Indigo (5 page)

“Now then, Google who?” She turns to me expectantly.  I should have known she wouldn’t forget.

“Oh uh…Indigo Olsen,” I reply, wishing for once she’d had forgotten. “She’s in one of our classes.”

To my surprise, her eyes light up. “Oh yes! Of course! Indigo! I’ve been meaning to go over to Dow and introduce myself. Thank you for reminding me.”

“How did she land that room?” Asks Shawn. “Isn’t Dow only for seniors?”

“Normally,” my mother nods. “But Indigo’s mother was insistent she sleep somewhere alone, and in a building multiple stories high. The poor thing was snatched out of her bed in the middle of the night after all, so we all agreed to make the exception.”

I wonder how much of it was done for sympathy, and how much was done to secure her enrollment here at any costs.

As if confirming my thoughts, my mother beams and says, “It’s so exciting to have her here, like our own little celebrity on campus!”

Shawn looks at me, his eyes wide.
Celebrity
, he mouths.

The word feels wrong and my opinion spills out my mouth. “I doubt she thinks of herself as a celebrity, considering what she’s known for.”

“Oh you know what I mean.” She picks an invisible piece of lint from her suit jacket and turns towards the door. “I’ve got to run. Sleep tight boys. Oh, and you shouldn’t keep this door open, we don’t want anyone mingling out in the hallways after hours.” She blows us a kiss and the door slams shut behind her.

“Thanks for visiting mom,” I say dryly.

Shawn flops back on the bed, blowing out a breath. “I don’t think there is a woman in the world who commands more respect than Aunt Ellen. It’s exhausting.”

Yeah. It is.

INDIGO

The darkness always gets me.

I watch the last of the light slip below the horizon, inhaling deep breaths through my nose to try in an effort to calm my racing heart. My fingers twitch of their own accord and I back quietly away from the window.

The room feels dead, so I rush over to my television and power it on, not caring of the channel. Rapidly increasing the volume to slightly louder than normal, I watch the weatherman talk about the week ahead before heading to the door. My fingers test the lock, and then they test it again. The window feels ominous at my back and even though I was just there, I go back to check the latch before returning to the door to check that lock for the third time.

She’s so well-functioning
they say.
She’s normal, as if it never happened.

The humming in my ears starts up as I pace the floor, biting the skin on the side of my nails. A minute later, I’m on the edge of the bed, my knees bouncing up and down on the rug.

I put my head between my bouncing limbs, my hands covering my ears to try and relieve the awful monotone sound that seems to live in my brain when darkness descends.

Before I was kidnapped, I’m grounded enough to know that I lived a decent life. I had friends, I did well in school, and I have mother who loves me more than she loves herself. Meeting other people came easy, and I went about my daily routine just like every other carefree 15 year old, not thinking too much beyond the day ahead. A part of me feels lucky, because unlike some other kidnap victims, I was able to get a piece of that back. I don’t feel the need to live cowering in corners, hiding in shadows. I still feel awkward around new people, and I have barely left my house in the past two years which
is
really weird. But now I’m out, and although I am a more reserved than I used to be, those quirks are things I can handle, and work on. And I get better all the time.

And today was a great day. I walked into my first dance class, and instead of feeling like an awkward outsider, I felt a sense of deep belonging. Looking around as the dancer’s stretched, the passion I felt for the atmosphere was there with me in spades. It felt right, and although the class was grueling, I kept up. The rich sense of achievement followed me home, but I should have known the small victory wouldn’t be enough.

Because the darkness gets me.

When it descends, I turn back into that girl in the basement, that girl in the car. I become the girl that had no voice, and I hate her more than I hate anything in the world. I don’t want that to be me, I don’t want to be her.

Voices in the hall have my head jerking up and I rush over to the door to glance outside through the peephole. Nothing. The weatherman drones on, and I nervously run my fingers over my lips, wondering if I’ll ever feel any semblance of comfort here.

When my mom informed me I was staying in Dow Hall, I was relieved. When all my paranoid habits are added to the fact that I barely sleep, it made having a roommate out of the question.

A thump sounds from the room next door and I nearly jump out of skin.

Visions of his hand over my mouth, his fingers around my throat, threaten to consume me and I resume pacing to tear the images from my mind. The flimsy curtains on the window are driving me insane and I wonder if I can install shutters, if that’s even allowed. The chances of someone getting into my window are slim since I’m on the third floor, but I know all too well that anything is possible.

The five lamps in my room are on, but I panic when I think about the dorm ever losing power. Candles, I should have thought of candles.

My heart fills my throat when I think about how unsafe this room is, how vulnerable I am here alone, and I can’t stop my hands from gripping my scalp, the awful humming keening an alarm in my head. Racing to my nightstand, I grab my phone, hitting speed dial to call my mom.

She answers before the first ring is finished.

“Indy, are you okay?” she asks. Her soft voice slides through me like a cool drink that fills my eyes with tears.

“Mom,” I whimper, only able to get the one word out through my burning throat.

I hear the clanging of dishes in the background, and I know she’s working her night shift at the diner. She just started going in again, and already I’m pulling her away. I know she doesn’t mind, but the guilt still stings.

“Oh Indy,” she sighs. I can hear the tears in her voice. “Is it bad?”

“I’m just…not used to sleeping alone,” I choke out.

“I know. I know everything is unfamiliar to you, and that’s going to be hard. But you are completely safe there. Campus security works around the clock.”

This is stuff I already know, and stuff we’ve talked about hundreds of times before I left. I don’t know what to say so I just breathe loudly into the receiver.

“Maybe I should have stayed a couple more nights,” she tells me in regret. “Waited until you had a chance to fully settle in. I can come back tomorrow if you need me to.”

My mom is a teacher by day and a waitress by night. As long as I can remember, she has worked two jobs to support me and pay for my hundreds of dance classes. For the past two years, she has still worked as a teacher, but got rid of her shifts at the diner so I wouldn’t ever have to be alone at night. Knowing she is constantly eaten alive by guilt because of what happened, she has done everything in her power to help me heal, and be there for me in any way she can. I’m so lucky to have her. But I don’t want my paranoia to intrude on her life anymore. Especially when I’m here, trying to start over.

“No, don’t do that,” I sigh, trying to regain my composure. “I have to try…I’m going to try harder. I just got…overwhelmed for a minute.”

“I left you something,” she says softly. “I left it in your suitcase under the bed. I figured you’d find it on your own eventually, but I think you need a little something to distract you.”

Perching the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I get on my hands and knees to peer under the bed. I see the suitcase and reach my arms out to grab it, pulling it out and placing it on the floor. Leaning back to sit Indian style on the rug, I open the zipper and see a box inside. I let my fingertips skim over the silky ribbon.

“Mom, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Just open it,” she says eagerly, chuckling.

I lift the top off, and gasp once I see the candles. They’re colored red, yellow, and orange, just like the sun. Underneath that, there’s a framed photo of me and her standing by the Grand Canyon when I was eight years old, our clasped hands held up in the air and our identical black hair waving in the breeze. There are a few magazines, scented lotions, moisturizer, my favorite candies, a pack of gum, and a beautiful red crop top blouse that must have cost her a fortune. But it’s what’s tucked inside that gets me. My hands shake as I wrap my fingers around the antique gilded hand mirror. It reminds me of the one Belle has in Beauty in the Beast. Way too lovely for a face like mine. I sketch my fingers lightly over the carvings and let out a halted breath into the phone. “Oh, mom.”

“I know you hate mirrors.” I hear her voice catch, making my lip tremble. “But I’m hoping…that one day, you’ll be able to see how beautiful you are again. To see yourself the way I see you.”

I sniffle loudly and wipe a tear from my cheek. “Thank you mom…for everything. It’s too much.”

“I’d do anything for you Indy, I love you.”

“I love you too, mom.”

“Now tell me about your first dance classes…”

We hang up a few minutes later, and I sit on the floor regaining my breath. The humming returned the moment we got off the phone, but then again, it always does. I rise on shaky legs and head toward my pillow, pulling out the knife I keep hidden there. From the corner of my eye, I see the mirror on the floor and I stare at it for a few seconds before picking it up and shoving it face down in my nightstand drawer. Grabbing one of the magazines in a hopeless attempt at distraction, I position myself in front of the door, checking the locks a couple more times before I sit down. The knife I place by my feet.

I don’t close my eyes until the light slips back over the horizon. 

KENNEDY

Drumming my fingers against my desk in impatience, I glance at the clock for the hundredth time since class started. I can tell by the professor’s tone he’s wrapping up, but I can’t focus on anything that’s coming out of his mouth. Everyone next to me is dutifully taking notes, while I sit here filled with anxiety to get out of the seat. It’s been this way the past two years. Nothing about my law classes interest me. Annoyance surges through my blood. I did my best, and I gave this a shot. My mom has to understand once and for fucking all, Law is not what I want to do with my life.

Finally, we’re dismissed, and I get up from my desk and head straight towards the door.

“Kennedy,” the Professor calls out. “Got a minute?”

I halt in my tracks and hesitantly step toward him. He waits until the rest of the students file out to speak.

“I wanted to introduce myself personally,” he smiles. He must still be in his thirties, I think, when he runs his hand through his full head of thick brown hair. “I was just brought on staff a couple months ago. I’m a friend of your mothers.”

Impatience simmers beneath my skin as I brace myself to deal with another member of the faculty trying to get on my good side because of who my mother is. “It’s nice to meet you.” He purses his lips when he notices my eyes flick back toward the clock.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Your mother told me you finally declared your major for Law.”

That gets my attention, and I stand up a little straighter. “What? When did she tell you that?”

He looks at me closely and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Just this morning, I ran into her in the admin office right before this class.”

My gut clenches. “She’s wrong. I haven’t declared my major yet. I’m still deciding between Law and Art.”

“Huh,” he says. He leans back against the white board. “Two very different directions.”

I grip my backpack, furious. My mom has always thought that if she says something out loud it makes it true. I should have known she’d go behind my back. I seethe thinking about how much paperwork is already filed lining me up for a lifetime of her choosing.

“There aren’t many concrete jobs in the Art world. And I’ve seen your work the past two years in the introductory courses, and you’re a natural lawyer. If you want my advice…”

“I don’t. I’ve got to go, I’m late.”

I storm out of the room and stride into the hall, making it to the double doors within seconds. I push my way out, anxious to get out of the stifling building and into the cool September air. I feel better after a few solid breaths, but when I think of confronting my mom, my steps falter. There’s never been any use arguing with her in the past. And the one about my major is a big one, something I know she’ll refuse to bend on. Times running out, and the decision has to be made this year if I want to graduate on time. Thinking of sitting through another two years of law classes makes my skin itch. How long am I going to let her do this to me? Why can’t I stand up for myself? I direct all my anger back at myself, which feels much better. It doesn’t make me feel as fucking helpless.

The Fairbanks courtyard is teeming with students finishing their last class for the day and ready to start the weekend. I say hello to a few kids from the dorm as I head to the cafe to grab dinner before heading home to take a shower.

Halfway there, I spot Indigo walking quickly in the opposite direction. Her head is down and she’s rubbing her hands over her arms as if she’s cold. Unable to help myself, I follow her movements with my eyes. She seems to almost glide across the grass, her every step lithe and graceful. She’s wearing tight jeans and a black tank top, her matching black hair flowing like a flag behind her. Her curves give my heart a severe jolt and I have to jerk myself back to reality when I realize I’ve watched her until she became just a dot in the distance.