To the Steadfast (9 page)

“But you could be. If
you just showed people your potential, things could be different. You can get
out of this town and stop being a Cromwell. You could leave with me.”

“I’ll always be a
Cromwell. Stop trying to change me,” he snaps.

“I didn’t mean it like
that. I only meant.”

“I can do a few
extraordinary things. So what? Doesn’t change who I am. Why are you afraid of
being with me like I am? Is it because you know your parents will disapprove?
Guess what, no matter what I do, your parents will always see me as a
Cromwell.”

“That’s not true.” I
don’t understand why he’s saying this. I care about him, not my parents.

“Just stop it, Cody.
Stop believing in me because I don’t want to be that person. Dad is gone now,
so it’s my job to watch out for Violet and my mom.”

I nod, afraid I might
upset him even more. My phone rings, and I reluctantly grab it.

“Ugh! What now? Hello?”

My dad’s voice comes
through the speaker. Probably the first time he’s ever called me. “Dakota, your
principal called and said you weren’t at school today. Apparently you’ve missed
twelve days already this semester.”

I close my eyes. “I
wasn’t feeling well.”

“And he says you’re on
academic probation for the rest of the year?”

Mom already knows. I’m
surprised she never told him. “Dad, it’s only a few more weeks. It’s not that
big of a deal.”

“And this is only your
future. Your teacher says you’re supposed to be at afterschool tutoring, so get
your butt down there, now! And come home right after.”

 This voice tells me
this isn’t something I should be arguing with. “Fine,” I snap.

“And I’m trying to
work. I don’t need any more teachers calling me to report your inability to
turn in homework.”

“I said fine.” I slam
the phone on the bed and give Mischa a half smile. “I gotta go. My dad got a
call from the school about my bad grades and is going ballistic. Thanks for the
cube, maybe one day I’ll figure it out.”

“He cares about your
grades that much?” He sits up on his elbows to get a better look at me.

“Yeah, it’s like the
one thing he cares about. I guess because he doesn’t have a son or any siblings
he depends on me to carry on the family legacy or something.”

“Don’t go.” Mischa
leans in and kisses me, catching me off guard.

A minute ago, we were
fighting and now he wants to hook up? As much as I want to stay, I don’t want
to make my dad angrier. “Rain check?”

His face drops in
disappointment and suddenly his interest dies way, killing what little hope I
had inside for our relationship.

“Fine, whatever,” he
mumbles, before lying back down and staring at the ceiling.

It’s a rarity to
come
home to both my parents’ cars
in the driveway. I don’t think it’s happened since...who knows when. I take the
dreaded walk up to the front door and go inside. The living room is empty, but
I find them sitting in the dining room with a tense look on their faces.

“Everything okay?” My
gaze moves back and forth between them both.

“We’re having dinner.”
My mother straightens up and smooths out her dress. “Sit down. We have
something to discuss.”

That’s what I was
afraid of. “Is this about skipping school because I don’t want to—”

“Just sit down!” my
father barks out.

“Wow, okay.” I sit in
the seat across from my mother and try to read the expression on their faces.
Angry, mad, sad, or disappointed. I can’t tell what to prepare for. I’ve never
been grounded before, but they could take my car or credit cards.

“After we got off the
phone, I called your principal to tell him you were on your way. He told me
something else. He said they can’t approve the hospital’s summer internship
because your G.P.A has dropped below a 3.5? Now explain to me how in the world
that has happened?”

“So I let a few
assignments slip past.” I look toward my mom. “You knew I was having trouble.”

My father’s face twists
in anger before turning to her. “You knew about this?”

“I knew she was having
trouble, yes.”

“I don’t understand.
Why are you throwing everything away, Dakota? I thought you were more
responsible than this. I thought you weren’t such a screw-up!”

Hearing those words
come out of his mouth sits heavy on my heart. We’ve never had much in common,
but he’d always been proud of my academic accomplishments.

“Let’s just eat,” I
mumble. I push around the roast beef on my plate.

As we eat, the only
thing that can be heard is the sound of our forks scraping the plates.

 “There’s something
else we need to talk about,” my father says. He wipes his mouth with a napkin
and stands up. He bends down to pick up a bag and scowls at my mother.

“What do you mean?” I
look back and forth between them both, not sure what’s going on.

My mother refuses to
look at me. My stomach becomes a hard rock, and all I can hear is the blood
rushing through my body. I know what’s going on, but I can’t allow myself to
think the words.

“Your father is moving
out,” she says. She tears the pearls off her neck and throws them at him. They
don’t hurt him. He doesn’t even acknowledge them as they scatter across the
dining room floor.

He refuses to look me
in the eyes when he speaks to her.

“It’s not working out,
Kathleen. Dakota, I’m moving out. Technically, I’ve been gone for a few weeks.
I’ll be staying at the Regency until I find my own place and-”

“Oh, come off your high
horse, Kenneth!”

I step away from my
mother as her yelling becomes louder, filling my ears with a deafening ring. I
can’t say anything. I don’t say anything as her rants become incoherent between
her sobs.

“What will people say
about us?”

My father doesn’t say a
thing which makes a sob sneak up in my throat. He walks out the door with no
explanation, no goodbye. I struggle to comprehend what I’m feeling, but
everything is jumbled.

“I hate you! You ruin
everything!” I scream at her. She has to be making him leave. She throws a
glass against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces and storms from the
room.

My parents never had
the greatest marriage, but at least my father lived here. They hardly ever saw
each other, which made the perfect arrangement. Was he really leaving or was
this just a fight? I can still hear my mother throwing stuff around the
kitchen, but I need to know what’s going on. On the way to the front door, my
heel gives out and a sharp pain shoots up my ankle. Kicking my shoes off, I
hobble out the door.

“Dad! Please don’t go.
Is this because of what happened with Mr. Carmike last week?  I promise to
apologize. Maybe he’ll still write that letter for college.”

“This has nothing to do
with you,” he snaps. His voice calms as he continues. “Things are difficult
right now. I don’t expect someone your age to understand. Love is a complicated
thing.”

He’s putting his
suitcase in the trunk of his car, but stops and looks at me before closing it
and making a move for the driver’s side door. I don’t expect him to feel bad
for leaving.

“Dad, please don’t
leave me alone with her.” I don’t know why I’m begging him to stay. He’s never
home anyway, but if he moves out, I’ll see him even less.”

“I don’t have time for
this, Dakota. I gave it a good shot, but it’s time to move on.”

I hurry to keep up with
him. “But, Dad—”

“Not another word, I
mean it!”  He slams the door in my face, not even looking my way as he speeds
off.

Jerk, he could have
run over my feet!

“And it’s Cody, I hate
it when you call me Dakota!”

I’m certain the whole
block just heard me, but I couldn’t care less.

There’s no denying the
burning behind my eyes. Rejection, humiliation, confusion. So many emotions
tear away at my skull. I’m not sure how to deal with them. I cover my face with
my hands and give out one loud scream until the pain subsides.

Going back inside isn’t
even an option, Mom is on a warpath. I sneak around to the back of the house
and sit on one of the chairs on the deck. After a few minutes of picking at the
faded flower cushion, there’s only one thing to do so I don’t die of boredom—listen
to music on my iPod. It will drown out the noise of my mother. I hear her
causing thousands of dollars’ worth of damage. I think I hear her throwing his
stuff out of a window as well but am too afraid to check. A short time later,
my phone goes off.

Killian: Everything
okay over there?

Cody: You heard it
too?

Killian: The whole
block heard it.

I don’t reply. It’s
embarrassing.

Killian: Seriously
though, are you okay?

Cody: You said you
already heard what happened.

Killian: Ugh.
Dakota, the whole block heard it now answer my question already.

Cody: Life sucks,
but I’m used to it.

Killian: You want to
come over to watch the changing of the lotto numbers?

Cody: I’m not in the
mood plus I have school tomorrow.

Killian:  You’re
gonna join me on the roof. I have a box of chocolates with your name on it.

My weakness. Chocolate.
Damn him.

Cody: Fine. I’ll be
over there later. I hate you.

Killian: That’s
okay. One day you will love me.

Somewhere around nine,
I feel it’s safe enough to sneak back inside and take a shower. Mom is snoozing
away in her room, and I’m covered in sweat from the humidity outside. I go to
check on her. She’s on the bed, still in her dress. Her hair is sprawled across
her pillow. I put a finger to her wrist to make sure she still has a pulse.
Sure enough, she does. Pills from a half-empty bottle are strewn out across her
nightstand. Without hesitation, I grab a handful and pop them in my mouth. I
don’t care what they are, but that night with Mischa was the freest I’ve felt
in months. I use her water bottle to wash them down and leave the room. Barely
making it to the staircase, I collapse on the top step and hug the railing.
Everything is going downhill. Here I am, a week shy of seventeen. I should be
having the best years of my life, but nothing makes any sense. My parents don’t
give a damn about me. I can’t talk to my best friend because all she cares
about is getting drunk. I don’t really have anyone else to talk to, no one that
I feel like talking to anyway. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to talk to
anyone. I don’t want to deal with life.

I sit on the step
silently crying for the longest time, listening to the large clock in the
living room tick. With each second that passes, the tick tock resonates through
the hallway and up through the stairs. It represents another moment in this
house. Another step closer to being eighteen. When I’m eighteen, I can leave
this place, this home, this town.

When it’s time to make
my way to Killian’s place, the pills have kicked in and subdued my pity. My
crying has ceased, and I feel better than I have in a long time. I don’t care
about my parents’ problems, and I have this massive urge to smile. I feel on
top of the world instead of the world being on my shoulders. Barefoot, I stroll
across the lawn to Killian’s front door. I ring the doorbell and wait. Just
like mine, his parents are hardly ever home, and I doubt they are here now. My
body is pulsing with pleasure. It’s almost as good as an orgasm, but not quite.
I sit back against the porch railing and enjoy the high. It’s like nothing bad
can ever touch me, and in a world where I feel invisible, this is the greatest
feeling in the world.

“What are you
thinking?” Killian says, his blue eyes staring into mine. We’re face-to-face.

I blink. How did he get
here? “You don’t wanna know.”

He sits back and
crosses his hands in front of his chest. “Try me.”

“I’m tired of never
being enough. I’m tired of making the wrong choices. My father’s gone, and I’m
sure he hates me. I slept with Mischa, and I’m certain he used me.”

“I see…” He looks
uncomfortable, fidgeting his hands and biting his bottom lip.

“See? I told you so.
Guys don’t like to talk about the personal stuff.”

“Come on, what makes
you think he used you? And your father? You complain about him never being
around anyway. As for Mischa…”

His eyes close, and he
swallows so loudly I can hear it from where I stand.  “Did you ever think about
not being so easy?”

Wincing from the shock
of his words, the fact that he just called me a whore, I impulsively bring my
hand up and slap him. My fingers make a sharp impact with his cheek, and I hope
the stinging in my hand is only a portion of what he feels. His face is frozen,
stunned by the fact that I, Cody, had the balls to slap him. I’ve never hit
anyone in my entire life. I’m normally a passive person.

 A little voice inside
of me tsks.

It’s true, you know.
You let Mischa use you. You begged him to sleep with you. He told you he
couldn’t make any promises. And Dad? You knew he wasn’t around. Deep down, you
had to know something was up.

 “Don’t you ever speak
to me again,” I whisper. I make a move to slap him again, but he grabs my wrist
and holds it tight in the air. His mouth is set in a hard line.

“I’m sorry, Cody. I
shouldn’t have said that.” His voice is pitiful, breaking me in two. “I’m so
sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re not easy. You’re just trying to live and to
feel, I know that. I understand it.”

He pulls me close,
wrapping his arms around me in the most intimate hug I’ve ever received from
him or anyone else for that matter. We aren’t normally touchy feely friends,
but I let him support my weight as I breathe in his scent. Smoke and deodorant.
I’ll never forget that smell.