Caring for Dakota Knox

8

Warning: this chapter mentions mental health disorders and violence. 

Dakota Knox

To talk or not to talk? I couldn't be the first to attempt conversation again with her, could I? Why did I feel so mad at her? Not enough patience, understanding? I could've tried to talk to her, but what could've made her any different from the rest? Liking someone was an odyssey, sometimes.

At least, Tatum was being cautious about it. She walked beside me, glancing around the neighborhood and into the horizon, where we could still catch a glimpse of the buildings of San Francisco. She was strategically quiet, shielding herself from my potential outburst. I hated to be myself, so much. Talking to her shouldn't have been that hard, hours ago we were laying together, hand in hand. It felt different from the other times I've had done that. 

I was good with women. By that time, I had already had like four or five 'girlfriends'. I had been mostly good at it because I was heartless, detached. They were always older, and my cold personality seemed to attract them. I always knew how they could react, or think, what they liked. But I was also an object to them, being so young emotionally and mentally. My friends always tried to persuade me, so we could get stuff from their friends: a ride, a ticket to a sold out concert, money, drugs. I had learnt how to touch them, but never spent real time with any of them, let alone love them.

This girl, Tatum Hayes, wasn't like those girls. I could tell from the first day I saw her. She was not like them, but I couldn't confirm if she was as innocent. The way she looked at me the night before, it directed to my heart and my hormones a question or a statement, all with that energy she had kept to herself, so strong and outspoken. I had no interest in falling for any other girl, she was the only one I could try to earn the trust of. 

Talking to her shouldn't be that hard. What to say?

"I hate that park" she blurted out "the swings are all broken, and the lights never work at night"

I nearly chocked with my own spit, not knowing if I should've felt relief or need to laugh.

"Oh, no, no, no!" I reached out to her "It's the best park in town. During winter-"

But I quickly stopped talking, because from across the street two familiar figures were coming up to us. Not now, I told myself. 

Tatum stared at them, shooting dirty looks. Keith raised his hand, waved at me and pouted like an angry kindergartner "Dakota Knox!" he faux-whined "I thought you had been dragged to hell. Why didn't you come and visit during summer?"

I shrugged "I was at the camp, Keith" I said, looking him in the eye. He was high, "I just got home a couple of days ago, thanks to Cohen"

Keith glared at me, not vert happy with my response. Fiona, another friend of ours, was holding his hand. She seemed scared, like she didn't know how to handle him. 

"Oh, well... that's fine then!" he said, a little too excited because of whatever he was on "but I don't understand why the hawaiian b*tch is hanging out with you" he seemed even more disoriented "she deserves the designated loner seat forever, don't you think?"

I was so pissed at him I could barely speak. All I wanted was to throw him to the concrete and destroy his face with my fists. Turning back to them, Tatum spoke out.

"Wow, Keith, so smart of you, using my home state as an insult. Should I call you Eugene, Oregon, then?" She said, mocking him.

"Did I ask you something?" he inquired, his body language telling us he was ready to fight.