Page 30 of Severance

In a way, I’m glad I’m this broken and we don’t have to pretend anymore that I’m still my father’s little girl. Living the life he designed for me was exhausting.

11. Before

My heart thunders wildly as I make my way through Jess’s front yard. The air outside is frosty and full of fine, swirling snowflakes that land on my face and thaw instantly.

There’s a solid black classic Mustang with tinted windows parked by the curb, and somehow, I have no doubt it belongs to Dakota—he doesn’t strike me as a Prius or a Toyota guy. It’s a car for people who live a different lifestyle. A little fast and a little dangerous. Safety and reliability are not their concern. Adventure is.

As if on cue, the driver’s side door swings open and Dakota steps out. He’s wearing a black coat, a black sweater, jeans, and a pair of black military style boots with metal studs.

“Hey.” His velvety voice fills the snowy air between us, melting the cold.

“Hey,” I respond, trying to discern whether my father could somehow see past the long hair and the earring and accept the fact that I like a guy who’s in a band.

I told my parents I was going to spend the evening studying with Jess and would probably be home late. They bought it. Like they always do.

“You look nice,” Dakota says, rushing to open the door for me.

“Thank you. You look nice too,” I mumble under my breath, my cheeks burning despite the cold.

Who the hell tells a guy he looks nice, Alana?

“Thanks.” Dakota laughs. “Took me all afternoon to get this whole makeup thing right.”

Our eyes meet briefly as I step into the warm car, and a fuzzy sensation fills my stomach. Do guys even do these things nowadays? Like holding a door?

“Ha ha.” A small giggle bubbles up my throat as I get comfortable in my seat.

“Do you like The Cure?” Dakota asks, fumbling with some of the CDs stacked behind the visor above his head.

“Sure.” I take a second to study the interior of his car. It’s clean and smells like sandalwood. There’s a small dreamcatcher ornament hanging from the rearview mirror and more CDs loosely stacked in the center console.

I’m still not certain whether we’re on a date or not. The word hasn’t been said yet, but we’ve been texting each other like crazy all week, and this, whatever’s going on between us, feels natural and real.

Come to think of it, my life started to transform the minute we met. Last Monday, after my classes ended, I finally got up enough courage to drop off the job applications I’d downloaded online over the weekend, and one of the restaurants called me for an interview. Of course, there’s still the talk-with-the-parents issue. My father’s not going to be happy. But that seems insignificant at the moment.

The leather squeaks under my weight as I turn to look for the seatbelt buckle.

“Here.” Dakota shifts to help me, and our hands collide. Tingles run across my skin.

“Thanks.” My breath comes out in a quiet pant.

“Are you good?” He pulls back, but his fingers linger on mine, probably longer than they should.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me every time I ask a question.” He laughs softly as he hits the stereo play button and then music fills the car.

* * *

The second half of the movie is a complete blur. Dakota’s holding my hand, and it’s so distracting that my heart sprints as if it’s desperate to make it into theGuinness World Records.

By the time the credits are rolling on the gigantic screen, even the tips of my ears are steaming hot.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to grab something to eat?” Dakota offers when we’re in the lobby.

I stare down at my phone and contemplate whether texting my mom to tell her I’m staying over at Jess’s would be too last minute and too suspicious, but my mouth has a mind of its own. “Sure, but I have to be up really early.”

“I guess a trip to Seattle on a private jet’s gonna have to wait then.” He smirks. “How about some milkshakes from Patty’s?”

---