We never got the chance to talk about Santiago. Didn’t matter, I guess, because life went on. Life became…perfect. Everything I’d ever hoped it would be. On the outside, anyway.
But every night, I dreamed of Santiago. Those dark eyes. That powerful, soul-gripping gaze. That hard body, stacked with thick muscles. And something deep in the pit of my stomach told me this wasn’t the end, but simply the beginning of a lifetime waiting for him to return.
PART TWO
Partly Ghostly Skies,
Fifty Percent Chance of
Rabbit Holes
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Four and a half months later.
“Bye, baby!” My mother squeezed the breath out of me, and then let go quickly. “Oh. I almost forgot.” She reached into her oversized purse. “This is for you. Your father said he’ll come out to see the campus as soon as he can. Okay?” My mother shoved a large envelop in my hand and then loaded herself into the car, hiding her watering eyes behind extra-large sunglasses.
I smiled. She didn’t want me to see her cry. I so loved her.
She sped off like a bank robber, and I waited until her car disappeared from sight until releasing a satisfied breath. I made it. A new life. Mine. It felt good. Really good.
I turned toward the modern, yet institutional-style freshman dorms of UC San Diego and beamed appreciatively at the structure. It was simply perfect: open, clean, filled with possibilities.
I know it sounds strange, but a month or so after “the Santiago incident,” I realized how it had changed my life in ways I’d never dreamed. Life—my freedom, my future—took on new meaning. I guess that’s normal when you lose something and then get it back. In any case, I’d decided that a lawyer was not who I wanted to be. Not when their world was based on man-made rules that could change or be broken by anyone at any time. Laws were meaningless when people like Santiago roamed the planet. Laws wouldn’t save me.
So I started reading everything I could about the mind—how it worked, which illnesses caused delusions, the effects of stress—and I realized three things: Santiago had been real, some things in life simply have no explanation, and, most important, I was not crazy.
What it all boiled down to was one simple fact: Everyone remembered him. And strangely enough, I took comfort in knowing that my brain wasn’t broken, and that whoever he was, he’d left, never to return. And I didn’t need reasons. I needed to forget him, which is why psychology would be my major. I would learn how memories were stored and how to erase them, because, at the end of the day, my memories were the only thing holding me back.
I swiped my shiny new student ID over the access pad and entered the dorms, a veritable scene of chaos—parents and students were shuffling in and out, unloading boxes, saying their good-byes. The lively vibe made me giddy.
With the elevators packed full of suitcases and bodies, I opted for the stairs. Laughter echoed above as two girls lugged their stuff to their rooms.
“Dakota,” that dark, familiar voice filled my ears, and I nearly fell on my face, tripping on the stairs.
Shit! I turned in the direction of the sound but found only a wall and an empty stairwell behind me. I shook my head and laughed. “Really, Dakota? Can’t you just let him go?”
“Let who go?”
I jumped.
A petite, skinny blond, wearing a pink tank and khaki short shorts stood on the landing above. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I looked up. “It’s okay. I was only—”
“I get it. Don’t say a word. I had to leave my boyfriend behind, too. He went to Florida State.” Her face, though stereotypically pretty—perky nose, smooth tan skin, full lips—scrunched up into an unflattering ball of ugly. “I know it’s an excuse. He wants to bone other girls. Idiot.” She shrugged. “But, whatever. I can’t make him love me. And little does he know that in four years, he’ll have screwed his way through college and feel like an empty piece of shit. And do you know who he’s going to call?”
“Ummm…you?” I said.
“That’s right!” She came down a few steps. “And do you know what I’m going to do when he does?”
“Take him back?”
She frowned. “No way! I’m going to say…‘Fuck you and the pile of sluts you rode in on. I’m engaged to a doctor who brings me breakfast in bed every morning, knows I’m smart and kind, worships the ground I walk on, and loves me. Enjoy your shit hole of a life, asshole!’”
Ummm…okay…I nodded, speechless. This girl had a mouth on her.
“Oops. Sorry. I get a little cranky when I think about it all. I’m Bridget, by the way.” She reached out her hand.
“Dakota.” I shook her hand and watched her burst into glee.
“Ohmygod! Dakota? Dakota Dane?” She jumped up and down, clapping. “I’m your roommate!”