Ghosted

by J. M. Darhower

  She forgot to bring her charger.

  You? You’ve got your phone, with nearly a full charge. The only person who has called you is your sister, to warn you that someone leaked the Fulton Edge Academy security footage. Your fight with your father is all over the news, playing on a loop. It’s a political nightmare, Speaker Cunningham assaulting his own child. They’re calling for his resignation.

  Time keeps ticking away.

  The miles between you and New York continue to grow as California edges closer. You offer to turn around for her. You don’t want her to have any regrets. She tells you to shut up and keep driving west.

  A few days later, you cross into the city limits of Los Angeles. The day you should’ve graduated. You find a small hotel that’ll rent a room to an eighteen-year-old, just until you can get set up somewhere permanently.

  “Let’s go out,” you say.

  “Where to?” she asks.

  “Somewhere nice. We’re here. We made it. We should celebrate.”

  So you do just that. You take her out. She wears her graduation dress, the one her mother helped pick out—sleeveless, royal blue. She has to wear her everyday flats, because she forgot to pack extra shoes. It’s simple. She feels so plain.

  You tell her she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

  Dinner is at a fancy steakhouse, the kind where portions are small and the bill is massive, but people don’t complain because it’s all about the atmosphere. Afterward, the two of you hit Hollywood Boulevard, seeing the handprints immortalized in cement before strolling along the Walk of Fame, looking at the celebrity stars as you hold hands.

  “Someday, you’ll be here,” she tells you, smiling, as you pause and pull her to you. “You’ll have your name on one of these stars.”

  “Yeah? You think I’m as talented as…” You glance down, to the nearest star by your feet, reading the name on it. “…Kermit the Frog?”

  She laughs. “Well, now that I think about it, I’m not so sure. I mean, Gonzo maybe, but Kermit?”

  “Maybe if I work hard,” you say.

  “Maybe,” she agrees, kissing you.

  You make out, right there, on Hollywood Boulevard. It’s a beautiful moment. Nothing can ruin it—not even when a guy dressed like Darth Vader angrily tells you to get a room.

  “We have one of those,” you say. “How about we go make use of it?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  You make love to her, on and off, all night long. Now that those words are out, now that they exist between you, you can’t seem to stop saying them.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Your first night in California is one of the best of your life. You’re hopeful for the future.

  The next day, all your credit cards get shut off.

  The day after that, your bank account is frozen.

  It’s a quick descent, from hopeful to despondent. You’re not surprised your father cut you off, but it hurts. What you have is maybe a hundred dollars in your wallet and a notice to vacate the hotel in 72-hours. What you don’t have is a job. You’re going to have to do something drastic.

  So you leave the next morning before dawn, to try to figure something out, and you don’t make it back until later that night, well after sunset. You sleep for a few hours before you’re back at it again.

  You finish earlier this time, though, around three o’clock in the afternoon. The girl is sitting on the bed in the hotel, writing in her notebook. She greets you with a smile.

  “What are you writing?” you ask, sitting down next to her, not expecting her to answer. You ask all the time, and she always tells you ‘a story’.

  This time, though, she says, “Our story.”

  “Our story,” you say. “That’s what it is?”

  “Sort of,” she says. “It’s my version of us.”

  “Can I read some of it?”

  Her pen stalls. She hesitates. Carefully, she flips back to the beginning and hands it to you. “Just the first few pages.”

  You read, utterly fascinated, but you don’t get far at all before you have a grievance to air. “See, now that’s bullshit. This line right here. You said there was nothing special about you.”

  She snatches the notebook back. “About her, not me.”

  “But she’s you. And I can assure you, the first time I saw you, I wasn’t thinking…” You grab the notebook, and she refuses to surrender it, but you pull it close enough to read. “You’re a commoner because not all girls can be royalty. That’s bullshit. You’re the queen, baby.”

  She yanks the notebook away, closing it and tossing it out of your reach. “I said it’s my version. It’s fictionalized.”

  “You should write my version.”

  “Which would be, what? Thirty pages of duck jokes followed by a whole bunch of smut?”

  “Duck jokes,” you say. “Or dick jokes?”

  “Knowing you? Both.”

  “Funny, but no. It would be a story of struggle that leads to triumph.” You stand up. “Come on, put your shoes on. Let’s go for a walk. I’ll show you.”

  “You’ll show me.”

  Despite her incredulous tone, she listens, and the two of you walk around, strolling a few blocks. The neighborhood isn’t the best, but it isn’t too dangerous. Maybe a bit rundown, but it’s quiet.

  When you reach an old two-story white and blue building, you lead her around to the back of it, to a small outdoor staircase. You pull a ring of keys from your pocket. She looks at you with confusion.

  Still, she follows you up those stairs, patiently waiting as you unlock a creaky door at the top. She steps inside, looking around the empty place.

  It’s an apartment. It’s small. There’s no other way to put that. The kitchen and living room merge together into one, beside a single bedroom just big enough to hold a bed. The bathroom is like a box, everything cramped together. The floor is made of old unfinished wood, scuffed and stained. The white paint on the walls is peeling, leaving patches of a peach color in places. There’s only one window in the entire apartment, in the bedroom, blocked by an old air conditioner.

  “I know it’s not much,” you say. “It’s shitty, really. I know. But I’m eighteen, I’ve got no job and no credit, so it’s the best I can manage right now.”

  “It’s ours?” She looks at you. “You rented this?”

  You hesitate, like your mouth doesn’t want to admit that, before you nod. You’re swallowing your pride. “It’s ours.”

  “But can we even afford a place?” she asks. “How will we pay for it?”

  “I got us some money,” you tell her. “It won’t last forever, but it should be enough to get us settled.”

  “Where’d you get money?”

  You hesitate yet again. “I, uh… I sold my car.”

  You sold the blue Porsche. You tried to think of another way, but it was the only thing of value you had, that you owned. So you sold it, for less than it’s worth, but if you’re careful, it’s enough to cover living expenses for a few months.

  “This place is great,” she says, wrapping her arms around you. “Our very first apartment together.”

  “And hopefully, the last,” you mumble. “It's only up from here. As soon as things start coming together, I'm gonna build you a house.”

  You don’t know this, but that girl? She doesn't need a house. She doesn't even need an apartment. She would’ve slept in the car. She wouldn’t have complained at all about it. You didn’t have to sell it, but you did, and as grateful as she is for that, she already feels guilty. She’s worried, and she’s scared, that this won’t be a story of triumph. Because she believes in you. She wouldn’t be there if she didn’t. But the world isn’t always kind to good people. Sometimes it eats them alive.

  Chapter 17

  KENNEDY

  I fling my dirty uniform into the hamper in my bedroom and pull on a long white t-shirt, covering myself, when I hear a throat clear in the doorway, Jonath
an’s voice a gruff mumble when he says, “Shit, sorry, I was just, uh…”

  I glance at him as he averts his gaze, forcing his eyes away.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “You’ve seen me wear less.”

  “Yeah, well…” He looks my way again, hesitating, like he’s not sure what he wants to say, if he should even say anything. “I wasn’t trying to, you know…”

  “I know.”

  Despite not trying to, he sort of does. His eyes slowly roam, and goose bumps coat my body, a chill creeping along my skin. Things are already weird, and he’s making it more nerve-wracking by blatantly gawking. My stomach gets tied up in knots at the look on his face, the slack-jawed awe as he licks his lips.

  “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to say goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” I whisper.

  Jonathan lingers there, eyes continuing to roam. A moment passes before he turns away, making a move to leave.

  “Wait.”

  The lone word slips from my lips. I’m not sure why I say it. I don’t even think about it. He hesitates again, meeting my gaze, eyebrows raised with questions I don’t know how to answer as my heart thumps wildly with its own questions, like what the heck are you doing? I’m playing with fire, like I don’t remember how much it hurts to get burned, but from here, where I’m standing, all I can seem to feel is the warmth.

  I don’t have to say anything else, which is good, because I’m not sure I could find the words if I needed to. He reaches for me, his fingertips grazing my flushed cheek and running along my jawline. He grasps my chin and tilts my face up as he leans down to kiss me. His lips are soft, so soft—so sweet and gentle.

  He kisses me for a long time, not rushing, not pushing, just waiting. The breath leaves my lungs and all sense disappears from my head as I wrap my arms around him and pull him to my bed.

  “You sure about this?” he asks quietly.

  I shake my head, because nope, I’m still not sure about any of it, but I don’t stop myself. I lay down and he’s on top of me. I tug at his costume as he strips me of my clothes. My head is swimming and my heart is racing, and before I can catch my breath, his lips are on mine again and he’s pushing inside, already settled between my thighs. I gasp as he lets out a guttural groan, filling me, holding me.

  None of it feels real.

  Not this time. Not last time.

  He moves slow at first, and it’s almost agonizing, before he increases his pace, thrusting harder, deeper, shoving my knees up and hitting that spot deep inside of me that makes my toes curl and my body quiver. I moan his name. “Jonathan.”

  “Like that?” he asks, keeping his rhythm. “Is that how you want it?”

  I nod, whimpering as he hits that spot again and again, unraveling the tight knots inside of me as I start to come apart at the seams. “Please.”

  “You’re the queen,” he whispers, not stopping as orgasm rocks me. I arch my back, gripping him tightly, nails raking along his shoulders.

  Even when it subsides, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. He knows what I want and he gives it to me, over and over, until I’m begging, pleading, and can’t take another moment. Only then does he pull back, only then does he change his pace—hitting hard, so hard that my breath catches, a few rough, deep strokes as he groans, coming.

  “Fuck,” he curses, nuzzling into my neck. He kisses the skin, teeth nipping at my throat. “So beautiful.”

  The beautifulest woman in the world.

  That’s what he told Maddie.

  That’s how he described me.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I hold onto him, hoping he means those words, hoping I can believe him.

  “Mommy?”

  That’s all it takes to draw me out of a deep sleep, that lone word spoken nearby, the quiet voice calling out to me. Maddie. My eyes open, and I blink a few times, getting my wits about me. The room is starting to lighten, the sun rising outside, a soft glow streaming through the window and shining along the wooden floor around the bed.

  I think maybe I was hearing things, because she’s not in front of me, and I start to close my eyes again when I hear soft giggling. It strikes me then, pieces all coming together as panic floods my system. Clutching the blanket to my bare chest, I sit up abruptly and turn the other way, wide-eyed.

  She’s standing there, right beside where her father is sleeping in the bed. In my bed. Crap, he’s asleep in my bed, not wearing a bit of clothing, the blanket draped over him. Thank goodness he’s covered up—not that it makes this whole thing any better. She’s much too young to know what any of this is, but she’s got one heck of an imagination, that kid, which could prove dangerous.

  I don’t want her to get ideas in her head and think this is more than it is… whatever it is.

  She pokes his cheek before sticking her finger in his ear, giggling again when he grumbles in his sleep and moves around, flailing his hand, trying to ward off the intrusion.

  “Madison,” I hiss, warning her. She pulls her hand away and looks at me with that ‘oh shit’ expression, knowing she’s busted. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  A smile cracks her face.

  She does it again, sticking her finger in his ear. His face contorts with annoyance as he shifts position, groaning, “I’m trying to fucking sleep, Ser.”

  Maddie gasps, yanking her hand back, looking at him with shock. I feel it, that same sensation stirring in the pit of my gut, but for much different reasons. Ser. Serena. He thinks it’s her. “Daddy says bad words!”

  The moment she says that, Jonathan’s eyes snap open. He sits up so fast he rips the blanket right off of me. Gasping, I grab it, scrambling to stay covered, yanking it back onto me and almost exposing him in the process. He looks at me, wide-eyed, panicked, whispering, “oh fuck.”

  “See!” Maddie says, reaching over and poking him in the ear. “I heard it!”

  He laughs and pushes her hand away as he turns to her. “Sorry, didn’t know there were little ears in the room.”

  Grasping her earlobe, he playfully tugs on it.

  “Maddie, sweetheart, why don’t you head to the kitchen?” I suggest. “I’ll be there in a second to make you some breakfast.”

  She leaves the room, and I try to slip out of bed, but well, I can feel Jonathan’s eyes, and my clothes are too far away to reach. He tries to touch me, his hand on my back, fingertips grazing my spine. I move away from him, taking the blanket with me, wrapping it around my naked body as I snatch up some clothes.

  “Kennedy? What’s wrong?”

  “Maddie’s waiting for breakfast,” I mumble, going straight for the bathroom. I close the door behind me, letting out a long exhale as I pull on my clothes, grumbling to myself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid... could you be any more stupid? Sleeping with that stupid man after all the stupid crap he’s done... what is wrong with you?”

  Yanking the door back open, I nearly slam into a body blocking the doorway, lingering in the hall. He had the sense to put on his pants and is still struggling to button them.

  “Excuse me,” I mumble, averting my gaze, but he’s not moving out of my way.

  He grasps my arm before I can go past him, his brow furrowed. “Did I do something?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble. “Did you?”

  I try to move away from him, but he steps further into my path. “Come on, don’t be that way. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I hesitate. I want to make some snide comment and storm away, throw a tantrum like a petulant child because I feel so stupid, but that’s not me. It’s never been me. So whatever, it is what it is, so I say it, no matter how stupid it sounds. “You called her Ser.”

  “What?”

  “She woke you up, and you thought she was Serena.”

  He lets go of my arm as his expression shifts to something that looks like pity, and I don’t like it.

  I leave him there and head for the
kitchen, sighing when I see a chair shoved over to the counter, Maddie standing on it, digging through the cabinets. “What do you think you’re doing, little girl?”

  “Looking for the Lucky Charms,” she says as I pull her down and set her on her feet.

  “I’m afraid we’re all out.” I grab a box of Cheerios. “How about these?”

  She makes a face of disgust.

  “Raisin Bran?”

  Another face.

  “How about some cottage cheese?”

  She pretends to gag.

  “Uh, well, how about—?”

  “How about I take you out for breakfast?” Jonathan suggests, stepping into the kitchen. “Pancakes, sausage, eggs…”

  “Bacon!” Maddie declares.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, you know, with the whole you being you thing.”

  “Me being me,” he says.

  “Yeah, chances are you’ll get recognized and then have to explain this whole thing and well, you know, I’m not sure it’s worth it for some breakfast.”

  “But it might be bacon,” Maddie whines.

  Jonathan hesitates, thinking it over, glancing between us before he says, “I know somewhere we can go.”

  Mrs. McKleski’s place.

  Landing Inn.

  That’s where he takes us.

  Maddie and I stand in the woman’s foyer in our pajamas, while Jonathan wears just the leather pants from the Knightmare costume. Mrs. McKleski looks at us like we’ve gone crazy, and I instantly want to be anywhere else in the world, but it’s too late, because Maddie’s been promised some bacon.

  “You want breakfast,” Mrs. McKleski says. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

  He nods. “Yes, ma'am.”

  She stares at him. Hard. I expect a denial, because this whole idea is absurd, but after a moment, she lets out a resigned sigh.

  “Fine, but go put on some clothes,” she says. “This is an inn, Mr. Cunningham, not Chippendales. I won’t have you at my breakfast table looking like a gigolo.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at the woman. “Wasn’t aware you knew what a gigolo was.”