Indigo (25 page)

“At least we both have our mothers.”

He just smiles, and I notice how obviously he changes the subject. Talking about his dad must make him uncomfortable. “Back to our previous conversation….so, are we okay then? We can keep trying with this?”

I know what he means, and I’m embarrassed that I can’t look him in the eye. “Baby steps.”

“Small victories.” He breaks into a wide grin and I can’t help but smile in response. That I can make him that happy doesn’t seem real. We sit there staring and smiling until we both start laughing. Is this what being in a relationship feels like? Happy?

We end up sitting there for another two hours, talking about everything and anything. The conversation is light, but with a new unknown level of energy that I know he feels too. I’m so interested in everything he says, in watching his facial movements, learning him. He has a serious side, but he also is so eager to please me. It makes him seem much younger than he is.

I don’t want the moment to end, sitting here with him. Not only do I feel like the outside world can’t break in, but all thoughts of everything else take a backseat.

“Let me buy you dinner tonight,” he says, pulling me closer. “Whatever you like, it’s been a tough week.”

“I should buy you dinner, especially after today,” I joke.

“No way,” he says. He’s smiling, but there’s something there that tells me there is no way he is letting me buy him dinner. I start to wonder then if he has a complex with buying people things.

“Well, you know I love food, so anything is fine with me. Want to eat up in my room?”

I don’t really feel like seeing anyone right now, and I don’t want to go back to my room alone, so it seems like the best option. 

“Okay, if that’s what you want.”

I nod, and when he picks me up and places me back on my feet, I feel bereft, alone. Suddenly, all I want him to do is somehow touch me again. I try to look busy checking my phone while he grabs his bag, and I see that I have a few missed texts from Sabrina. I text her back that I’m okay, but probably just going straight back to my room after class. It’s not exactly a lie, but I don’t know how she’d feel about me hanging out with Kennedy after what happened.

We leave the auditorium, and head towards his car. The night wind feels chillier than usual, and I’m thankful when he wraps an arm around my shoulders. His limb feels heavy but I only feel a small moment of doubt. Can I trust him? Can I really do this? The weight feels foreign and I wonder the heck I’m doing, wondering if it’s only a matter of time before I freak out.

When we get into his car, he grabs my hand, as if it’s already the most natural thing in the world.

Again to myself, can I do this? I still want to, and that’s surprising enough to make me want to see where it goes.

KENNEDY

I hide it well, but I’m worried.

After hearing about everything, the hearing, and the danger that is Joan Huff, I don’t even want to let her out of my sight. The Detective said there
wasn’t
danger, but can he be sure? I’m thankful, for many reasons, that we’re eating together, and I have an excuse to keep hanging out with her.

“You do realize we kind of just ditched class?”

She pulls me out of my dark musings and I try to smile. “I can work on my drawings later.”

“I’d love to see some of them sometime,” she says shyly. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Wanting to impress her--I’m a confident artist--I try not to seem too eager. “I have some of my books with me in my bag. How about I show you after dinner?”

“I’d like that,” she responds.

I decide not to show her the one I started of her just yet. She might be creeped out, and I don’t want to upset the thin ice we’re skating on. After days of thinking that things between us could never be worked out, holding her hand in mine, and being with her like this feels incredible. Today reinforced my theory that for most of this, I have to be holding the reigns, pushing her just a little bit out of her comfort zone.

We drive to a local deli and pick up a few sandwiches, drinks, and snacks. I love that she makes no excuses for her appetite, and I’m only too happy to indulge it.

“Want me to go in first?” I ask when we reach her room. It’s late, and I remember her admitting she has trouble at night when she’s alone.

She hands me her keys in answer, and I put it in the lock. I know she must be feeling more frightened than usual, even if she won’t admit it, because this is something she does herself every night. Once we get in, we both do a cursory check of the room, even though I can tell right away that no one is in there. If this is going to be one of her quirks, I’ll let her have it, although I hope it will be something my presence can eventually relieve.

I take the bags to her bed, and watch her slip off her shoes so I do the same. It feels really intimate climbing on her mattress, and I try to block the images of her and I that immediately come to mind by concentrating on setting up the food.

One thought stops all the erotic images cold. Realizing I have to tell her about my mom. I try to ease into the conversation.

“Did you say anything to the Dean about the photo?”

She swallows a huge bite of food and shakes her head. “No. I don’t plan to.”

After her reaction to it, that surprises me. “You’re not? How come?”

“What’s done is done. What good will it do? It’s online, I checked, and a few media groups have already picked up on it. There’s no stopping it now. If someone wants to find me, they’ll know where to look.”

I can tell she’s trying not to show how frightened that makes her, and a fresh wave of fury rolls through me at my mother’s actions. “Indigo…I--“

“Let’s drop it. I don’t want to talk about anything else anymore. Especially the Dean. It’s too much, please Kennedy.”

I rub one hand over my face. She has to know this. Now. I end up looking down at that moment and see that the spot of blood on her leotard has gotten much bigger. Her eyes follow what must be my panicked face, and she scowls at the blood. “Great, my favorite leotard.”

Hopping out of bed, she rummages through a few drawers, grabs a couple items, and then heads into the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

I hear water running, and use the time she’s gone to resolve myself into confessing. If I don’t tell her now, it only means bad news for later. But when she comes out of the bathroom in spandex shorts and tank top with the word dance across the front, I find I can’t say a word. All thoughts of my mother go out of the window.

I don’t think she realizes the effect her outfit has on me, because she sits down on the bed and continues eating as if it’s totally normal. It’s the most of her body that I’ve ever seen, and it takes all my willpower to not stare openly at each expanse of skin. I close my eyes and take a huge bite of my sandwich.

“Is your cut okay?” I ask between bites, not meeting her eyes.

“Worse than I thought but not a big deal.”

I’m wondering if she’ll let me kiss on her some more when she asks to see my paintings.

“What? Oh sure, let me grab my bag.”

“I’ll get it.” She hops out of bed, grabs my bag where I left it by the door, and sits back down. I watch her butt move every step of the way. Jesus she’s tight.

I pull out a few of my notepads, being careful to keep the one with her image tucked away. Her face lights up as soon as she sees the first drawing, making me feel awesome.

“This is gorgeous! It looks so real, where is it?”

I stare at the forest of trees, the small pond, and hills of my backyard. “My house.”

Her eyes go wide. “It’s beautiful. The scenery yes, but you’re incredibly talented Kennedy. I feel like I’m there with you.”

I smother my smile and watch as she flips through a few more. I’ve never had a problem with showing anyone my work as I’ve never needed the approval of others, but it feels good to know she likes them.

“Can I have one?”

“Sure, pick out any you like. Or if you have something in mind you want drawn I can do that for you too.”

She smiles. “There’s too many to choose from. I want to pick them all. Did you declare for art yet?”

I blow out a breath, not knowing what to say. I go with my gut. “I will be.”

She doesn’t comment on my evasive answer, she seems too distracted by my drawings.

“Would you let me draw you?”

The question just slips out, and she doesn’t answer right away. “Why would you want to draw me?”

“I’ve wanted to draw you from the moment I saw you.”

I think my compliment makes her uncomfortable, at least I hope she saw it as such. “Maybe,” she says, and then turns the conversation when she asks me about a few of my drawings. We talk for almost an hour, and then we talk about her dancing. I can talk about my passion for endless minutes, and it seems she can do the same.

Our conversation trails off, and I realize it’s past 9:00. I really should go, but I don’t want to leave her, especially after hearing how difficult her nights are. There’s no way I can ask to stay, so I smile at her before getting up. “I should probably go.”

I’m happy to see that she doesn’t look thrilled either, but she doesn’t tell me to stay, so I get up and start putting my shoes on. She gets out of bed too, and stands silently on the other side. I notice her fidgeting a bit, and I’m hoping it’s because she’s as reluctant to let me leave as I am.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says, after a stretch of silence. “And for showing me your drawings. They’re amazing.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything. I’m just happy to be with you.” I don’t know where all these corny lines are coming from, but I’m beginning to realize why people use them.

We both walk to the door, and then stand in front of each other. She moves in quick and gives me a one armed hug, before backing away. I try not to show my disappointment when I step into the hall. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Then that’s it. Walking back to my dorm, I’m certainly excited about where things are headed, but there are so many things bothering me about her situation, I feel a little restless as I head back to my dorm. The moment I close my car door and start the engine, it’s starts to rain.

INDIGO

The first drops of rain begin, and everything that I found out today comes back to me in a rush.

I wish there was no trial and that people weren’t interested in every little decision that I make. And that no one would care whether or not I decided to testify. But I learned long ago that there’s no point in wishing for anything. Sometimes awful things happen, and no amount of hoping or level of faith will you help you escape.

Reality starts bearing down on me as I check and recheck the locks. The wind is picking up and the keen howling slips through the darkness as though it doesn’t know which way it wants to go. I hate storms. It’s just another reminder that outside, it’s not safe.

The first crack of thunder has me running to the television in a desperate attempt to drown out the sound. The weather channel comes on, and I see the warning label running across the bottom of the screen, telling local viewers to prepare for heavy rain and high winds.

I become cognizant of the humming in my ear just as the second roll of thunder claps. In an instant, I’m taken back to the gas station, sitting the car and hearing the pounding on the window. I can see his face, feel his large hands grasping for me. I can feel the broken skin of my face, see the blonde strands of my hair hanging over my eyes.