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Tears streamed down my face and I grabbed a pillow to sob into. This was too much. I’d reached my limit to be able to control my emotions. This was my dad. His voice. His movement. I had something far more precious than I could’ve managed—tangible videos to remember the way they acted, talked, and loved me.
At night, back home, I had often laid awake wondering what Dad looked like, sounded like, and had been like. All along he’d been the man that appeared in my dreams from time to time. I remembered pieces of him.
I remembered.
I could see the love he had for me as he adoringly held me. It was like the photographs I had seen this afternoon were coming to life. His light-brown hair tousled in the wind as he held me.
He spoke and I tried to quiet my muffled cries. “Kenzie, we are going to have so many adventures together,” he cooed. Spit bubbles came from my mouth as I flailed my arms about. “One day you’re going to meet a guy, but you’re always going to be daddy’s little girl. Don’t forget that. Okay?”
Giggles came from my mom behind the camera. “David, that is so far away. You don’t have to worry about that for a while.”
Lovingly, he smiled at my mom, “Sweetheart, it’ll be here before we know it.”
Kissing my cheek, my mom zoomed in on the action.
This was my dad and mom. And we had been a loving family.
RUBBING MY TEMPLES, I tried to ease the headache. The lack of sleep was getting to me. Every night I would wake up in the middle of the night and watch more home movies. Part of me felt robbed
from a life I never knew and the other felt lost—not knowing what to do with all my mixed emotions and thoughts.
School started tomorrow and my nerves were about to get the best of me. For the last week, I had spent nearly every waking hour at the library researching—life, events, culture, and anything else I had questions on. To go to the bank, I had to research ATM’s, checking accounts, credit cards, debit cards, and online banking. Otherwise, I would have looked foolish having them explain each part of the process, being that I was nineteen.
Getting through financial aid and my meeting with my advisor had been information overload. For now, I had applied for student loans to take care of my remaining tuition. It seemed the safer route until I knew what I could and couldn’t afford.
The same went for applying for jobs. I had to learn about interviews, what different jobs meant, and pay standards. This was my day—everyday.
Instead of breathing, I felt like I was drowning. For the last three days, I had been researching class terms, equipment used in class such as overhead projectors, and trying to give myself a crash course on different programs that were fundamental to know for college. Ninety-nine percent of everything was done via computer. Computers were both my savior and the bane of my existence. We had a love-hate relationship.
On top of everything else, I’d researched The Society. There wasn’t much on it. It was registered as a religious group which allotted the organization all sorts of privacy. Without just cause, no one could enter. For beliefs it had said Truth. A large section of land was highlighted as being owned by Peter Peppington. Other than that, information had been scarce.
I felt myself starting to relax . . . some. The Society hadn’t made an appearance in this part. It seemed foul play was not suspected in my suicide. Maybe one day, all the worry would vanish from me, like I had from The Society.
Looking at the clock, I decided I need to get some lunch. It was hard, but I tried to force myself to eat at regular intervals. Between the knots in my stomachs, the constant headache, and all the pressure I felt, I was rarely hungry. I had made a sandwich from home. They were cheap, but filling.
Fresh air sounded good and would help. I’d allow myself thirty minutes before I started back at learning a slide program that presentations were required to be put on.
Logging off the computer, I made my way outside to a large tree that sat off to the right. It was away from the beaten path, but still allowed me to observe behaviors of everyone. The most fascinating part of people watching was the interaction between guys and girls.
On the rare occasions I spoke to a guy, I attempted not to act nervous and look them straight in the eye. Talking to Aiden a couple of times, when he’d stop by the house, had helped. However, I kept it brief even when he tried to prolong the conversation. I knew he was simply being nice because I was his sister’s roommate.
The incident in the kitchen with the chopsticks had been on my mind more than it should have been for just meeting someone. Guilt plagued me. Somehow, I felt like I was betraying Matthew even though we had never been together. Underneath it all, I was also scared because I wanted a repeat of those sensations I had experienced with Aiden. Those touches were seared into my skin.
Leaning against the rough bark, I took several deep breaths and stared off into nothingness, trying to let my mind rest.
I can do this. Hang in there, Kenzie.
This had become my motto. It kept the tears and fear at bay—most of the time. At night, I allowed myself to cry—just enough to let some of my pent-up emotions out. During the day, however, I had to be strong.
“Hey, stranger. Thought I might run into you here. What have you been up to?”
I glanced into the sun at the familiar voice of Aiden. The deep rumble was something I’d never tire of. “Hey. Just getting ready for school tomorrow. How about you?”
Taking a seat beside me he stretched out his legs. His foot came within inches of mine and I had to fight my reaction to close the gap. “The fraternity is finishing up Rush, the paper needed my first article they’re printing tomorrow, and I was trying to find you.”
“Me?” I was confused as I tried to figure out why he’d be looking for me.
At times, it did seem like Aiden sought me out when he stopped by the house, but I scolded myself for the foolish thoughts. Brooklyn and Aiden were close. Aiden always seemed to watch me closely which unnerved me. I was afraid he’d see through my lies that I desperately wanted to turn into truths.
