Page 115 of Severance

I shift in his arms and press my lips to his chest. He tastes of vulnerability and pain.

“What does your name mean?” I ask him, dragging my mouth across his inked skin.

“Nothing.”

“How come?”

He chokes out an unhappy laugh. “I was an unsuccessful attempt to create a perfect child.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“My mom wouldn’t agree with you.” A sad smile touches his lips, and his tone is sluggish. He’s starting to fall asleep.

I swallow hard. “Why do you say you were unsuccessful?”

“I wasn’t good enough, I guess. Or maybe she was pissed at my dad for ditching us and maybe she hated me for reminding her every day.” His words hang in the air, bitter and depressing. “My brother…he was perfect.”

I’m torn between asking him a question and letting it go. I know we have to talk about what happened the night I barged into his apartment drunk and screaming, but I’m not sure right now—when both of us are exhausted—is a good time to discuss our mutual feelings for Dakota. That seems like a conversation for another time.

Mikah’s breath tickles the side of my face. He’s quiet and the room is still, so we both begin to slip into the dark comfort of our dreams.

* * *

The next morning when I wake up, Mikah’s already gone. The sheets on his side of the bed are cold and rumpled, the window’s shut, and the curtains are drawn together. The room smells of Marlboros and dirty sex, and I lie there for several minutes breathing the scent of Mikah in like it’s my oxygen, replaying every detail from last night and sifting through each word he said to me.

I know there’s still a lot to talk about, but I’m not scared of my feelings. Not being confused about what he and I are anymore is liberating.

After texting my parents to let them know I’m okay, I take a shower and get dressed. Then I draw a backup map in my doodle-filled diary in case there’s no reception at the park and set out for the drive up north to see Dakota’s hummingbird. My body’s sore and worn down from yesterday’s drive and my wild night with Mikah, but my mind hasn’t been this sharp in months—not since before the attack—and I love it.

The desperate need to hear Mikah’s voice grips me when I’m near the creek exit, but I refrain from bombarding him with messages or calls while he’s in the middle of a business meeting.

I arrive at the park at around eleven and hike up to the hummingbird using my handmade paper map. Just as I predicted, the reception is extremely spotty and the GPS doesn’t cooperate, but the walk isn’t what I thought it would be. The path snaking through the woods is easy and scenic, and I give in to my temptation and snap multiple photos with my phone. Oddly, using technology in the middle of the rainforest feels a little blasphemous. The lawn is small and sprinkled with streaks of sunlight that peek through the tall, thick trees surrounding the area.

I sit in the grass with my legs stretched in front of me and look up at the hummingbird. It’s big, probably over fifteen feet high, and its wooden head is blocking the sun. Years of rain and snow have dulled the intricate carvings and have covered it with a layer of moss.

I lose track of how long I spend staring at it, but I’m determined to hear whatever it was Dakota heard. I keep my phone hidden away in my backpack, and my notebook is in my lap. I listen to the birds chirping and the subtle noise of the trees.

Dakota was right. This place is peaceful and a tiny part of me, the one that’s still holding on to the memories tightly, would love to wish him near, but since I know he’s not coming back, I use my wish that I never made at his funeral on other things.

I wish for Jess to be happy with what she’s doing.

I wish for Luke to be able to play drums again.

I wish for Mom and Dad to stop worrying about me.

I wish for every person that was at The Crystal Room during the last Midnight Rust show to find the strength to walk through the dark.

I wish for Mikah…

29. Before

“What do you think?” Jess squeals into the phone. “You like it?” Her voice pitches from excitement.

Is this real? Are we really going to live together?

“Hold on.” I pull my phone away from my ear and glance down at the photo of the apartment she texted me a couple of minutes ago. My other hand grips the steering wheel of the Prius harder. The roads have been an icy mess since the middle of January when the temperature suddenly leapt up and all the snow melted, only to freeze a couple of days later.

“Tell me you love it, girl!” Jess presses.

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