He didn’t seem to notice me, though, because my light was off.
My phone buzzed and I grabbed it out of my purse, the keychains I’d clipped onto the leather strap jingling together as I did.
Mila : I’m about to pull up
Me : Already outside
My response was unnecessary, however, because Mila was already arriving down the road, her silver SUV bumping over the dirt while muffled shoegaze leaked from the slightly-cracked windows.
I hopped up and jogged down the few steps, skipping over to the passenger door before she’d even stopped the vehicle.
I yanked on the door—locked. I yanked again and again until Mila finally reached over the seat and pulled up the broken latch, laughing and rolling her eyes. Sliding into the seat, I felt a real grin pushing my cheeks up, warming my mood.
“You’re so impatient, damn,” Mila said while reversing and getting the car turned around.
“Hey. I was waiting for you.”
“I know. My princess stuck in her tower.”
I leaned back, stretching my legs out in front of me. The sinking feeling in my stomach was already lessening.
“Ivan actually said he’d drive us if we don’t want to call a ride,” Mila said, glancing both ways as she pulled out on the main road. We were going back to her apartment first to meet up with a few other med school people, then we’d go out.
“I’m going to bet we have to call one to get home, though.”
Mila laughed. “Well…he owes me because he broke one of my plates, so maybe he will get his ass out of bed for us.”
The forest was a dark blur around us as we sped down the road, lush ferns and moss melting into tall trees, rain-damp and ominous. My eyes skimmed the shadows, searching for deer—or other, scarier things. I wasn’t immune to superstition.
We listened to Mila’s music for the rest of the drive to her apartment, the windows rolled halfway down and evening air swirling around inside the car.
It was nice on my warm cheeks, slightly damp and cool, soothing.
The rumble of the tires on the road laid a steady backdrop for Mazzy Star and Slowdive.
After pulling into her assigned parking space, Mila rolled up the windows then we unbuckled and climbed out, heading towards the covered external stairs that lead up to her second floor apartment.
“Vanya!” she singsonged, pushing hard on the front door until it unstuck and flung open.
“Lyudochka!” he replied, not turning to face us as we walked in, focused on rolling out dough on the counter. “Kotyusha, too?”
“Yes. Hi,” I said, giving a pointless wave—he wasn’t looking at me. Kotyusha was apparently a Russian diminutive form of my name, which only Ivan called me. I assumed he made it up.
“What are you making? Pelmeni?” Mila tossed her bag on the table by the door.
“Da.”
“Mmmmm,” Mila hummed with his affirmation. “You only cook when I’m going out. Fucker.”
“There will be leftovers.” Ivan gestured at the dough and bowl of ground meat in front of him. “Clearly.”
“I don’t know. You’re greedy as fuck, so you might eat them all.”
Ivan rolled his eyes.
“Thank you, Ludmila.”
Mila towed me along behind her into her bedroom, then flopped down on her leopard-print comforter. Her dress was so short I could see her bright pink thong when it rode up, which made me laugh.
“Oh, zip it,” she groaned at my laughter, tugging her dress down. “I have slut plans.”
“Wasn’t judging. Who else is coming?” I plopped myself on the bed next to her, my hair fanning out on a furry pillow with her initials monogrammed on.