Two
Kallie
Delicious notes of coffee waft through my nose, and I’m pleasantly surprised when I see just that sitting on my nightstand. Bless Kate’s little dramatic heart. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit on the edge while the events from last night play over in my head.
Guilt gnaws at my insides as the memories come at me in waves. The worry I cause Kate and my dad is enough to make my stomach churn. My head hangs heavy between my shoulders while I keep my tears at bay. I go through each possible solution with a fine-tooth comb and come up empty.
I can’t keep doing this to Kate. It isn’t fair to her, and the constant looks of concern mixed with worry etched over her face makes me want to crawl into a dark hole and never leave.
Sleep studies didn’t work. The nightmares were always far, far away every time I tried. Therapy was a good effort, thinking it was some underlying result of my mommy issues. Gods know I needed the therapy, but the nightmares obviously haven’t stopped. Sleep aids only make it worse. Getting to sleep is never the problem. It’s always been what waits for me on the other side that I can’t stomach.
Deciding to put a pin in the internal war raging in my head, I rub the heels of my palms over my eyes and glance at the clock. Seeing that I should have gotten up about five minutes ago, I push myself off the bed and head toward my closet.
The nice thing about a new school is the fresh start it offers. Nobody knows who you are or where you come from, and you have the opportunity to reinvent yourself, be whoever you desire to be. However, I’ve always dressed for comfort over everything else, which is why I decide on my classic black leggings and a black long-sleeve shirt layered with my most trusted band tee.
Styling my hair is a drag. Sometimes I find the length a bit unmanageable, so I settle on a slicked-back, low bun while keeping my makeup very minimal. Applying one last coat of mascara over my lashes, I try to conceal the heavy bags under my eyes and finish the look with a layer of tinted Chapstick for good measure. The chill of Maine has officially set in, so it’s Chapstick over lipstick every day of the week.
Pennbrook University wasn’t just my first choice in colleges; it was my only choice. College wasn’t something I ever thought about. School has never been my strong suite. Kate, on the other hand, set her sights on Pennbrook a long time ago, and what kind of friend would I be if I let her weather this storm alone.
Pushing my favorite pearl studs through my ears, I make sure my gold necklace is secure and front and center on my chest. My dad gave it to me for my eighth birthday, said it was some sort of family heirloom, and I haven’t taken it off since. I’ve never been able to explain it. Maybe it’s all in my head, but it’s always offered me an odd sense of security.
Giving myself a once-over, the anxiety starts to set in. My palms become clammy as scenarios start playing out in my head. Taking a deep breath, I push those thoughts deep, deep down and turn around to head out of my room.
Kate sits on one of the barstools, finishing up her bagel. She’s dressed to the nines with her black tights under a faux leather mini-skirt, and a light-blue button up blouse with daisies scattered over it. Her blonde hair is pulled halfway up in a ponytail and tied with a white bow, while the rest of her hair cascades down her back in the perfect effortless curls. Kate has always been the fashionable one. Her makeup is always done to perfection, looking airbrushed and sunkissed.
“You do know it’s, like, negative thirty degrees outside right?” I asked her, raising my eyebrows.
“Negative thirty degrees? And you call me the dramatic one,” she replies while taking her plate to the sink. “Besides, it’s never too cold to dress to impress,” she continues, shimmying her hips.
Shaking my head, I let out a soft chuckle and snag a granola bar out of the cabinet.
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I can’t argue. And thank you for the coffee. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You would be late for class, under caffeinated, and would only eat granola bars for the rest of your life.”
“Not true. We also have these take-out menus,” I reply, patting the drawer that contains the holy grail of take out for this area.
We head toward the front door. She slides on her flats, and I slip my feet into my Docs. After lacing them up, I stand and grab my bag that’s resting against the wall. Letting all my fears wash away, Kate and I give each other one last look over before heading out the door.
My first class is just basic Econ. I’m taking all of the basic requirements this year because I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do for the rest of my life. Nothing has ever interested me enough to want to spend the rest of my life doing it. I’m here for Kate. And my dad.
Guilt is a common feeling in my everyday life, knowing he’s sacrificed so much for me to have the life I do. All I want is to make him proud, to show him it was all worth it.
When my nightmares first occurred, it sent him in a spiral of trying to find answers. After my third doctor and countless medications, I told him they stopped. Although Kate was against it, I have sworn her to secrecy. I can’t burden him with this any longer. He’s been through enough.
Walking out of the building, a shiver immediately wracks through my body—and not from the sudden temperature change. Goosebumps prickle over my skin, and I come to a halt. The unmistakable feel of peering eyes latches on to my back, like two daggers are being thrown with precision, and I’m the only target.
The sound of shuffling feet and chatter blurs into the background until it’s just white noise. Other students bump into me, jostling me from side to side as I stay unmoving.
Maybe Kate is right. Maybe I should try another doctor, another medication, because when I finally come back to the present, gain enough courage to turn around, there isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, then another, continuously taking in calming breaths until I feel ready to open them again and turn back toward my next class—hopefully leaving the lingering gaze behind me.
Classes couldn’t have ended fast enough. Since the incident in the courtyard, I’ve been on edge, hackles raised in a constant state of fight or flight. Every accidental brush of an arm, drop of a pen, a door closing too loudly has had me nearly jumping out of my seat.
With all the nerves this morning, I forgot my gym bag back at the dorm. I made quick work of grabbing it before making the trek to the gym just off campus. It’s a bit run down, not as clean cut or high tech as the ones you find nowadays, especially the one that’s available to the students. But I like it. Something about it puts me at ease, and that’s the kind of reprieve I’m in desperate need of today.
Junior year of high school, self-defense classes took over my life. I was in the gym more days than not. It was the only place I could breathe. Kate obviously knows I work out, but she doesn’t know the extent of my training over the last year. I’ve thought about telling her, maybe inviting her along for a session or two, but this is one thing that’s just…mine.
Aside from the classes, my favorite part is the sparring ring. When not being used for sessions, it’s fair game. And it just so happens to be my favorite way to get my stress out.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach at the excitement. Being able to go one-on-one with someone, the adrenaline rush is something else entirely. And that feeling? That feeling overpowers that stomach-bottoming-out weakness and powerlessness. I won’t be that girl ever again. At the end of the day, if things were to go south, the gym full of people acts as a security blanket. Something I didn’t have before.
The music blares downstairs, and the pictures lining the staircase shake as the beat drops. Stumbling up the last flight, my drink sloshes over the rim, and I let out a giggle. Opening the nearest door, I fall through the threshold, and my drink goes everywhere.
“Shit,” I mutter, watching the liquid seep into the carpet. Peering up, I see a guy standing by the window. “Sorry, I was just looking for a bathroom.”
His eyes scan me, taking a little extra time on my cleavage, and immediately, warning bells start sounding in my head. “No need to apologize. I’m sure you ended up right where you were meant to.” His words leave a pit in my stomach. My eyes dart around the room, and I plaster on a wary smile as I try to stand.
“Well, the bed indicates I am most definitely not in the right place.” As the words leave my mouth, he advances on me, and I can’t move fast enough in my inebriated state.
“We both know you weren’t really looking for a bathroom.” The stench of alcohol wafts in my face, and bile threatens to spew out of my mouth.
Faster than I can think, he has me on the bed. My mind is racing, and the room spins. His hands roam over my exposed legs, going higher and higher. I try to shove them away, but his grip turns bruising.
“Stop!” I yell, but the thrumming of the music drowns it out. He laughs in response, and the unmistakable sound of his belt unbuckling has my body locking up.
“Please, don’t do this. You don’t want to do this,” I plea with him.
“Oh, but I do. I’ve been watching you all night, teasing me with the sway of your hips, the slightest peek of your ass cheeks as you walk. I don’t think it was an accident that you stumbled in here. You want this. You want me. And Angel, I’m gonna give it to you.”
A scream rips from my throat as he enters me in one punishing thrust. I yell for help, beg him to stop. I thrash, hitting and scratching down his chest, but he pins my arms down.
Then I get lost in the music, letting it wash over me as the assault continues.
Buttoning up his pants, he says, “Don’t act like you didn’t want it. If you tell anybody, we both know who they’ll believe.” He closes the door behind him, and I lie there in a puddle of my own blood and tears, hoping this was all just a nightmare too.
I was young and naive, having done everything I could have, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I vowed I would never let myself be put in that situation again, never be weak and vulnerable. That vow has made me stronger, and I relish in the fact that he didn’t win.
Instantaneously, the smell of the gym puts me at ease. It’s musky and reeks of sweat, body odor, and a slight whiff of bleach. The sound of speed bags bouncing back and the grunts of people as they hit their punching bags washes over me. I survey my competition as I head toward the lockers, noting the clientele of this place looks like they’ve seen some shit—probably ex-military, or ex-con, or a CEO father of four. You never truly know, and there’s a sense of beauty in that.
While I stretch and start on my warmups, I take mental notes of opponents in the ring. Observing if they’re defensive or offensive, what side they favor, any weakness that I can track, etc. Pocketing the knowledge, I pad my knuckles and step into the ring, waiting for the next sorry ass who underestimates me.
Feeling lighter after the gym, I pop my earbuds in and make my way to the small coffee cart on campus. Waiting in line, my phone pings with an incoming text message. My brows furrow when it’s a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown: Hey, is this Kallie?
Me: Depends. Who’s asking?
I don’t give my number out to just anybody. Someone I know must have given it out, and that doesn’t sit right with me. My mind instantly goes to Kate, knowing she would probably give it to some guy in hopes of it turning into something more.
Placing my order, I step aside as the barista makes my drink, and my phone goes off again.
Unknown: Ha ha, I missed that fire, Angel. Are we going to play games?
All the color drains from my face as realization slams into me like a freight train when it dawns on me who I’m talking to.
This can’t be happening.
This is my fresh start.
If he has my number, he could know where I live too. Fingers shaking, I type out my next message, keeping it short and to the point.
Me: What do you want?
I send my reply and shove my phone into my pocket as the barista calls my name. Thanking her, I grab my drink and turn to make my way back to my dorm. When I take out my phone to change my playlist, another text pops up and stops me in my tracks as it appears on my screen.
Unknown: What I’ve always wanted, Angel. You. I think our time was cut short, and I miss you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.
Unknown: I also forgot to mention, you look beautiful today. See you soon, Angel.
Panic sets in, and I’m unable to move. Everything around me stills. I vaguely hear my name being shouted in the distance, but I can’t look up, my eyes permanently glued to the screen, all the memories flooding my vision.
Drinks.
Music.
Pain. So much pain.
I’m snapped back to reality when a rush of wind blows past me. I step back instinctively but lose my balance, and the next thing I know, I’m staring at the sky. My coffee is long gone, the lid landing somewhere and my mocha being swallowed by the greedy soil.
You have to be fucking joking.
When I sit up, just a few feet to my right, a man sits on a motorcycle, just staring at me. This motherfucker almost ran me over and doesn’t even get off his bike to see if I’m okay? Bullshit.
“By all means, take a picture. It will last longer,” I tell fuckweed as he continues to look at me—at least I think he is. His helmet is still on, and the visor is so tinted I can’t imagine he can see anything out of it, which explains why he almost hit me.
“You know,” I continue as I stand, brushing myself off, “a gentleman would, at the very least, get off that death trap and see if I’m okay. Possibly check for injuries and maybe even apologize.” I pause, snatching my bag off the ground and slinging it over my shoulder. “Actually, I haven’t had the best day, so next time, maybe just run me over and put me out of my misery.” The Fast and Furious wannabe cocks his head to the side at my last comment, and a chuckle escapes. “Ah, so murder gets a reaction out of you. Good to know I didn’t make the victim cut.” And with that, I turn around and walk away.