Dakota South

Jack tries calling six times. I don’t answer any, instead pressing deny after the first ring on each of them. I’m surprised he’s even trying this hard. Jack doesn’t chase. The whole play-hard-to-get bit doesn’t work with him for very long. If a girl doesn’t open up to him - and not in the emotional opening up and spill all your deepest secrets kind of way – he’ll be gone in no time flat.

“Dakota?” Mom is calling me from the bottom of the stairs.

I roll over onto my back half-heartedly, debating on whether or not I should answer her. If I don’t, she will probably assume I’ve hanged myself in my closet. I don’t have the heart to put her through that fleeting stress, so I groan as I sit up and go to meet her by the stairs.

“Come help with the groceries, please,” she says, her arms laden with plastic bags full of food.

Great, just fucking great, more food. More food that keeps me alive, when, in this moment, all I want is to die. I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t want to die, the last time when each breath wasn’t a savior but a condemnation to this godforsaken life I lead. Torture. That’s what it is – a slow torture. But. I can’t show them what it’s taking out of me to stay; that will only make it harder to find an opportunity to leave.

So.

I smile and nod and follow my mom like the good daughter I am to the car to grab the plastic bags filled with my demise. There’s a honk and the sound of gravel being crushed under a heavy load behind me as I head to go back inside, and when I turn around I’m surprised to see Jack’s piece of shit car parked outside my house for the second time today. He rolls down the window. He won’t get out of the car, I know it, he knows it, hell, everyone knows it. It goes against his principles.

“I need to talk to you.”

I’m shaking. Maybe it’s the cold rain that’s still falling around me, maybe it’s because I never really warmed up from before, or maybe it’s because I’m scared of what he has to say. But mostly, I know it’s from the rage that I’m trying to contain. I can’t have an episode in front of my mother. I can’t act suspiciously.

“I’m busy,” I snap.

“Please, Dak, it’s important.”

Jack doesn’t say please. Ever.

My mother comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. She knows Jack, she’s known him since we were kids because his mom was a PTA board member with her. Perfect moms, the both of them, really, it’s a shame they got stuck with kids like us. She knows our history too, but, unlike my brothers, she doesn’t hate Jack. I don’t know why. Maybe because she knew him as a kid. Maybe because she knows how, at one point in my life, he made me so happy. Truth is, I don’t know why she doesn’t hate him. All I know is at this moment I couldn’t hate anyone more, not even Marie Donnelly.

“I’ll take those,” she says, grabbing the bags out of my arms before I can even react, and then all I can see is her back disappearing through our front door.

I stare after her for a moment, hoping she’ll come back and give me an excuse to ignore Jack. But. She doesn’t. I stand there for a while before I finally turn around to face him. He’s out of his car, which surprises me – usually it’s too much of a commitment for him.

“Can I come in? It’s pouring.”

In the matter of two minutes Jack has surprised me more than he ever has in the entirety of our lives together. But. Whereas a year ago, or even three months ago, I would’ve been thrilled that he wanted to come into my house, the last thing I want know is to have him contaminating the air in my home with his presence.

“No.”

“C’mon, Dak,” he persists, reaching out to take my arm and pull me towards the porch.

I resist.

“I said no,” I say flatly.

“I need to talk to you, it’s important.”

“Say whatever it is you need to say and get away from me,” I snarl.

“I just have one question,” his voice trails off and he wipes the dripping hair away from his forehead.

“Shoot.”

He looks me in the eyes, hard, and it’s as if his blue eyes can swallow me whole. There was a time where I loved getting lost in his eyes. There was a time when I relished every moment he let me stare into them, which wasn’t very often. There was a time when I prayed and prayed Jack would try this hard just to talk to me. But all times pass. Today isn’t that day anymore.

“Was it because of me?”

His words hang in the air between us, tangible things that slowly wind around my throat like a boa constrictor trying to crush the last breaths out of me. And they’re succeeding. My chest is caving in, I can’t catch my breath, I can’t speak. It’s a general enough question, innocent to whatever outsiders could hear it, but I know the truth.

My breath comes back to me all at once.

“You pretentious little shit,” I snarl. “You asshole!”

With my breath comes my strength and mobility. I reach back and slap him hard across the face, so hard that his eyes widen, his jaw drops, and he lets out a short grunt of pain. I don’t stop. My fists fly across his chest, once making brief contact with his jaw before he grabs me by my wrists and pins them to my side.

“I need you to answer me.”

There’s desperation in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. It chills me deep to the core. I’ve never seen Jack look desperate or scared or out of control like this.

“No, Jack,” I growl. “It wasn’t because of you.”

His hands drop. His eyes are full of relief. His body, which had been coiled and tensed during our whole, brief conversation, relaxes. And, it hits me. I realize. I understand. I know. Jack doesn’t care. In fact, he couldn’t care less. If I were to drop dead, here in this moment, he could walk away from my lifeless body with a clear conscience – because he knows it wouldn’t have been his fault. The truth of the matter is simply that - it’s true; it wouldn’t have been his fault. But. The truth hurts worse than a lie. At least for me.

“I want you to go,” I whisper. “And stay the hell away from me.”

For the second time today, Jack meets my eyes and holds the contact. My body is frozen in the moment, my heart unwilling to listen to what my brain is telling it to do – let him go. You don’t need him, it screams. You shouldn’t want him.

“I can do that,” he murmurs.

My brain is right, my heart shouldn’t want him. But. Just because something shouldn’t happen doesn’t mean it doesn’t. Life plays by its own rules, and so does the heart. Mine? Mine shatters. My brain whispers something suspiciously like I told you so as both my head and my heart watch Jack’s back disappear to the car. There was a time when I wished Jack would stop pushing me away from him, when all I wanted from the world was to be close to him. All times pass. But. Today is still that day. Jack hesitates at his car door, and that moment hung in the air forever. In that infinite moment my heart gave one last attempt to stay alive, hoping against all the odds that he was going to come back, that he couldn’t stay away from me.

And then.

“Bye, Dakota.”

The moment is gone. It shatters. My heart dies, lying dormant somewhere deep inside my chest where no one can revive it. Jack surprised me all day, going against his own principles by showing up and showing some signs of commitment. But now, I am not surprised by his final action. He does exactly what he always does, what he’s best at.

He leaves.