To the Steadfast

by Briana Gaitan

  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 a
ny 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.

  I’m supposed to be repeating chants, but I can’t keep up with the priest and lose my spot in the book in front of me. The pew has caused my butt to fall asleep, I’m sweating off all my makeup, and I’m completely uncomfortable. My roommate Lydia elbows me in the side. When I look at her, she answers with a sharp glare, but I can’t stop tapping my foot against the pew. I’m too anxious. Only five more minutes to go before I have class and senior tea then I’m finally home free. Well, kind of. St. Cecilia’s Academy has been my home for the past year and after graduation last Tuesday this place feels more like home than Georgia ever did. But it’s exciting to be going home for the first time since my parents sent me away. I don’t know if anything will look the same. All my friends back home have graduated as well. What all has changed? How is everyone?

  When the congregation stands to leave, I follow along out of the narthex into the hot sun.

  “I can’t wait for guys, the beach, and a tiny red bikini,” Lydia says, hooking arms with me. “Hey, you wanna skip out on last block and hang out in the dorms?”

  It’s tempting. All we’ve done in class is prep for college. Repeatedly, we study skills. Skills for tests, skills for college, skills for life. We’re all expected to go to Ivy League schools and according to the school brochure about 67% of us do, so we prepare, prepare, prepare.

  I’ve already gotten my acceptance to Columbia, which is only a few hours away from St. Cecilia’s Academy and far from my parents. I think they prefer it that way as well. How I got into Columbia is beyond me, but I’m sure my father had something to do with it. Ever since I got here, he’s been insistent that I follow his plan. Not my own, not my advisor’s, but his plan for my future. I applied to no other schools because this is what I’ve been preparing for. It’s what I was born and bred for.

  Lydia steps beside me. “Are you salivating about that lovely acceptance letter you got last week?” she asks with a wink.

  “Possibly. I mean I’m lucky I got in. What if it was a mistake? What if I get there and they turn me away because I’m the wrong person? What if they meant to send an acceptance letter to some other Dakota Lombardi?”

  “Cody, really? You penned an awesome essay. You really need to stop doubting yourself.”

  “I think I just got lucky,” I mumble.

  “You are completely exasperating. Now come on. Let’s go do something fun because when you leave tomorrow I’ll be inconsolable.” Her hands go over her heart and gives a fake pout.

  The corners of my mouth lift. “You sure you can’t join me? My mom is off on some pleasure cruise and my father has some condo near the city. I’ll be all alone in that big house.”

  She pretends to think for a moment though we both already know the answer. She’s going to be too busy interning at a studio in LA, trying to further her acting career.

  “I’m gonna sow my wild oats with some hot actor before college. What are you gonna do back at home? Sow wild oats, too?”

  “Um…I believe only men can sow wild oats.”

  “Really?” She puts her finger to her chin quizzically. “Would it be proper to say I’d be the planting ground for wild oats?”

  “Ew.” I walk faster toward the dorm.

  Sometimes I forget that Lydia Hansen has been at St. Cecilia’s since the ninth grade. She was a one-hit pop star at thirteen, but after deciding Lydia needed to grow up away from the spotlight, her parents tucked her away nice and neat here. She’s spent the past four years being the model student. I guess it’s only fair she get a little wild before college. Boy, will the real world will go gaga over her chestnut hair and girl-next-door good looks.

  “I’m going to visit with my Nona and lay out by the pool. It will be nice to have time to myself. No structure, practices, or activities.”

  We make it to the dorm and each fall down on our beds. Since we’re seniors, we have the biggest rooms, but still have to share. Lydia and I have a special connection, one that Violet and I never had. She’s someone I can open up to without feeling like such a letdown.

  A minute later, she asks the dreaded question. She’s the only one at school who knows my past. She knows how I let all my dreams go out the window during one bad year, but as soon as she says his name, it all comes back.

  The parties. The drinking. The one-night stands. The drugs. Mischa.

  The guy who broke my heart, I was sixteen then. Now I’m a week shy of eighteen and a hell of a lot smarter.

  “Are you going to see him?” she asks, but her words go in one ear and out the other. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Life was miserable when I first got here. After a week of sleepless nights, I decided to quit the bellyaching and make the most of my situation. I spent the entire summer before my senior year retaking all my classes so my GPA didn’t suffer. Luckily, all my honor classes kept my GPA from dropping too much.

  “I’m not going to see him. I’m not going back for him.”

  I’ve done my best to keep myself busy. Anything to make sure I don’t think of home.

  “Earth to Dakota!” Lydia pushes me back against my bed and laughs. “I’ve been calling your name for five minutes.”

  “What? Really?” I grab my head and groan. Sometimes that happens. Time slips away from me, and I forget where I am.

  She nods and puts her cardigan back on. “We better get to the mess hall before Suzanne eats all the muffins again.”

  The mess hall is on the other side of campus. By the time we get there, the entire rest of the senior class—all 50 of us—is already eating. Senior tea is a weekly Friday privilege where the graduating class can relax and chat amongst themselves with no academic pressure.

  One of our classmates, Suzanne, our valedictorian with a loud mouth, waves us over to her table. I’ve actually known Suzanne since I was three. Our parents used to go on vacation together, and the two of us would make sand castles. That was a long time ago, but it was nice to sorta know someone on my first day. I sit across from her and immediately begin helping myself to the array of brunch type foods sitting in the middle.

  “You’ll never believe what I heard!” Suzanne says, buttering a biscuit while waving one hand around excitedly.

  “I’m pretty sure we’ll believe it,” I mumble under my breath.

  Suzanne is too busy chatting to hear me. She’s the ideal student at St Cecilia’s, this blonde bombshell that everyone strives to be like. I like her, but she’s a little too perky to stand for more than a few hours at a time. Oh, and she’s super smart. My mother would kill for a daughter like Suzanne, who does everything she’s told.

  “I heard it on good account from Annabelle, who relayed it from Melissa, that some girl was trying to get in to see you this morning.”

  She points her butter knife in my direction. Lydia stops eating to stare.

  I raise an eyebrow. Who on earth would be coming to visit me here? No one knows where I am except my parents and Nona. Mom and Dad refused to let me speak to anyone from my old high school, and after a while, I stopped trying.

  “No one knows I’m here.”

  Suzanne wipes her dainty little mouth with a white napkin and leans forward. “She said the girl was a total reject. I mean purple hair and everything.”

  I swallow even though my throat feels like it’s closing up. “Purple hair?” I know only one person back home with purple in their hair. Violet.

  “That’s what I said. You didn’t hear it from me, but Headmaster Kinslow had to have security escort her from the premises. She wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

  Both girls eye me with curiosity like I shou
ld explain the story or give them something juicy to gossip about for the next few weeks. I won’t do that. I don’t want questions being brought up.

  “I don’t know who it is. Maybe it’s a townie.” I stuff my mouth with watermelon so I don’t have to elaborate.

  “You hardly go into town, Dakota,” Lydia points out. “Except when you—”

  About to betray my biggest secret, she shuts her mouth and looks at her plate. The only time I when into town is to attend my once a week substance abuse program. Something my Dad has insisted upon. Suzanne wasn’t privy to that information. It’d be all around school in a week if I told her.

  Giving Lydia a warning glare, I keep on eating. Suzanne opens her mouth to keep on pestering me but she’s interrupted by a guy with a camera.

  “Picture for the school website on the seniors’ last official full day of school?”

  We all scoot in together and smile. I’m sure we look picture perfect, just like all the parents want to see. Three pretty, privileged girls with bright futures and long skirts. Brochure appropriate.

  “I’m glad we don’t have to attend mass anymore. If I have to stare at St. Cecilia one more time,” Lydia says with a wink. St. Cecilia’s Academy requires all the students to attend Catholic Mass every Friday and Sunday. While only about half of the student body is Catholic, the rest, like me, come from families that want the Catholic upbringing. Strict as Roman rule for their unruly daughters. If the faculty only knew what went on in the third-floor bathrooms.

  Suzanne tosses her hair behind her shoulder and gives a haughty laugh. “You mean you don’t enjoy the statue of the woman that our dear school is named after?”

  I can’t tell if she has really taken offense to Lydia’s comment or if she’s only joking.

  “St. Cecilia just wouldn’t die,” I say, running my butter knife along my throat. I finish buttering a muffin and smile at my friends.

  Suzanne gives a sickened groan. We’ve all heard the tragic story of St. Cecilia at least once a week from each teacher.