The Secret Life of Katherine James

Chapter I

I sat in the middle of my bed on top of my tangled blankets, staring down at my phone waiting for Angel, one of my best friends, to text me back. She was having yet another one of her my-life-is-falling-apart, The-world-is-going-to-end-because-we-aren't-together-any-more moments.

My friend Angel was what some people would call a serial dater. Now, I don't believe this at all. She's just insecure and likes to make others feel loved, even if it's at her own expense. I sat silently thinking about when it all began.

Her father was never there for her as a child because her parents divorced when she was a baby, leaving her older brother, David, to be her father figure as they grew up. About a year and a half ago, out of the blue, her father showed up on their doorstep, demanding to be a part of their lives. Angel was thrilled, and, as far as I knew, it was going well. Six months after he came into her life, she called me in the middle of the night and told me to open my window. When I had asked why, all she said was that she didn't want to go home and she needed somewhere to sleep.

When she climbed through my window, I clicked on my lamp. I turned to look at her, stunned by the state of her perpetually perfect make-up. She was still in her day clothes, and her long black hair was flowing in tangles to her back as she crossed the room and flopped down on the bed with swift strides. I sat beside her and she put her head on my shoulder and cried for most of the night, her quite, heart breaking sobs the only sound that would break through her silence. I lent her some pajamas around 3am after her tears were finally slowing and we both went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, she was already awake, sitting in the window sill looking out at the sunrise over our city.

"He's gone," she said in a stoic voice, eyes fixed on the sun through my window, "my dad I mean." She paused before going on, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Wrapping her arms around her knees she rested her head on the glass. "And this time I don't think he'll be coming back for me." Her small shoulders heaved and then sagged, as if the sheer idea of her words was a burden. "He just left... no note, no reasoning. He just left." That was all she said. It was only when she turned to look me in the eyes that I realized the tears had found their way to hers, which turned electric blue when she cried, once again. She stayed like that the whole day. Sitting in my upstairs window looking out over the city, as if she could see her dad out there. As if, if she looked hard enough, she could find him. It was as if she thought she could, just by looking at the little ants of people hard enough, long enough, make him stop, turn around, and look at her, and by some miracle, summon him back to her. She sat, unmoving, silent and stoic, all day. I finally called David to come get her, when I woke up the next day and found her crying in the same spot in the same shorts and plain white T-shirt that I had given her the night before. He came to pick her up, and then we met up three days later. By then she was settled with the first on the long list of boys she's dated since then. John, was his name. Apparently they'd met at the Library. They only dated for a month and then broke up. Her relationships never end before two weeks, but they never make it past 3 months. The strange thing is, she truly cares about every single one of them.

My phone buzzed, blasting "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin, jarring me out of my thoughts. I glanced down at the blocked number, staring at it for a few seconds as it continued to ring. Feeling my heartbeat pick up, I shook my head and quickly hit ignore, sending the caller immediately to my voice mail. I just wasn't in the mood.

I sighed and flopped back onto my bed. After it stopped squeaking at my sudden shift of weight, I could hear my family moving around downstairs. In my house, my father did most of the cooking, and my mom did most of the baking. They traded off and on here and there but for the most part that was pretty much the way it went. My younger sister cooked sometimes and so did I, but usually, it was just my mom and dad. I could hear the water running, and my sister shrieking at something my father had said. My mom hollered back in a playful manner. My family is crazy. I chuckled to myself. Well, if they're all crazy then that means I've gotta be crazy too I suppose. Then I full on laughed.