The Girl

by K Larsen

  I reach up and smack his shoulder.

  “Dallas,” I admonish.

  “What? It doesn’t help to pretend it’s different. The truth is what you have to cope with. It’s the only way to keep moving forward.” His face twists and wrinkles, and he throws his head backward to stare at the clouds.

  “What if she’s not though? What happens if she comes back?” I push.

  Dallas sighs.

  “It really doesn’t matter, in a couple months I’m eighteen. She can’t do anything then.”

  “Does that make you sad?”

  He looks at me. “Honestly—no. She’s my mom, and that very base, simplistic fact means I will always love her, but I don’t like her, I don’t care for her. And all I feel when I think about her being dead or not being a part of my life is… at peace. It makes me feel free.” I blink, trying to conjure the right words to follow that statement up. But there is nothing. I understand loving and hating something simultaneously. Dallas leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. “There’s not always a rebuttal City, sometimes there’s nothing else to say.”

  “Are you saying I talk too much?” I whisper. Laughter follows, bubbling up and cleaning out all our demons. A few real tears accompany the laughter tears, but that’s okay.

  10

  Dallas

  I am flying. Not really, metaphorically. I have all this energy and my chest feels full. So full it might expand to the point it explodes. I don’t usually feel this kind of wound up joy but it’s bubbling just beneath my skin like static electricity. I love this feeling. I know what to do. Ray and I have rules. The rule is both unspoken and unwritten, but I know it as surely as I know leaves are green and tree trunks are brown.

  In the kitchen I pour a glass of water, twist the cap off the bottle and shake a pill into my hand. Except the bottle’s empty and there is nothing in my hand. I replace the cap and set the bottle back on the window sill. A cold feeling spreads outward from the nape of my neck.

  My phone vibrates on the counter. I grin when I see Charlotte’s name.

  Wanna play scrabble tonight?

  I type back.

  No thanks, I value my ego.

  My brain misfires in all directions. I know what’s happening but I refuse to believe it. Not now. Not with her. Denial sweeps in as I imagine the withering glare Charlotte’s probably giving her phone right now. She sends a frowny face emoji and I laugh.

  I’m happy to watch, if that pleases the lady.

  I forcibly relax my arms, followed by my legs in an attempt to exude the calm I want to feel. The fire inside me is hard to hold back but you can’t allow your past to define you. At least that’s the saying. I’m better now. Charlotte makes me better and I know I can get through this with her by my side.

  The lady would be pleased.

  I bark out a laugh and head to the door to lace up my boots. Charlotte is my world. She’s sunshine and blue sky and happiness. When she blows a kiss, it spins the world off its axis. I can almost imagine people wobbling and sliding down sidewalks, reaching out for something to hang on to. The way she bites her lip when she first sees me waiting for her before school, God damn. She walks over so slowly. Her hips sway in this way that makes me want to rip her clothes off. I can't tear my eyes from her. I stand there like a moron waiting for the moment she’s close enough to accidentally touch—and I always make sure I figure out a way to connect with her physically.

  That first hit of her, gets my blood pumping for the day. Hearing her steady breaths through the phone last thing at night, knowing we’ve talked ourselves into sleep is weirdly satisfying. She’s an addiction that I never want to kick. Which is dangerous. She’s going places. She’s meant to go places. Her life will be bigger than this Podunk town with its simple Main Street and its four stop lights. She and I feel like the perfect storm. Lightning and thunder. She’s going to set the world on fire. I don’t know how exactly but I can feel it in my bones. I’m not cut from the same cloth as her. I’m a simple guy with simple goals but I won’t hold her back and I won’t let her hold herself back for me either. When the time comes, I’ll set her free—content to have had her in my life at all.

  11

  Charlotte

  He’s been carrying me for what feels like hours. I’m sopping wet and chilled to the marrow. Holden tosses me from his shoulder onto my bed. I stay silent. Everything hurts. My heart, my body, my soul.

  “Lotte,” He says.

  I say nothing.

  “Lotte,” He demands. I groan, letting him know I’m still alive. He tugs off my boots, followed by my clothes. My fingernails claw at him feebly. When I’m in only my underwear, he grabs the blanket from the chair and adds it to my comforter over me. I shudder. Two years. I’ve endured two years, how much more will I have to take? Did Nora make it out? Is she alive? We were so close to freedom. So close. I think I feel him sometimes but my memory is fuzzy and I keep bouncing between sweaty and cold.

  There are things in life that you can't control no matter how much you want to. Like the seasons and other people's emotions and genetics. Sometimes I worry that my past has affected me in a way that I can’t control—that I’ll never be able to control. That I will always have nightmares about Holden. That I will always be different from my peers no matter where or what stage I’m at in life. But Dr. Richardson helps me manage those feelings. I’ve been seeing her since I got off that godforsaken mountain.

  “Are you still keeping your journal? I noticed you didn’t bring it today,” she says, snapping me from my thoughts.

  I nod. “I am, but not as much as I used to.”

  “Any particular reason? Has anything been going on lately I should know about?” she asks. I don’t have to see her weekly anymore. I don’t even have to see her at all, but I do, once a month. She’s more than just my therapist. She’s a family friend and one that I trust with my life.

  “I have a boyfriend.” My knee bounces with nervous energy as I share the news with her.

  Her brow arches up. “That’s wonderful. Tell me about him.”

  “His name is Dallas and he is… everything.”

  She tries to school the look of amusement, but I don’t miss it. “Define everything.”

  A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. Up until now, Dallas has been only mine. Like a secret. I haven’t had to talk about him much to anyone really. And keeping him to myself has suited me. But I feel like here, with Dr. R, I can say all the things bubbling inside of me. If I had a best friend, a girl friend, I’d be sharing with her, but I don’t, so Dr. R is as good as it gets.

  “He’s different. Like me, I mean. He’s not into social media and phones and video games. He’s been through some tough stuff—he’s in foster care. So he doesn’t judge like other people do just because they don’t understand hardship. He is…” my voice trails off. Clearing my throat, I sit up a little straighter. “Thoughtful and attentive. Damaged and insightful.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Lotte. One little red flag for me though. Why use the word ‘damaged?’”

  “I don’t mean it in a bad way.” I’m shaking my head rapidly. “I mean, damaged like me.”

  “You’re not damaged.”

  “But aren’t I? I’m not typical.”

  “Typical and atypical do not equate damaged. Damaged infers that it can’t be fixed, that its value is diminished. Your collective experiences in life don’t make you damaged. Not if you’re moving forward and have a healthy relationship.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, but I want to be sure you know what you mean too. And what you want. It’s important to have healthy expectations and boundaries for a relationship to work.”

  “We do.”

  She smirks at me. “Okay good. Give me an example.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Um, well, like, we aren’t together twenty-four seven. He has work and stuff with Ray and I have N.E.L. and school.”

  She holds up her han
d. “He’s not in school?”

  “Oh no, he is. He graduates this year. Actually, in four days,” I say.

  She nods, so I continue. “I mean, I see the kids at school. They’re obsessed with each other. Practically Siamese twins when they’re a couple.”

  Dr. R presses her lips into a tight, straight line. She almost never does that. I stop talking and wait.

  “I’m glad that your relationship isn’t all consuming but those aren’t exactly the expectations and boundaries I was getting at.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “What then?”

  “You mentioned that he graduates soon, let’s start there. What’s the expectation for after graduation? Will you keep dating? Visit him at college? How does Eve feel about that?”

  I clamp my jaw tightly in place. I hadn’t thought about any of that. I hadn’t bothered to consider anything outside of this week. “You haven’t talked about it have you?” she asks.

  Slowly, I shake my head.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  My heart pounds in my rib cage. “I don’t know. A lot. How did I not think to bring it up? Anxiety. Nervous.” I drop my gaze and pick at my cuticles.

  “Lotte, look at me,” she says. “I’m not trying to rain on your parade. You deserve all the giddy first love feelings. I just want whatever relationship you enter into, to be a healthy one. I want you to know when to ask for advice or help. I want you to understand what is okay and what is not, in terms of how a man treats you. And I’m sure you have nothing to worry about with graduation.”

  “If you mean, you don’t want me with someone like Holden, I know that.”

  “Sometimes charisma can blind you. Love and hormones and using your heart instead of your brain, can make you do things you normally wouldn’t. We are all susceptible to it. No one is immune. Love—the chemistry part within the brain that happens when you feel it—can blur lines. I know you. I know you’re not at risk for being with anyone with any similar characteristics of Holden. But who he was, what he did, is not the only bad in the world, or in people. He was just one brand of messed up.”

  I jam my hands under my thighs. “I never said I loved Dallas.” But is that what this is? The phone calls late at night, phone propped on the pillow, whispering to each other until sleep steals us both? The playful texts? The laughter? The quickened pulse whenever he’s near?

  She pulls her lips inward and smushes them together. They release with a pop.

  “Okay,” she draws the word out, calling my bluff. “Withholding those three words from him, does not make it less true. You’re a passionate person, Lotte. It’s written all over your face.” I cover my face with my hands and whine. “Maybe you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet either. I don’t know unless you talk to me.”

  Sometimes Dr. Richardson makes you dig deep and verbalize all the deep, dark, ugly feelings that you never intended the light of day to see. And sometimes those things aren’t dark or ugly at all, just hidden for different reasons.

  “It’s not rational. I mean, to love him this soon. We’ve only been dating a week. I mean, before that, we were friends for like six weeks. But me loving him sounds insane in that time frame.”

  “Enamored, lustful, smitten. Perhaps you don’t love him but those other feelings are just as powerful—sometimes more so.”

  “I can’t explain it. Sometimes, just being near him, makes me feel more like me, than when I’m by myself. It’s like, I’ve been three quarters of a person up until I met him. And then, we started talking, and hanging out. He came over for family dinner. I told him about Holden and he didn’t freak out. And suddenly I realized I felt like a whole person with him, and then, he kissed me. And I don’t know… the world righted itself, only I hadn’t known before then there was anything to correct.”

  “How ‘bout this: for the next month, journal your feelings about him.”

  “In the same journal for Holden?” I ask, moderately horrified.

  She laughs at me. “Start a new one if you want. Or use the one you have. That is your decision.”

  “Okay.”

  “Document it all. The good and the bad.”

  “There is no bad with Dallas.”

  “There is a balance of bad and good in everything that exists Lotte, nothing is exempt. Bad could be your own insecurities or jealousies when it comes to him. Don’t be so literal. Between now and our next appointment you could have your first fight or go through a stressful time together. Be open to journaling all the things that flit through that head of yours.” She looks at the clock. “Our time’s up for today.”

  I stand and stretch before walking to the window. I wave down at Dallas. “He’s here to pick me up. Wanna sneak a peek?”

  “You know it,” she says. Dr. Richardson leans over my shoulder and gazes down.

  “He’s handsome,” she says sincerely.

  “Down right dreamy,” I sigh.

  “I know you think I’m hard on you sometimes, but know this, it’s only with your best interest at heart.”

  I grin, nod and wrap my arms around her waist. She hugs me firmly before releasing me. Our doctor-patient relationship is blurred. She crossed lines with me and Nora, professionally speaking anyways, and it makes me sad for others actually. I wish everyone could be as close to their therapists as I am with her. I understand the theory is objectivity, but she still gives me that while also being a confidant and more. I miss the days she came to family dinners. Her and Detective Salve eventually stopped coming. Professional duty and boundaries, they said, but I still miss those first early months after being rescued where we felt like one big family.

  “I’ll see you next month,” I tell her.

  “Take care.”

  12

  Charlotte

  Pregnancy suits Nora. It does not suit her hormones. Aubry has rolled her eyes no less than ten times in the last thirty minutes. Eve is pacing the group therapy room, surely wearing a path in the carpet, muttering that Nora’s finally lost her damn mind. And my foot is tapping the floor in rapid succession, as if the tempo of it will speed Nora up.

  I want to get home, finish my homework and call Dallas. He should be back from his mysterious appointment with Ray by now. He has them every so often. An afternoon where he’s unavailable. Sometimes he doesn’t want to talk after he’s home either. I assume it’s foster home stuff or caseworker issues. I don’t push it because it’s none of my business. He doesn’t push me when I shut down certain conversations. Sometimes, a person just needs to decompress without someone else in their face pushing, pushing, pushing.

  “Lotte, are you even listening to me?” Nora’s voice is a shrill squawk. I snap my eyes to hers.

  “Hey, lay off,” Eve says. “She’s tired and has finals all week.”

  “This is important. I’m going to be out for months. Everyone needs to be on board with the plan.” Up until now, everyone allowed Nora to be a raging hormonal twat because before, when it was just Holden, me and her on the mountain, she miscarried. And even though it was a monster’s baby that probably would have been born with black holes for eyes and a black heart, it was no easier to lose than any other. It devastated her in a way that was scary to witness. But she’s taken preggo-zilla to a whole new level at this point and it needs to be tamed.

  “Oh my God, Nora, chill. N.E.L. won’t fall apart for a few months without you. Also, you’re not due for another six weeks. We have time to iron out any wrinkles.” Aubry skewers her with a pointed look.

  Nora flaps her arms and slaps them at her sides, frustrated. “No offense, but I’m the only full-time employee here. You all are only part-time.”

  “You all?” I snap. Color me overtired but I’ve had enough.

  “Remember when you were writing your book? We all—” I point to Eve and Aubry and myself. “—did everything here so you could spend most of your time writing.”

  Nora bursts out crying and sags into a chair. “I’m sorry. My hormones are al
l over the place. I feel completely inept and you guys—” she sobs. “What if I mess this kid up?” She rubs her belly. “Like, really screw the kid up. I’m going to be a terrible mom.”

  Eve is the first one to laugh. Aubry stomps over to Nora and drops to her knees before laughing and I am the last.

  “You’re like, the only one out of all of us with that natural maternal instinct,” Aubry says.

  “You’re a natural,” Eve adds.

  “It’s true. You basically raised me,” I say.

  As soon as the words hang in the air, I know I’ve messed up.

  Dear D,

  I’m too scared to go downstairs. I left my phone down there and I’m probably missing a slew of texts from Dallas, but like I said, I’m too scared. I’m a chicken-shit, rotten, insensitive sister. In front of everyone who matters, I basically told Eve that someone else raised me well. Not her. Not all the time before the mountain or since, but alluded that all the raising that mattered happened in the year with Nora on that mountain. Everything comes back to the mountain for me. I skip through the pages of this journal and it’s all Holden, terror and the mountain. I want to dig deeper, analyze it even, but I don’t know where to start or how.

  And now, I’ve gone and offended the literal, only family I have in this world. Evidence that I might die if I leave my room right now;

  Eve didn’t speak after I blurted out my statement.

  Eve didn’t speak the entire drive home or once we got inside.

  Eve has a hairpin trigger anger issue well-documented.

  Nora sniffled and looked at Eve all wide-eyed, instead of me when I spoke.

  Walking to my room, cabinet doors slammed and she stomped around.

  Dr. R. if you find this—it was EVE.