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I'm bracing myself for the day as it comes closer and closer. Time appears to be moving faster as I'm dreading a point in the future I already knew of. I experience hunger, exhaustion, distress, and all the normal, daily symptoms of human life as they come naturally. The death of Harry's father was coming, a week away. And when I sleep, I have nightmares of the day, and the potential of its collateral damage.
Walking across campus, I'm faced with the sight of a familiar blonde. She sits at a table, holding a phone in one hand and sipping from a steel water bottle held in the other. I raise my eyebrows and slow my pace, observing her quietly. Suddenly, I'm reminded that Harry and I had seen Deborah leaving the apartment of my first floor neighbor, Kennedy. He was not the kind of man I thought Deborah would set her eyes on and choose to cheat on Cassiel with, but the sight was so shocking that I believe Harry and I were overwhelmed with everything else to consider her role in this conspiracy.
I narrow my eyes, sighing deeply before making my way towards her. She hasn't spoken to me in our seminar class. That doesn't happen until next week, right before the death of Harry's father. My confidence has surged as I'm vividly aware of all the steps that proceed the last. This dream was a rerun of my life, and I was given the insight to look at things in a different fashion that I had before. I wondered about that, too. About my perception of the world.
Deborah aimlessly scrolls on her phone. I stare at her perceptively, my strides slowing the closer I get to her. I'm hesitant but determined, unabashed by the blunt force of my motivation. Just like Charlie advised, I had to think carefully about who I spoke to, and how I went about questioning those I suspected were involved.
Tightening my fist, I force a sweet smile on my face and speak up, tearing her away from her phone. She looks up at me just as I'm cheerfully saying, "Hey. Deborah, right?" I nervously grip the strap of my bag across my shoulder, knuckles flushing white. The fisted hand by my side releases as I remind myself that I knew nothing about her.
She stares at me momentarily, surprise stalling her reaction. "Um...yeah. I'm sorry, do I...know you?" Her first inquiry comes with confusion, until she quickly recalls, gasping with recognition. "Wait, you're from my seminar class."
"Yeah," I nod eagerly, "I just recognized you and came to say hi. I don't have any friends in that class."
"Oh, me either. Everyone in that class just speaks over each other for the grade. It's kill or be killed," she jokes, setting her steel water bottle down. "You can join me, if you want," she then offers, her hand beckoning me to sit across from her.
I take the metal chair by the back of it, gingerly pulling it away from the table before taking my seat. I set my bag down onto the ground and look over at her. I'm impatient and a little unmotivated to keep conversing with her about things that are not imminent. But, I knew I had to have some kind of strategy. And if it meant being closer to people than beforehand, then I was going to be impatient patiently.
That day I had tied my hair up into a ponytail, the long strands touching the very top of my middle back, a skimpy, black ribbed tank top exposing the skin there. It was a hot and humid day, but the wind was blowing ever so gently. It had almost a calming effect. A few loose strands at the front wrapped around the front of my face, tickling my nose and cheeks. I reach my hand up to remove them, just as Deborah gushes, "So, besides seminar class...what's your major? Anything interesting happening to you on your perspective of the campus? I'm so bored of my life."
I almost genuinely smile at her. If she wasn't so strangely entangled into this conspiracy, I would have actually liked her. But that was a strong maybe. She was a bit reactive and explosive when it came to Cassiel, who she eventually cheats on with Kennedy, of all men in the area. I was curious as to know what the story was, but I didn't know how to approach it. At this point in time, I did not know if she knew anything of Kennedy. If she even knew who he was. I had theorized that maybe Kennedy was using Deborah to get information about Harry and I's whereabouts around campus. I didn't know what happened to her after he had gotten arrested. These are all things I should be aware of when I wake up from this nightmare.
"I'm an English major with a minor in linguistics," I tell her, answering the first part of her rapidly shot inquiries. "And...no, unfortunately. Absolutely nothing interesting is happening to me right now on this campus," I add in a breath.
"Ugh. You'd think Brown would have a lot of drama. My roommates and I are fighting, but it's about the kitchen rules, so...not much going on there," she laughs with a shrug. "Where do you stay?"
"I'm a commuter student," I answered simply. "I'm from the city, so it's easier that way."
"Hmm," she nods. "Must be nice. Close to family, right?"
"It's just me and my mom," I replied. Understandingly, she nods her head again and starts to reach for her bottle. I realized then, that maybe my objective was to get close to the people around me. That maybe...my loneliness and my insistence on remaining in my own bubble was the reason why Harry and I were so vulnerable to people outside of it. I wanted to keep Harry to myself, and shelter him away from the world outside. I almost lost my best friend because of that. My insistence on avoiding others is the origin of my ignorance, and it cost me quite a lot. I was moving throughout the world without looking people in the eyes. Without passion, except for when it came to repairing what I could of Harry. But he didn't need that. Maybe he needed normalcy...but my immobility was hindering his progress.
Biting the inside of my cheek, staring at the table, I hear Deborah then announce, "There's a kick off event tonight. My boyfriend, Cassiel, but we call him Casey, is on the baseball team. And they're just celebrating the start of the playoffs. It's being thrown by the captain's father."
Senator Styles, I think to myself immediately. I raise my head to look at her in the eyes, and sit up promptly with an intention to listen. I didn't know about this. This was...all together, a new event that I was not a part of, because I didn't like to be around people. Because I wouldn't talk to people like Deborah. This was a missing link between the start of the semester and the death of the senator. This is an event that I needed to attend.
"And," she continues. "I would so want you to join me, because Casey's gonna be there with his team, and whatever. And I don't want to be that girl hanging around the guys because of her boyfriend. It's more of a family friendly event. So, what do you say? Are you down?"
"Yeah, of course," I say too elatedly. "I mean, I've got no plans at all, and this sounds fun. Where is it?"
"At the Styles house. It's such a huge, nice house. It's nearby because Harry, the captain — his dad is a state senator. Oh my gosh, have you met him?" She rants excitedly, clasping her hands together right after she set her bottle down.
Pausing with slight apprehension, I part my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. My mind is hesitant to respond for a reason. "Um....no, I haven't," I lie. "Not really..."
"Oh, okay. Well, he's super cute. And he's a little quiet, you know. Not really a people person, per say, but he's pretty cool if you get to know him." She takes a breath, looking at me steadily before adding, " I'm sorry, I'm just thinking you guys would be a hot ass couple," she banters cheerfully, her face sporting an expression of both mischief and speculation.
Blushingly, I laugh dismissively at her claims. "Oh...I...no," I shake my head, trying to get off this topic as quickly as possible. Nobody understands how hard it is for me to not follow him everywhere or hunt him down just in case anyone is plotting against him, or is surveilling him at the moment. I knew someone was, but I just didn't know exactly who they were or where they were. Katherine has yet to make an appearance. Regardless, it was painfully hard to stay away from him.
"Well...you'll see tonight."
. . .
"So what you think? Is it a good idea to go to this?"
Charlie sits outside an authentic Mexican food taqueria, shoving one end of his taco into his mouth while I rant from a seat across him. The liquid sauce drips from the other end, almost landing on his lap, almost staining his white wash shorts if it weren't for the fact that he quickly moved forward into his plate. His eyes glance up at me mid-bite, and he mumbled an incoherent response, muffled by the taco in his mouth. Fully aware he made no sense, he sets the taco down on the circular plate, and chews his food. He swallows and quickly says, "I think...it's important that you get involved as much as possible. You needed a way to get in, and this is it."
Pausing, I nervously interlock my fingers, clasping my hands over the table. "Harry's going to be there. It's his family's house. God...I don't know if I can handle to see him with his dad again. In their old house. I can barely handle seeing him around campus," I confess warily, frowning at him in hopes that he would have a solution.
He sets the bitten taco down and sighs. "You know, Tara, right now he's not as broken as you know him," he reminds me, one side of his mouth curving into an optimistic smile. I stare at his face, viewing the youthful, natural glow of the dark, warm skin, and darker tight, curls falling around the sight. Reaching for a bottle of water next to him, he then doubtfully adds, "Try to enjoy seeing him happy?"
"That's a point," I agree in a heavy breath. At this point, what did I have to fear? The last thing I should fear is the sight of Harry remaining unharmed by this particular loss, and unscathed from the violence and aggression of Katherine's hatred. I didn't need to fear that, and so why did I?
That was contemplation that was too time consuming right now. It was settled. I needed to go to this event, and pretend that I know absolutely nothing about the near future. Even aware this may be a dream, the vividness of it was so intensely clear that I would forget it was one on a number of occasions. As I sat, I felt the hot wind fan out my hair to the side of my face, and I sigh heavily once again.
. . .
I wanted Charlie to accompany me. I felt that was easier than having to go at it alone. Unfortunately, he had some commitment with his mother about the foreseen birth of his baby sister. I knew his parents would eventually decide to name her Jada, but they didn't know that. Charlie wasn't interested in knowing his future, as that was more comfortable to grasp rather than the predestined events. He could only imagine how I felt knowing it all.
The kickoff began at eight in the night. When I first arrived, I was greeted by a large driveway that curved into a roundabout, leading right back to the street. A neat, vibrant green lawn with a variety of shrubbery and carefully grown flowers surrounded the large, white house that exemplified a modern era of Antebellum architecture. It was a gorgeous scenery in one of the nicer neighborhoods in the city.
It was a family friendly event, for sure. I could tell the energy inside the house was not of the seeking thrill kind, but of the tranquil, socially acceptable type. Biting the inside of my cheek, and a nervous intake of breath, I'm past the corridor doors at the back and exposed to the large backyard. Small bulbs of warm light decorated the sky above and between the trees. The created a loose ceiling above us, a web of light illuminating the backyard. Porch lights provided extra light, but the beacon of fiery light that originated from a bonfire to the very far back between two trees was the focal point. Everything else -- the tables and outdoor chairs, the grill and the group of older men standing by it, the groups of younger guests and students speaking to each other in spaced out cluster -- was then processed moments later.
A significant amount of unfamiliar faces and students scattered in clusters of social groups across the large backyard of the senator's house. I was continuously surprised to see a few parents and relatives accompanying the players on the team, who were all dressed traditionally in their respective jerseys. I notice the attire is summer night themed, loose-fitting. Dresses, t-shirts, shorts of a variety of light shades. I was glad I didn't fixate too much on my outfit, as everyone seemed to be relatively casual. In a sky blue skirt, white fitted top, and some ankle boots, I take a few steps down the porch stairs and onto the grass, where most of the younger crowd stood around. I had yet to see anyone I recognized.
Naturally, I gravitated towards a corner, a tree located in a shadowed area of the backyard. I awkwardly stood in my place, an arm coming over to the other, fingernails scratching the skin with uncertainty. I glanced around the party, deep in thought. I send Deborah a text, having gotten her number after our earlier exchange. There was little motivation to have a conversation with any of the strangers at this party, assuming that any one of them could be involved. I felt on edge, tense. Nothing could pass by me without me glancing at it in apprehension.
"I'm not too crazy about these."
I knew that voice. My heart suddenly lodged into my throat, I turn swiftly to the other side of the tree on my left. Leaned into his shoulder against the bark of the tree, was Harry, sporting his team jersey, a pair of cotton, knee-length shorts, and running sneakers. He appeared to be dressed comfortably, his hair messy at his cheeks. The green of his eyes appeared more pale than vibrant as the light from the bonfire hit his irises. A golden cross chain sits at the neckline of his jersey. I try not to stare too long, but instantly, I'm craving his comfort, although it may not be mutual. Looking up at him at our rather close distance, all I wanted was to be held -- a weakness that deterred me from investigating only for a minute.
Finally finding my voice, I amusingly breathe out, "Yeah, me too, honestly."
"My dad doesn't throw very good parties," he jokes, his eyes searching my face for a moment that seemed to be slowed down from the previous speed of everything around us. I noted his habits, his mannerisms, all the same. He stared at me with little shame, his face breaking into a faint smirk. The only difference now was that I was also staring just as intensely, with a suspenseful silence lingering. I could feel our tension in the air, a slight wind blowing out onto our side. "I guess you could say I'm liking it better now," he then adds quietly.
Pressing my lips together, attempting to suppress a blushing smile that was forcing its way to my lips, I avert my eyes to the air behind him for a second. Then, upon looking at him again, I notice the way he takes in a deep breath, his lips parted slightly as he watches me steadily. He was so obvious it was adoring, and it warmed my heart to know that he'd have this reaction, always. Whether he met me a couple of weeks earlier or on the "right" day.
"I second that," I finally said.
We stare at each other in almost a trance-like manner. I wondered if he could see all the alarm, anxiety, and sadness I was feeling at once, but as well as the desire to talk to him in a way that he, in this time now, would not understand. I wondered if he knew exactly what was happening, that somehow in his intense eyes, he knew what was happening to me. But I knew better than that. And I simply smile at him, bringing my hand to push the hair fanned across my cheek away. He was unharmed by the trauma that follows, and the sight was so nice.
"I didn't expect to see you here. I mean, apart from me being an idiot, and completely forgetting to invite you myself," he retorts dryly, grinning widely afterwards. A dimple dents into his left cheek, his teeth on display. The boyish smile makes me mirror a similar grin.
"Yeah, I was invited by a girl in one of my classes. Her boyfriend's on the team. Deborah?" I pretend to be unsure of the information I was sharing.
Harry nods slowly. "Ahh....yes. Deborah and Casey," Harry reckons, eyebrows lowering as he shifts, adjusting his shoulder against the tree. He purses his lips and then candidly adds, "They're quite...interesting."
"Oh, yeah," I nodded, highly amused. "You've known them long?"
"Since freshman year. They have one single interest -- annoying the crap out of me. All my life. Mostly Deborah. We basically grew up together," he explains casually.
My eyes become fixated on his face, the glint of admiration dimming. I tilt my head, eyes squinting in a gradual manner as I suspect I'm about to hear something I didn't want to hear. Because the feeling was apprehension, a version of panic that froze me and barred the flight or fight response in my brain, that what that what will follow would impact my initial conclusions.
"What?" I nearly whisper, a funny smile curving into my lips. What was interesting was that nothing at that moment was funny to me and nothing that I felt had anything to do with any entertainment. What fills me is a desire to flee, but the processes in my brain we're not functional.
Not sensing that anything was off about his statement, he leans off the tree trunk and says, "Yeah Deborah and I grew up together, mostly. Our families are really close but I don't really associate myself with Deborah and her antics."
A part of me preferred that nothing would come out of this. Maybe Deborah was really interested into shady looking guys. But seeing what people are capable of, especially people who are very near and dear to you, I was not too quick to rule that possibility out. I hoped that I would not be put in a position where I had to talk to this girl again and somehow get information out of her. What was scarier was that Harry never confessed to me this very interesting detail. Even after he and I witnessed Deborah leave Kennedy's apartment, he pretended to be unfazed by her involvement.
It was insane to me I just had to ask. "Were you guys like really close recently? Or was that a thing of the past?"
"It was a long time ago. It ended around when we were in high school. After that I didn't see much of her," he elaborates, eyebrows lowering. His eyes wander my face for a moment, and I see a hint of suspicion for my questioning and for my sudden intrigue about his relationship with Deborah. Maybe my jealousy was too intense for him right now, but for the Harry inreality, this would definitely spark some kind of worry.
Knowing that I had to reduce the intensity of my emotions or at least my visible emotions, I bite the inside of my cheek and control the instant fury that joined the assumptions I was making right on the spot. But I didn't have a lot of time to really grasp the severity of the situation.
Because by the porch, her hands over the white fencing, stood Katherine.