To the Steadfast (11 page)

“Still want to get that
drink?” I ask.

“Hell, yeah.”

“Here’s something even
better.” I kiss him, pulling him against me and wrapping my hands around his neck
and running my fingers through his black hair. He doesn’t protest, encouraging
me to kiss him deeper. Our bodies move to the music, and I open my eyes
slightly to look at Mischa, who is trying hard not to stare.
That’s right,
Mischa. If you don’t want me, someone else will take me.

 Taking it to the next
level, I push Elliot into the nearby bathroom. I need to feel something,
anything except absolute pain. Everything is a blur, just one motion after
another as our clothes drop to the ground. 

Sometime later, I’m
stumbling out of the bathroom, my blouse buttoned up all wrong and my hair in a
tangled mess. I grab a cup from a nearby girl’s hand and throw it across the
room. It hits the wall behind Mischa, splattering brown liquid all across his back
and the redhead squeals as beer covers her hair and face. The room silences as
people look around to see who threw it. Their eyes center in on me, judging me.
I don’t know why I lost my cool all of a sudden, but I’m light-headed and I’m
feeling sick to my stomach. It’s like I’m gonna throw up, but who knows what
will come out. I haven’t eaten all day, haven’t drank anything but that glass
of water with the pills.

Mischa’s eyes are hard.
Green orbs concentrated on me with a look of annoyance. Pure annoyance, not
concern or sympathy or anything of that nature.

My stomach churns even
more as I think about what a fool I’ve been and how much attention I just drew
to myself.

I shoot down the stairs
as fast as I can until I make it outside near the tree line in the front yard.

I dry heave, stomach
acid spilling across the ground. I stumble along toward my car. I’ve never felt
so sick to my stomach and it hurts everywhere. I want to go home.

“Cody! Wait!”

It’s Mischa, but I
don’t bother to turn around. I need to get to my car. I need out of here.

“Cody!”

Fed up, I halt and turn
around. He’s alone now, but when he reaches out to touch me, I jerk away. I
don’t want to be near him. After all his empty words, telling me I was
different, I don’t want to be near him. I’m no different from any of the other
girls.

“I’m so sorry, Cody. I
made a mistake. I shouldn’t have slept with you.”

His words cause me to
double over, clutching my stomach and struggling to catch my breath. “Then why
did you do it?”

“I don’t know!”

“Tell me! Tell me, you
fucking coward!” I scream the words out, almost making my voice horse.

“I don’t know. What do
you want me to say? I’m an eighteen-year-old hormonal guy. It was a mistake. I
even tried not to break your heart, but I don’t love you, not like you want me
to.”

I don’t believe him. I
can’t believe him. We had something, I’m certain. We’d connected. I wipe away
the tears blurring my vision. It happens in movies. It happens in books. I’m
supposed to get the guy. I’m the leading lady.

“But I love you.” I
wait for something, anything from him.

He takes my hand and
gently rubs the top with his thumb. “You are beautiful. You are giving and
kind. I’d give anything to be the one who deserves you, but there’s a guy out
there who’s better for you. Better than me.”

 “But I want you.”

He groans. “I told you
no promises.”

Like that’s an excuse.
“You know what? You’re an asshole. I’ll be gone in a year anyway. You’d have
only been a distraction.”

“
You
are a
distraction! And I’m no good for you.”

I turn, one eyebrow
raised, as I let his words sink in.

“When you pay back the
guys your dad owes money to. Are you gonna stop selling?”

He answers a little too
quickly for my liking. He’s such a smooth liar. “Of course.”

“The truth.”

He looks into the
distance. “I don’t know. It’s easy money. I can make twice what I do at a
regular job.”

“Then you’re becoming
what you always feared. You’re going to end up just like him.”

He moves forward, his
eyes still on mine. A part of me wants him to kiss me and forgive him for all
the things he’s done. My breath falters as he touches my arm. The gentle
strokes bring tingles up my spine.

Pulling the keys from
my grasp, he moves his other hand to the small of my back.

“You’re messed up.
You’re acting irrational and not yourself. You can’t drive. I’ll take you
home.”

He’s right. There’s no
filter on my mouth, no cap to my feelings, no ending to this incredible high I
feel. If only the situation were a happy one, these emotions would feel so much
better.

I allow him to drive me
home. When we get there, he takes my car back to the party, promising to return
it in the morning.

It isn’t until I’m in
my room that I realize I abandoned Violet at the party. It’s not like she was
hanging out with me or waiting around anyway. I start to search for my phone to
call her, but instead I run to the bathroom to throw up. I lean against the
tiled floor and relish in the cold. And that’s when everything gets blurry.

When I wake, my
mouth
is dry. My chest is burning
and my eyelids are so heavy I can barely open them up all the way. I’m in my
bed. I struggle to move, but my hands are tied to the bedpost.

“Feeling better?” Mischa
stands beside me. He puts a cold towel to my face.

“Water,” I croak out.

He puts a glass to my
lips and I moan as the cool liquid flows down my raw throat.

“What’s going on? Why
am I tied up?”

“I couldn’t leave you.
I drove your car back here and stayed the night with you. I was worried about
you. I had to tie you up, I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.” I struggle
against the restraints a little more. He reaches out and loosens them enough so
I can slip my wrists out.

“That’s what you keep
saying. Do you even remember what happened last night?”

I don’t feel like talking
about it, and frankly, it hurts to talk. Bit and pieces slip into my mind.
Hooking up with Elliot, causing a scene in front of everyone, Mischa telling me
I was a mistake.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Dakota?”

My eyes widen at Mischa
as my father walks into my bathroom.

“You called my father?”

His shoulders slump and
he gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Cody. I didn’t know what else to
do. You wouldn’t stop throwing up.” His fingers graze mine.

My father begins
washing his hands in my bathroom sink like I’m just another patient and holds
his hands out to lift me up and check my lungs with his stethoscope.

“All right, Mischa.
She’s awake now and alive. I need you to wait out in the hall for me. I have
something to say before you go.”

Mischa looks like he might
protest but decides against it. I watch as he leaves, curious as to what they
need to talk about. Dad begins hooking me up to an IV. He’s already got the
needle in my arm and a few monitors from his practice are strategically placed
around my bed. Nausea subsides as I’m rehydrated.

“Are you disappointed?”
I ask.

“You’re lucky I was
able to keep this contained. Can you imagine what would happen to my reputation
if my own daughter overdosed at the hospital from pills I prescribed? I could
lose my license.”

I’m too embarrassed and
too fatigued to say anything at all, but he keeps on with his scolding.

“It’s time we make a
change.”

“What kind of change?”

“It’s time you went to
St. Cecilia’s Academy.”

I don’t have the energy
to react, but I know that name all too well. It’s a prep school in the middle
of nowhere, New York. It’s where my mother and father went to school. It’s
where their father and mother went to school. Attendees of St. Cecilia’s go
back generations. “My grades aren’t good enough anymore.”

“We’ve been thinking
about this for some time. I’ve already made the calls and some sizable
donations. You’re due to arrive on Monday.”

“But that’s only a few
days away. What about my friends?”

“Is that all you care
about? Boarding school will be good for you. We can get you away from these
delinquents you call friends. You need to be around people who have goals. You
think the housekeeper doesn’t tell us about these parties you have on the
weekends? All the alcohol and underage kids coming and going?”

“I’m not going. I’ll
kill myself before I go to some stuck up snobbatory school.”

He stands, his eyes
drooping from lack of sleep. “Well, it’s a good thing you are only sixteen. You
have no say in the matter. By the way, I’ve put some medicine in your IV. It
will help with the nausea, but you’ll start to feel tired.”

“You’re drugging me?”

“You’ve been drugging
yourself, Dakota. Mischa had to tell us what you took. He told us you’ve been
taking pills from your mother.”

I screwed up and now I
have to pay for it.

“Get out of my room!
Go!” I scream repeatedly until my throat is raw then bury my head in the pillow
and cry until I fall asleep.

Saturday goes by in a
blur. In and out, I can’t stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Is
it from getting my heart broken? Is it from the drugs? I don’t know. All I know
is that everything hurts. My body, my soul, my mind. I want everything to go
away, but I have nothing to numb it with.

 When Sunday comes, I
awake to find someone packing up my stuff. It’s our housekeeper. My mother
watches from the doorway with her head high as if this is such an inconvenience
for her. I roll out of bed and begin pulling all the clothes from the suitcases
and throw them on the ground.

“I’m not going. You
can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Sorry, young lady. You
aren’t staying here.” She folds her hands in front of her chest.

“Oh, my bad. I suppose
with me out of the way you can continue screwing the next-door neighbor!” I get
up in her face while screaming. She backs up until she hits my bedroom wall.

“I hate you! You’re the
worst mother in the world. You drove Dad away and ruined everything!”

Her palm comes out and
connects with my cheek. My eyes widen as I put my hand to my stinging face.
She’s never hit me before.

She swallows before
lifting her head up higher. “You are nothing but a spoiled, selfish brat. You
know nothing about the real world. You think love is so simple? You don’t choose
who you fall in love with.”

Something inside me
knows this is inevitable. I can’t get away. Then it hits me, if I really leave,
I need to say goodbye. “Where’s my phone?” I begin searching the top of my
armoire that’s covered with makeup and trash.

She smirks. “It’s been
confiscated. Electronic devices are not allowed at your new dorm, and social
media is restricted as well.”

“I need to say goodbye,
please.”

My mother sighs in
annoyance. “You are leaving after you eat.”

“What?” We can’t leave
today, I’m not ready.

“We figured you’d want
a night to settle in before you begin summer school.”

I no longer have the
energy to yell or to fight. Like a zombie, I walk to the bathroom and take a
shower. I stay under the water until it turns cold and I’m certain my mom has
gone downstairs. I finally make it to the dining room to see they have food
waiting for me. Mom is flipping through a magazine, refusing to look my way.

“St. Cecilia’s Academy
isn’t that bad. I attended all four years of my high school. As did your
father. Maybe you’ll meet a nice, respectable guy. Now eat. We have a plane to
catch in two hours.”

I eat the bland soup
with robot precision. She doesn’t mention my father, and I’m certain he has
left again, never to return. Outside, my mother walks me to a limo. Before
getting in, I panic. What if I never see Violet again or Mischa? What about
Killian. I look to his rooftop but it’s empty. With my last burst of energy, I
spring toward the neighbor’s. My mother will come after me, but she won’t run,
which will give me the time I need to at least say goodbye to Killian.

I tap furiously at the
door, alternating between the doorbell and screaming out Killian’s name.

When the door opens, I
shut up. Instead of Killian, Mr. Carmike is at the door.

“Is Killian here?”

He folds his hands in
front of his body and looks down at me. “No, he isn’t.”

My mother appears
behind me and tugs at my shoulders. “Don’t mind her. She’s just leaving.”

“Please, Mommy? Don’t
make me go,” I whimper as she drags me to the car.

I can’t say goodbye to
any of my friends or let them know where I’ve gone. I don’t know anyone’s
number. They were all stored in my phone. Violet doesn’t have an email. I don’t
even know Killian’s school email. Maybe I can sneak out a letter, but I’m
certain my parents will have the staff watching out for me. No, I have to be
smart. I’ll wait it out. Bide my time, and hope they don’t forget me.

“Goodbye,” I whisper to
no one.