Beneath the Surface

The reunion was taking place at a hall where wedding receptions, proms, and other such parties usually took place. As Kitora entered the building, she realized that she didn’t recognize half of the faces. But that was understandable, since she hadn’t seen most of these people in thirteen years. Perhaps she’d be lucky enough to avoid them recognizing her. They might be too enveloped in friends who hadn’t moved away after freshman year.

Inside the hall, it was more spacious than it seemed. Music played, begging for dancers, but the majority of the people chose to loiter on the sidelines and reminisce with old friends. Kitora, afraid to do anything of the sort, hid in the shadows, trying to avoid being recognized.

The medicine for her ADHD began to take effect as Kitora took a glass of punch from a table of food. Already, Kitora felt it was easier to think without extreme emotion, and easier to study the faces without growing bored and looking for something different. It gave a pleasurable feeling, or perhaps that was the effect of the painkillers, already seeping into her mind and giving her that brilliant high. Maybe, if she didn’t see any old classmates, she could get through the night unscathed.

“Kitora!” called a voice.

It sounded familiar, though of course it was deeper. She should have known that avoiding them all would be impossible.

Turning, she saw a tall burly man, his black hair cut short and slicked back. He wore a crisp business suit, and he looked considerably stronger than the last time she’d seen him. He looked great, and Kitora would’ve been happy to see such a pretty face if he weren’t someone she’d wanted to avoid.

“I’m surprised you noticed me,” said Kitora, attempting to sound calm and casual while panicking. She didn’t want any flashes from the past. She sipped the punch, wincing at a pungent taste she couldn’t quite place.

His smile opened until it flashed perfect white teeth. The last time Kitora had seen him, he’d been wearing braces. “I’m observant.”

“Ah,” said Kitora. Tyler had never observed anything before.

“So, I bet everyone here knows what you’ve done with your life! I’m too busy to sit down and read, but I’ve seen all of the movie adaptations. Great stuff!” he said.

Perhaps it was the drugs affecting her mind, but it took Kitora a few moments to realize that Tyler was talking about her books. “Oh, oh, yes, thanks. I'm permitted on the set, so I help them,” she said.

"Lucky you," said Tyler.

A silence followed, then Tyler opened his mouth. Kitora didn’t need any questions.

“What have you done with your life?” she asked. She didn’t care, but at least asking him would stop him from asking about her.

“Oh, me?” Tyler seemed caught off guard for a moment. “I’m a bodyguard.”

Why would Tyler become a bodyguard? It made as much sense as a caterpillar morphing into a beetle.

“Where’s your charge?” Kitora asked.

“Oh, she’s being watched by her mother,” Tyler responded.

“Mother?”

Tyler nodded.

“Why would she be watched by her mother?”

Tyler winked. “I’m not supposed to tell, but I will anyway.” His voice fell to a whisper, hard to hear above the pulsating music. “I’m Monica Verity’s bodyguard.”

Oh, shit.

“Oh,” said Kitora. It was awfully difficult to maintain a polite pretense. Despite the taste, Kitora took a long drink of her punch.

“And she’s going to be in your latest movie, correct?” said Tyler.

Kitora nodded, her head aching. “Yes. She’s in a starring role.”

“Great! We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, then.” He hugged Kitora, unexpected at best. “I’ll see who else I can find from our old clan. See you on the set!”

She watched Tyler leave, swallowing the rest of her punch, vision blurry. Now she knew the taste. It was alcohol, wasn’t it? Maybe if she weren’t already so high, it wouldn’t have such an effect. Perhaps she would have noticed it before. Kitora bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the feeling. Already, though she’d just arrived, she wanted to leave.

She clung to the wall, blending into the background in her dark dress as bodies shifted around her, matching rhythms, moving together. For the first time in many years, Kitora felt almost…lonely. She found herself scanning the crowd for someone she knew, not quite sure who she was trying to see, but knowing she was trying to find someone specifi-

No, it must be an effect of the drugs. For that had taken root as well, and Kitora started to feel nauseous, coupled with a spinning, aching head. It must be causing any implications that she could be searching for anyone at this reunion.

“Aren’t you Kitora Sanchez?” asked a voice.

Kitora turned to see a woman that she didn’t know. With long black hair, a small, slender body, and a tight white dress, Kitora thought she looked great. It didn’t matter, of course, when all she needed was to escape.

“Yes,” she replied.

The woman nodded. “That’s great. I’m Alexa. Do you remember me?”

“No,” said Kitora. The nausea wasn’t making this conversation very bearable, but she struggled to remain civil. Someone she didn’t remember meeting couldn’t cause any trouble.

Alexa shrugged. “That’s all right. I only saw you for a few days, anyway. Then you moved away. Did you like it there?”

“I…”

Hmm. A surprisingly tricky question. Why was it that when she tried to remember, all she could think of was how she’d moved away once her first book had been published? She’d spent three years living there, and she couldn’t even remember what the city was named!

Of course, Alexa didn’t need to know that. Instead, Kitora resorted to the time-honored strategy of the resourceful and the unsure: she lied.

“Yes, of course. It was pleasant,” she said, adding a polite smile for good measure.

Alexa seemed satisfied with the answer, but she wasn’t through yet. “How do you like being a famous author?”

Another question, when she was feeling so unwell. She needed to escape this conversation quickly to find a bathroom.

“It’s wonderful,” Kitora replied, and it wasn’t a lie, despite sounding forced.

“That’s good. Have you seen Tyler?” Alexa asked.

What would she need him for? “Tyler Velynski? Yes. He just spoke with me. If you know him, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

For some reason, the statement made Alexa frown. “Oh, okay.” Then she left, and Kitora was alone. Now to sneak quietly to the bathroom. Or run. Whichever worked.

She crept along the sidelines, trying to see over the crowd and find a bathroom. If she were still a high schooler, it would be easy. She’d always been tall. But in the time since she’d last seen them, the sprouting boys had grown into plants, and Kitora had no way of seeing over most of them.

As Kitora passed the door, she felt a cool breeze on her face and arms. The perks to leaving seemed to amass, but she figured that she could last for a few more hours to please her publicist. But as she turned around, it seemed that there wasn’t a bathroom to be found. Yet the urge to puke was so strong…

“Kitora! I finally found you!” said a voice. It was Maria, someone that shouldn’t be saying “finally” because Kitora shouldn’t be so important to her. In a glance, Maria looked quite pretty, her dress sparkling.

Kitora clutched her mouth, resisting what was to come. But the body overruled the mind, and soon Maria’s dress had vomit all over the front.

Screw the publicity. Embarrassment like that wasn’t worth good press.

She ran, her stomach feeling a bit better but her head reeling. If Maria had been a particularly good friend of Kitora’s, perhaps she wouldn’t leave, and she’d try to help. However, Kitora had never really known her well. Perhaps that was odd, since Kitora’s friends had known her well, but she’d only seen Maria in passing. Now she’d never get to know her well, or ask what she meant by “finally” when she couldn’t possibly be looking for her.

Outside, the fresh, clean town air coursed through her, clearing her head. Now that this obligation had ended, she’d return to ordinary life where people didn’t spike punch bowls or try to force Kitora to recall her past.

As she looked around, she saw someone else there, too, leaning on the lit lamppost. His clothing was formal and white, his brown hair hung in his face, and his body was average-sized, not too strong or too skinny. Something seemed familiar, and that familiarity, unlike everything else familiar about the night, seemed almost endearing. Despite that, Kitora knew she’d never seen this man in her life. He was probably safe to talk to.

“Sick of the reunion, too?” she asked, weakly smiling. Then again, if she did know him and merely missed that she recognized him, maybe speaking was a bad idea.

He glanced her direction and smiled back. No, she hadn’t seen him before.

“Deciding whether to go in,” he said.

“Isn’t it kind of late?” Kitora asked.

“Yeah…”

A pause, and then he added, “I’m Myles. Who are you?”

Kitora raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t often that people missed knowing her on sight. Of course, writers weren’t as famous as actresses or musicians, and they weren’t featured in most magazines as the cover story. “I’m Kitora Sanchez.” Her head lurched; she couldn’t keep up pleasant conversation for long.

Myles nodded. “Do you know a Maria Lainex?” he asked.

Well, that hurt. He didn’t even acknowledge her name. Why would he want to know where Maria was when he had Kitora in front of him? What did he want with Maria, anyway?

“Yes…she’s inside,” she replied, trying not to let him see her irritation.

Nodding again, Myles said, “Okay, maybe I’ll try to find her, then.”

Kitora smiled, but her head ached, even more than before. She knew it showed in the sudden waver of her lips, in the way her eyes widened, in the moan escaping her throat, but she didn’t care. It hurt too much.

“Are you okay?” asked Myles. Kitora hardly heard him. She fell to her knees, clutching her head.

“Do you want me to…to get you a taxi, or drive you home, or something?”

Kitora shook her head violently, refusing to speak, refusing to let him take advantage of her state of weakness. But her head wouldn’t stop. Soon, pain consumed her mind, her body, and became all she could feel. She fell forward, head hitting the pavement, and suddenly, eyes closing, she saw in her mind’s eye a carpeted floor, sock-covered feet in front of her, hands on her arm, shaking her, trying to make her rise. A wave of sadness choked Kitora, and though she tried to write off the strange hallucination, part of her couldn’t accept that it was imaginary. Something tried to tell her that it was more. A memory, perhaps? But Kitora couldn’t remember ever fainting before…

Blackness consumed her, and she traded the pain for the sweet, sweet numbness.