“It won’t happen again,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“What won’t happen again?” I hoped he’d meant the scaring me part.
“I won’t kiss you again. I’m sorry. It was just a reaction. And after last night—” He stopped whatever he was about to say. Now, while I unsuccessfully attempted to purge erotic images of him from my thoughts, I wondered what he’d been up to the previous evening. But, whatever. I couldn’t help my thoughts, and I didn’t care why he’d kissed me. Or that I was developing some strange, dark obsession with him.
“Fine. Whatever,” I said. “Can I just have some space? I have a lot of catch-up homework to do.”
He was about to say something else, but instead closed his mouth and bowed his head, granting me my wish. He closed the door behind him, and this time I heard the floor squeak as he went downstairs. How did he turn his stealth on and off like that?
I sank onto my bed and tried not to let the situation overwhelm me. I slid open my nightstand drawer and grabbed my journal. I began to write,
If only I could make him go away. But how? If I made him up, can’t I unmake him up? I want my life back. As horrible as it was, it was mine. I knew I wasn’t crazy. Now, my life feels over, and I never even got to live it
.
Maybe I’m not meant to be happy. Maybe it’s time to accept that there is no future for losers like me.
I lay down and pulled the covers up. My head hurt from trying to make sense of everything. I didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.
~ ~ ~
When my mother’s voice woke me, it was already nighttime.
I looked at my nightstand, again forgetting I had not yet purchased a replacement clock. “What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes.
“Just after eleven,” she replied. “How’s the head? How are you feeling?” she asked, turning on the lamp.
I winced. “Okay. I had a headache. I guess I fell asleep.”
She ran her hand over my hair and inspected my eyes. “It will take a while for everything to heal. By the way, where’s Santiago?” she asked.
“He’s not downstairs?”
“Nope,” she replied. “Maybe he got tired and went home.”
“If I’m lucky, he’ll stay there,” I blurted out.
“Did you two fight?”
Fight? Fight? If only it were that simple.
I didn’t know if it was the grogginess or the pent-up desperation, but I suddenly decided that I had to tell her the truth. And if Santiago told her about my father’s cheating, then so be it. Sooner or later, someone would tell her—I’d see to that—but I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t hold on to this any longer.
“Mom, I don’t know how to say this, but Santiago is not my boyfriend.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You broke up?”
“No. I mean, he was never my boyfriend. He just…
showed up
in my life. I don’t know who he is.”
She stared at me, and I could tell her mind was working hard. Then her face turned a sick shade of red, and she swallowed before pasting on the fakest smile I’d ever seen.
“How well do we truly know anyone?” she said stiffly. “Relationships are difficult that way. Oh. That’s my phone ringing. You should rest.”
I hadn’t heard her phone.
“Mom, but there’s more. He has been—”
“We can finish this in the morning,” she said, marching from the room.
So much for telling my mother. And that reaction? It was as if she didn’t want to hear one word of what I had to say.
She thinks you’re insane, that’s why.
What mother in her right mind wanted to confront that?
I seemed cursed to live this nightmare alone.
~ ~ ~
In the early morning, my phone chirped from somewhere under the covers. I fished it out and looked at the screen, hoping it might be my dad. There was still time for him to come clean on his own. And I still had to believe he could help me.
But it wasn’t him.
I answered but didn’t speak.
“Dakota, I know you’re listening,” Santiago’s carnal voice poured into my ears. I clamped my eyes shut. “You will tell everyone we fought and broke up. That I went home, and you haven’t heard from me since.”
What was he saying? “I don’t understand.”
“You heard what I said?” he repeated, irritated.
“Yes, but—”
“That’s all I need.” A long pause. “And Dakota? You’re a smart, beautiful, young woman. Your life isn’t over; it’s just beginning. Don’t forget that.”
The call ended, and Santiago was gone. Just like that. Just as quickly and mysteriously as he’d entered my life, he left it. Like a ghost that had never existed. Even his phone number was disconnected. Yes, I tried it. I don’t really know why.
Over the week that followed, I stuck to the story he’d told me, and no one seemed to question it. As for my father, he finally called back a few days after Santiago disappeared. He was extremely apologetic for not returning my calls sooner, but said he’d been “out of pocket,” somewhere remote. When I tried to bring up his cheating, he cut me off and said that he and my mother were fighting. He wouldn’t say about what, other than he’d broken her trust, and she had every right to be angry. In any case, he planned to give her a little space and wouldn’t come home until graduation.
We never got the chance to talk about Santiago. Didn’t matter, I guess, because life went on. Life became…perfect. Everything I’d ever hoped it would be. On the outside, anyway.
But every night, I dreamed of Santiago. Those dark eyes. That powerful, soul-gripping gaze. That hard body, stacked with thick muscles. And something deep in the pit of my stomach told me this wasn’t the end, but simply the beginning of a lifetime waiting for him to return.
PART TWO
Partly Ghostly Skies,
Fifty Percent Chance of
Rabbit Holes
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Four and a half months later.
“Bye, baby!” My mother squeezed the breath out of me, and then let go quickly. “Oh. I almost forgot.” She reached into her oversized purse. “This is for you. Your father said he’ll come out to see the campus as soon as he can. Okay?” My mother shoved a large envelop in my hand and then loaded herself into the car, hiding her watering eyes behind extra-large sunglasses.
I smiled. She didn’t want me to see her cry. I so loved her.
She sped off like a bank robber, and I waited until her car disappeared from sight until releasing a satisfied breath.
I made it. A new life. Mine.
It felt good. Really good.
I turned toward the modern, yet institutional-style freshman dorms of UC San Diego and beamed appreciatively at the structure. It was simply perfect: open, clean, filled with possibilities.
I know it sounds strange, but a month or so after “the Santiago incident,” I realized how it had changed my life in ways I’d never dreamed. Life—my freedom, my future—took on new meaning. I guess that’s normal when you lose something and then get it back. In any case, I’d decided that a lawyer was not who I wanted to be. Not when their world was based on man-made rules that could change or be broken by anyone at any time. Laws were meaningless when people like Santiago roamed the planet. Laws wouldn’t save me.
So I started reading everything I could about the mind—how it worked, which illnesses caused delusions, the effects of stress—and I realized three things: Santiago had been real, some things in life simply have no explanation, and, most important, I was not crazy.
What it all boiled down to was one simple fact: Everyone remembered him. And strangely enough, I took comfort in knowing that my brain wasn’t broken, and that whoever he was, he’d left, never to return. And I didn’t need reasons. I needed to forget him, which is why psychology would be my major. I would learn how memories were stored and how to erase them, because, at the end of the day, my memories were the only thing holding me back.
I swiped my shiny new student ID over the access pad and entered the dorms, a veritable scene of chaos—parents and students were shuffling in and out, unloading boxes, saying their good-byes. The lively vibe made me giddy.
With the elevators packed full of suitcases and bodies, I opted for the stairs. Laughter echoed above as two girls lugged their stuff to their rooms.
“Dakota,” that dark, familiar voice filled my ears, and I nearly fell on my face, tripping on the stairs.
Shit!
I turned in the direction of the sound but found only a wall and an empty stairwell behind me. I shook my head and laughed. “Really, Dakota? Can’t you just let him go?”
“Let who go?”
I jumped.
A petite, skinny blond, wearing a pink tank and khaki short shorts stood on the landing above. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I looked up. “It’s okay. I was only—”
“I get it. Don’t say a word. I had to leave my boyfriend behind, too. He went to Florida State.” Her face, though stereotypically pretty—perky nose, smooth tan skin, full lips—scrunched up into an unflattering ball of ugly. “I know it’s an excuse. He wants to bone other girls. Idiot.” She shrugged. “But, whatever. I can’t make him love me. And little does he know that in four years, he’ll have screwed his way through college and feel like an empty piece of shit. And do you know who he’s going to call?”
“Ummm…you?” I said.
“That’s right!” She came down a few steps. “And do you know what I’m going to do when he does?”
“Take him back?”
She frowned. “No way! I’m going to say…‘Fuck you and the pile of sluts you rode in on. I’m engaged to a doctor who brings me breakfast in bed every morning, knows I’m smart and kind, worships the ground I walk on, and loves me. Enjoy your shit hole of a life, asshole!’”
Ummm…okay…
I nodded, speechless. This girl had a mouth on her.
“Oops. Sorry. I get a little cranky when I think about it all. I’m Bridget, by the way.” She reached out her hand.
“Dakota.” I shook her hand and watched her burst into glee.
“Ohmygod! Dakota? Dakota Dane?” She jumped up and down, clapping. “I’m your roommate!”
I tried to hide my fear of all things perky, but I’m pretty certain my wide eyes gave me away. “Wow.”
Bridget bounced down the steps and bear-hugged me. For a girl of one hundred and ten pounds, give or take ten pounds, she was pretty damned strong.
“And don’t you worry, Dakota.” She gripped me by the shoulders. “My mother was a Tri Delta. My sister was a Tri Delta. We’re as good as in.”
Had I said anything about pledging a sorority? I didn’t remember saying anything. “Thanks.”
She raised her shoulders and whooshed out a happy little breath. “Well, roomie. See you upstairs. I have a few more boxes to grab.”
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Nope! Gettin’ my workout!”
“Okay.” I waved her off, and she skipped her merry way down the stairs.
Great. I have the happiest person on the planet as my roommate.
I entered my dorm room, and though it had only been five minutes max since I’d left it, Bridget had her bed piled with twinkling lights, pink frilly bedding, and a gazillion pink sandals.
It was going to be a long, happy, pink year.
I sat on my bed and realized that I still held the unopened package from my mother. I squeezed the large envelope, wondering what it might be. The return address was somewhere in the UK. I tore the paper and tipped it over. A notebook, identical to the one my father had given me for my birthday, slid out. Bound with distressed leather, I opened it up and saw that he’d written on the first page:
To my darling daughter, Dakota. Record every moment, every thought, cherish your youth. Live the life you’ve always dreamed of. Love, Dad.
They were nice words, but words he should have said in person. Over the past few months, I’d seen him only once when he’d flown in and out for my graduation. Neither of my parents admitted to anything, but I could tell things weren’t so good between them. They barely spoke two words to each other, and my dad left right after dinner. Said he had an important assignment that couldn’t wait. As he left, he hugged me tightly and simply said he was sorry. For what? I didn’t know. Maybe for everything. In any case, my list of father-daughter grievances was spectacularly long, so a simple “sorry” wasn’t going to do the trick. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but worry. About him. My mother. Me. Our lives felt as though they teetered on the edge of a sharp knife, impending doom just around the corner.
That’s really why this move felt more important than ever; I needed a fresh start. And to do that, I had to separate myself from their problems. It was the only way I would get my life back on track.
I glided my hand over the smooth leather of the notebook and then quickly dug out my favorite pen—it was a pink steel pen with little rhinestones that Mr. M had mailed to me as a graduation gift. He’d unexpectedly retired right after “the car incident,” to follow his dream of becoming a writer. I hadn’t seen him again, but I felt happy knowing he was somewhere out there, living his dream.
I slipped the pen into the special hidden slit in the binding of the notebook and read the inscription again.
Live the life you’ve always dreamed of.
That was exactly what I’d do.
I closed the notebook and held it to my chest. “Great idea.” I sighed.
“What is? What’s a great idea?” Bridget burst through the door, sweaty, skinny, panting. A tall and equally skinny brunet with glasses and wearing overalls stood beside her.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Just talking to myself. I do that a lot. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “In case you get the urge to talk to real people, I’d like you to meet Christy, our next-door neighbor.”
“Hi, I’m Dakota.” I smiled and made a little wave.
“Hey. Nice to meet you,” Christy said in quiet, little voice. Obviously, she was the shy type.
“Christy is a bio major—just like Lisa, Bren, and Taylor, who are also on the floor—crazy, huh?” How did Bridget know everyone already? Bridget snapped her fingers. “iPhone charger!” Bridget dug through one of her boxes and pulled out a tangled mess of cables. “Ah! Here it is.” She handed it to Christy.