Chapter 22
Dakota
Twilight shadows drifted through the small window in the bathroom of my trailer, casting everything in shades of violet, like a bruise.
I slipped below the surface of the water, my skull hitting the bottom of the bathtub, my eyes open to watch the ripples above my face, to watch all the bubbles of air escaping my lungs. I envisioned Mason’s perfect face there, his hand wrapped around my throat.
You’re in my head, too. I wish I could get you out.
Please come back and hurt me again.
I like it.
I think I need it.
I wanted him the way lungs wanted air after drowning.
Violently. Without choice.
Pushing up on my elbows, I sucked in a breath of air, blinking water off my eyelashes.
My fingertips brushed the wet skin of my neck, feeling my weak pulse.
It was so much faster when I was with Mason, when his fingertips were the ones touching me.
My normal heart rate seemed so slow now, like I was dying, drifting away.
I slicked my hair back off my forehead and stared at my face in the cloudy reflection of the silver faucet, warped and small. My pale chest, my wet hair.
The water wasn’t very warm anymore, and my fingers were wrinkled, but I still liked how it felt to submerge my ears and listen to my own breathing, or the sounds of my fingers breaking the surface tension of the cooling water.
My knees were bent upwards, my feet pressed flat to the bottom of the bathtub.
Eventually I got out of the tub, dripping all over the floor, then drained the water and wrapped my hair up in a towel, my pajamas loose on my damp skin. Cotton fabric, worn soft by time. I really only liked to wear big t-shirts and men’s boxers to bed.
The kitchen floor was cold against my bare feet while I boiled water on the stove for the ninety-nine cent box of pasta I’d purchased on sale—farfalle, butterfly shape. It was my favorite shape of pasta, and had been since childhood.
While waiting for the water to heat, I grabbed my laptop from my bed and set it on the counter, skimming through the assignments I still needed to get turned in.
My first Unit Ops exam was coming up in a few weeks, and although I wasn’t particularly worried for it in terms of content, I did feel weird.
I hadn’t been back to class after what happened in Dr. Killshaw’s office. It was only one lecture I’d really missed, but it felt…significant. I didn’t know how I was supposed to face him, sit and listen to him lecture, take notes, without wanting to break down. He’d been so fucking mean to me.
You know I could get you expelled.
Those words lingered in my head. I wasn’t sure if he actually meant them or if he’d just said it to scare me, make me regret pushing the line, but I couldn’t get them to stop tormenting me.
Technically, if I’d finished my sentence, he had every right to report me.
Because yes, I was offering to give him whatever I thought he wanted. Sex, or something similar.
I didn’t even know why I said it. Maybe because my body was all I knew how to give.
If I wanted you, you’d know.
It was needlessly cruel. He’d cut me down just because he knew he could.
And if my previous actions weren’t proof enough of my idiocy—I still wanted to believe he was lying. I wanted to believe he was fighting back against what I’d seen, because it had to be real or else…I don’t know.
Then there was the other memory, the one living in the shadows of my mind, the one holding words that needled at all the things I tried to hide.
Nobody knows how to take care of you. And you’ll never let anyone try.
He was right. And I hated how badly I wanted it.
How fucking badly I did want someone to take care of me, to hold me safe and always.
Even more, I hated that he’d somehow seen that in me, before I’d even admitted it to myself.
And then I’d only gone and proven him right when he came back into his office and I sabotaged everything.
I needed it. I wanted it. But I couldn’t let anyone try to give it to me without lashing out.
The water on the stove was boiling now, so I wiped away my tears with the neckline of my t-shirt, then poured in the pasta and stirred it a few times. I set a timer on my phone, slumping down to sit on the linoleum with my spine against the cabinet doors.
Everything ached, inside and out. I was sick of it.
I tipped my head forward, resting my forehead on my knees while I cried. I couldn’t stop. Shuddering breaths tore in and out of my chest, pressure throbbing in my skull from all my lost tears.
The day after running out of Dr. Killshaw’s office, I’d finally been able to place his scent.
The forest. But like Mason, it wasn’t exactly formulated as a cologne.
Sure, I could smell the pine and earth and wood, but there was more to it.
Darkness. If Mason was the ocean’s darkness, Dr. Killshaw was the forest’s.
He smelled the way the darkness of the forest felt.
Cool shadows, damp air, a place to get lost in, a place to hide.
It was difficult to correctly articulate.
When the timer went off on my phone—loud and clear, as I wished it’d been on the day I overslept in Dr. Killshaw’s office, because then none of this would’ve happened—I stood up and drained the water from the dented pot into the sink.
I got myself a bowl of pasta with a sprinkle of salt on top, then put the rest in the fridge.
Bringing my laptop back with me into my bedroom, I sat cross-legged on my bed with the bowl of pasta on my lap. I set my laptop on my pillow and opened a new tab for YouTube.
An email notification made me pause.
The offer for the research position still stands.
Micah
I stared at the screen, wide-eyed, my appetite slowly draining away. Why would he send that to me? Why extend the offer again after threatening to expel me? A weird, bad feeling turned in my stomach. Is this a trick?
Instead of responding, I slammed my laptop shut. Then, I forced myself to eat the entire bowl of pasta in the dark, even though I was no longer hungry.
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On the weekends, I tended to work as many hours as I could. My class schedule made it difficult to get in long shifts during the week, so I always tried to use my weekends wisely.
I’d called out of work after the encounter in Dr. Killshaw’s office—for the first time in a really long time—so I needed the money even more. Eric was understandably worried when he got my text, but he never pushed me to talk about anything.
“Have a nice rest of your day,” my current customer said after I’d passed her plastic bag of items across the counter. A young boy was standing next to her, staring at his feet, shuffling on the tile. He was wearing dirty soccer cleats, his shinguards and orange socks slipping down.
“Thanks.” I managed a small smile. “You too.”
She left the store, and I watched the boy climb into the back of their navy blue minivan while she sat in the front seat.
The automatic door slid shut. The woman handed her son something over her shoulder; maybe the electric-green sports drink she’d just purchased along with her medication and tampons.
I looked back down at my phone, flat on the counter, hidden on the other side of the cash register.
Dr. Killshaw’s—Micah’s—email sat unanswered in my inbox, which I was aware was unprofessional, but I didn’t know what to say.
I had no idea what his research consisted of, or if I’d even be able to find the time to help him with it.
Perhaps he’d just rescind the offer whenever I worked up the courage to respond because of how long it’d taken me.
I texted Mila when my shift was nearing its end, asking to come over, but she hadn’t replied by the time I clocked out. I decided to just head over to her apartment anyway, figuring maybe she was sleeping.
The sun set on my way over, the moon rising and bathing the world in its silvery glow.
I knocked on the door to Mila’s apartment, shivering from the nighttime chill in the air.
Ivan opened it. “Kotyusha?”
“Hi, Ivan. Is Mila here? She wasn’t answering her phone, so I thought she might be sleeping.”
He shook his head. “No, she’s not. But you’re welcome to come in and wait for her.”
I would’ve rejected the offer had I not been so tired I was literally about to fall asleep standing in the hallway.
But I was sick of trying to weather this storm alone, sick of trying to be strong, sick of trying to navigate the nightmarish spiderweb I’d landed myself in.
So I walked into the apartment, Ivan shutting the door behind me, heading back to the kitchen while I went to Mila’s bedroom.
I flopped down on her bed on my stomach, her fuzzy pillow soft under my face, my hair fanned out around my head, the dirty blonde strands draping over Mila’s leopard print blanket.
My phone was laying on the mattress next to my face, and I watched it for any notifications from her… or another person.
Mason still hadn’t texted me.
I hadn’t texted him either, but still.
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“Dakota?” a soft voice whispered into the dark room, Mila’s footsteps creaking over the wood. I rubbed my eyes, disoriented, feeling as if I’d just been woken from the dead. I need to get better sleep at night. Jesus.
“Mila,” I mumbled, dropping my head back to the pillow.
She took her shoes off and silently climbed onto the bed with me, crawling over my body so she could lay facing me. Her fingertips traced along the side of my face lovingly, but she didn’t speak.
I curled up smaller on the comforter, watching the way strips of streetlight glow laid over her face through the blinds over the window.
“Can I sleep here?” I asked.
“Of course. Always.”
“I love you. I’m sorry I just…came here without your permission. You weren’t answering your phone. I thought maybe you were asleep.”
“I love you too. And you’re always welcome here.” She smiled through the darkness. “I was doing another observation at the hospital and didn’t have my phone on me,” she explained. “Much shorter this time.”
A beat of quietness passed, before Mila spoke again.
“Are you okay, zayka? I’m here for you.”
“No,” I whispered honestly. “I’m not really okay at all.”
“New things or old things?”
“Both.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m just…sinking. Drowning. I’m trying not to—like, I’m trying to stop ruminating on everything but I can’t. When will I get over this?”
It was almost a redundant question, because I knew the answer. I’d probably never get over it, and if I did, it’d take a lot more work than I’d put in thus far. What happened to me was knotted too deep in my psyche.
“You’re doing better than you think you are. You don’t respond to him anymore,” she reminded me.
“I guess. But it’d be pretty fucking pathetic if I still did, so I don’t know how much progress that really is.”
“Don’t say that.” She poked my arm and I opened my eyes. “Really, don’t. You went through some shit that I’ll never be able to comprehend, and you’re still here. There could never be anything pathetic about you.”
I wanted to believe her.
“Can we watch a movie or something? I want to take my mind off things,” I said, shifting uncomfortably on the mattress.
“Of course.” Mila grabbed my hands and pulled me to sit up, then hopped off her bed.
We entered the living room and Mila sat me down on the couch, covering me with a fuzzy pink blanket, then went into the kitchen to get snacks.
The smell of popcorn filled the air after a few minutes and I snuggled up under my fuzzy blanket, smiling to myself as Ivan and Mila bickered in Russian in the kitchen.
She eventually came back into the living room, holding a huge bowl of buttery popcorn, Ivan in tow.
They both sat down on the couch and Mila reached for the remote, punching buttons while Ivan scrolled on his phone.
“He’s keeping us company,” she explained while flicking through movies.
“He doesn’t have to do that.” I leaned forward a bit, looking over at Ivan past Mila. He shook his head, making a nice face as if to say it’s nothing; I don’t mind being here.
“Which of these do you want?” Mila asked, drawing my attention back to the glowing flatscreen and the selection of horror movies she was skimming through.
“Um…” I watched her cycle through the choices, thinking. “Hereditary?”
“Shit, babe. I’m glad you’re sleeping over tonight.” She laughed. “That one creeps me the fuck out.”
“We don’t have to—”
“Shut up. Obviously I want to watch it. I’ve already seen it more than once.”
“Ivan?” I asked nervously.
“Good with me.”
Mila clicked on the movie and the screen dimmed, the opening credits fading in. I pulled my legs up to my chest, relaxing into the couch, gripping my water bottle as I reached for some popcorn from the bowl.
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When the movie ended, when Mila and I got in bed together and she turned the lights off, when she finally rolled over, fast asleep, the darkness crept back into my thoughts. It was stubborn like that.
Anthony, I hate you so unbelievably much.
I despised my life before you, and I despise it even more after you.
Why would you do that to me? Why would you make me need you? Was it a game for you?
I wish I told someone about you back when it mattered.
My eyelids squeezed shut tight, as if I could physically force all the bad thoughts out of my head.
But they were loud, and only getting louder the more I let myself get tangled in Mason’s web, the more I let myself care about Dr. Killshaw’s reactions to me.
Soon, they’d drown out everything else. All the other parts of me wouldn’t stand a chance in the face of all that awful noise.
I didn’t know how to stop it.