Pandora Wild Child

by Sunniva Dee

  “Most of you,” I repeat. “Pandora’s not studying, is she?”

  “Not really. I don’t know if she’ll pass her finals.” Then her voice brightens. “But she keeps her appointments with your friend three times a week, and she works out every day! I don’t even think she’s taken any pain meds since you left.”

  A pinch of relief drizzles over me. “Oh good. But… so, she’s partying, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Shannon cuts her reply short. “Hey, I have to go—I’m here now. Got to find a parking spot.”

  “She getting into trouble? Do you keep an eye on her?”

  Shannon’s silence lingers. “We try, Dominic. Always. You know Pandora, though. You can’t save her from herself every time.” She huffs out an unamused laugh. “At least she hasn’t been arrested yet! Although that’s mostly because she’s at Smother and nowhere else.” Shannon sucks in a sharp breath like she’s said too much, even though it’s not enough for me.

  “Shannon. What’s going on? Is Leon bugging her?” My chest’s tightening. I can’t have him bothering her. Dude’s fucking insane.

  Shannon smoothens over her own glitch. I wish I could guess what she isn’t saying. “Hey, she’s fine, Dominic. Why don’t you talk with her yourself?”

  All sorts of scenarios go through my mind, most of them directly related to Leon. The way he studied her before I left, especially while she was sloshed.

  “Okay, Christian’s here—” The connection muffles during the kiss he gives her, and I picture Pandora’s lips. The plump flesh, how she giggles when I pull it into my mouth, suckling. Then, the way she stops giggling when I—

  Shit.

  “Shannon? Shannon. Put Christian on.”

  They must be done smooching, because she hands him the phone. The conversation with her boyfriend isn’t less cryptic, though. He does confirm that Pandora spends most nights at Smother, that she even hangs out during the day sometimes.

  “She get drunk?” I ask unnecessarily.

  “Uh-huh, usually,” he admits.

  “Have you tried not giving her alcohol,” I growl.

  “It’s not an option.”

  And that, right there, is what I needed to learn. If it’s not an option for Christian to deny Pandora drinks, then Leon is involved. Hard. Core.

  “Christian. She really has caught Leon’s attention, hasn’t she?” I shove my fingers into my hair.

  “Dude. I’m sorry.”

  I have no words. I fucking don’t know what to do—what to say. I’m not even sure what to think! I’m numb. Until the jealousy rushes in.

  “Fuck!” I scream.

  “Dominic,” Christian says on the other end. “Sorry, man. Shannon and I gotta head inside. I’ll tell Pandora to give you a ring, all right?” This is to get me off the line. I’m sure he’s aware that she never picks up for me anymore.

  “Keep her safe for me,” I demand, and the ‘for me’ part sounds outlandish. Any claim I might have had on Pandora is long gone if Leon’s talons are in her. I can only hope he tires of her before he—

  I don’t let myself finish the thought. “He can’t make her one of them,” I say, my voice failing on the last word.

  Of course Christian knows what I’m talking about. Leon’s broken girls. “I can only do so much,” he replies before he hangs up.

  Grandma’s laughter rings out happy from the living room but I’m not focusing, because I’m busy breathing so fucking hard I see stars. I have my head between my knees on the edge of my bed.

  I need to get back to Deepsilver.

  My brain runs through the near future, calculating. Finals start in a few days. Pandora needs to survive that one, last week in Deepsilver before she goes home to her family. The college is closed during winter break, then everyone returns in early January.

  Four weeks.

  I walk out into the den as Grandma’s confused haze lifts. Slowly, she shakes her head. She cinches her brows together and presses the remote to change the station to the Food Channel.

  Her gaze flows to mine. “Dominic, dear? Are you okay? Sweetie, you’re so pale.”

  “Grandma.” Witnessing her emerge again is the best respite I could get in this moment, considering how I can’t save Pandora.

  “Should we start on dinner?” I ask, and she nods.

  Everything happens so fast. My grades come in, my parents barge into our apartment, and without as much as a “hi,” Dad starts throwing my belongings into big, plastic containers while I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed at him before. My father keeps working, impassable, like I am air to him.

  He slams the door to my bedroom, leans against the panels from the outside, trapping me while he calls the movers. The bright ceiling light doesn’t detain my panic, a roaring, howling thing that whirls and sucks me in. My fear is irrational. I know this, I know, because—

  The lights are on. The lights are on.

  Dad can’t dictate my life anymore, and yet my nervous system doesn’t believe. My mother cowers in here with me, eyes wide and fixed on me as I go crazy. When my fear drowns me and I don’t see her anymore, I still sense her reaching for me, and I slap her away with hands I barely control.

  From within my private hell, my brain ticks off signals, telling me to get my shit together. They grow with insistence, yelling—

  You need to harness this!

  Slowly, I resurface. My surroundings sharpen. I see the wall with the James Dean posters. My mother’s stricken expression.

  I suck air in through my nose. It saturates my lungs while my mind races and grinds on—

  My father’s punishments.

  They were unorthodox. His way of protecting me. They made me stay out of trouble most of the time. Who knows who I would have been, which path I’d be down in high school if he hadn’t stopped me?

  But that part of my life is over. With every fiber, I know I can’t take more of his discipline. Yes, I messed up—I recognize that I did; I earned Ds and Fs across the board, but even so, I’m an adult. Not even Dad has the right to restrain me now.

  “Please, Mom.” My voice is sandpaper gritty. “I need to stay in Deepsilver. I’ll pull myself together—figure things out. I can’t go back to living with you.” My pitch quivers on the last sentence, and I’m about to lose it again when my mother begins to soothe me.

  “Pandora-honey, everything will be fine,” she says. Her longing look makes me think she wants to tuck away the blanket of hair soaking up my tears. I breathe in deeply, gathering control.

  “Winter break is starting, Dora. I’m sure no one stays on campus, and a lot can happen over the next month while you’re at home. I’ll talk with your father.”

  Mom’s the queen of wringing her hands in the background. She never seriously tries to convince Dad.

  “No, you won’t.”

  She straightens, the concern for me still in her eyes, but her lips thin into a line. “Pandora, trust me. I agree with you: you do need to learn on your own, and I think your father is acting hastily.”

  “Fucking stop him from moving all my shit, then!”

  The stunned silence from my mother merges with Dad’s in the hallway. If I were younger, if I’d lived at home, I’d be very, very scared of the repercussions. But I am not who I was. Perhaps freedom changes people.

  I stride to the door and pound. The sound isn’t the panicked scratching from my first times in the walk-in at home. He’s quiet, probably biding his time. I won’t back off, though, because where would I end up if I didn’t stand up for myself? Would I even become me—the real me—the one I have the potential of becoming?

  I flick a glance to my shelf, where one of my fragile little friends is on display. It gleams in the overhead light. It’s not lit, but it could so easily be lit—my sweet, silly safety blanket. I could screw it in anywhere and control its flicker. Winking with hope, the 60-watt light bulb I wish I’d had at home lends me strength.

  “Dad, open up. We need to talk.”

 
; The panic still trembling in me abates at my own demand, my emotions and common sense about to cooperate for once. It’s as if all of me grasps the milestone this moment can become.

  Dad eases the door open, steely gray gaze meeting mine from an inch above. I didn’t realize how short he is, I think, randomly.

  He claps his old flip-phone closed and enters my room, joining us. He sniffs and pierces me with his no-bullshit stare. “The movers will be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Please call them off,” I ask while he crosses his arms.

  “No, Pandora. You have clearly shown—”

  I cut my dad off, and my heart skips a beat as I go against the direct orders he’s in the middle of giving. “Dad, I am not moving back into your house.”

  “‘Our house!’” my mother gasps, immediately obsessing over the wrong part of the conversation. “How can you say that? It’s your home, Pandora!”

  Mom diverting my attention isn’t something I’ll permit, though, because this right here, defines my future. “You guys took a big chance when you let me move to Deepsilver, outside of your… jurisdiction, and I am grateful,” I begin.

  “The apartment, the tuition you pay, how I haven’t had to take out any student loans. Yes, Dad—I’m a freshman who hasn’t figured things out yet, but I’m learning. After Christmas, I—”

  “No, Pandora. Next semester you’ll be continuing your studies back in Rockcastle,” Dad explains, modulating his professor persona perfectly. “Now, let’s get this place packed away.” He jerks his head in the direction of the other rooms down the hall. “I’ll give your friends a month’s notice.”

  Strange how my father laying down Dad-law solidifies my resolve and calms me further. He’s not listening, like he’s never listened, only I’m done submitting to his will.

  Thinking back, what caused me to obey was my dark, dark, walk-in closet. I let myself consider this for a nanosecond before I shield myself from the thought.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. You can throw me out of this apartment, but we’ll find another place to live. I’ll take out loans—”

  “Of course.” Dad puffs out a cold laugh that takes me by surprise. “You’ll need a cosigner for loans. You have no credit, Pandora.”

  My mother’s words, repeated too often over the years, float back to me: “He’s so strict with you because he loves you.”

  Problem is, I can’t stomach his way of loving me.

  “I’ll find a cosigner, Dad. Don’t you worry.”

  I straighten my back and stare right into the flint of his gaze. My fists must have clenched, because my nails bite into the skin of both palms.

  This is all so much. My lower lip begins to quiver, but my determination isn’t affected. Mom might be silent out of shock—the only believable reason, really—while Dad assesses the raw emotions I am in front of him.

  He shakes his head slowly. His stare gains a flicker of something new, and yet I’ve seen it before, just… where? It was a long time ago, that much I know. I sniffle. I whip the back of my hand up to dry my nose. Then, I remember.

  At archery camp the summer I was twelve, he picked me up and caught the final showdown in my age group. Fifteen kids, one after the other, missed the target altogether, while I—his daughter—won the trophy by hurling my five arrows straight into the center.

  Back then, he grabbed my neck in an approving squeeze. Pride soared through me as his mouth curled up the tiniest bit when the few words he let out said everything: “Look at you.”

  His gaze now holds surprise and respect. “Pandora,” he starts. “Darling, we only want the best for you.”

  “In that case, give me my freedom so I don’t have to take it. I need to do this on my own, Dad, and I will, with or without your blessing.”

  “Dora, you’re only nineteen,” Mom blurts out, and I send her an incredulous glare. Minutes ago, she was speaking warmly of me making my own mistakes.

  But then, the strangest thing happens. My father raises his hand, drapes his arm around my mother’s shoulder in a silent command to be quiet. As always, she follows his orders.

  I continue. “This isn’t only about me either. I’ve moved my three best friends all the way across the country when they could have stayed at home. They deserve to finish the programs they started here, Dad.

  “Mica’s major isn’t even offered at home, and I know for a fact that she and Shannon can’t pay for dorm rooms if they have to leave our apartment. While I’ve been screwing up this semester, the others have done really well. I don’t want to be the one to blame for their interrupted education.”

  I am to blame. I did this.

  I snuff out the voice in my head because I can’t afford to psyche myself out. My father’s forehead furrows. Suddenly, he looks tired, older than his years, and Mom registers the change too.

  “John?” Her hand flutters up to her twentieth-anniversary necklace. The thing could pay for Mica’s college education outright. Now she fingers the biggest diamond nervously because my mother didn’t marry my father for his indecision.

  “Just… I can’t, Dad,” I finally whisper. “That’s all.”

  “Dora, honey, they smell amazing! Aunt Nancy will be asking you for the recipe,” Mom gushes at my cinnamon-and-cranberry cookie creation in the oven.

  Since we returned to Rockcastle a few weeks ago, I’ve been on my best behavior. My father promised to leave the apartment in Deepsilver intact on a probationary basis, which is why I’m fighting so hard to be good.

  Even my twentieth birthday was a low-key affair, with eight friends coming over for a wholesome meal. “Welcome to Pandora’s Rapunzel-tower celebration,” Mica had whispered to me. “But don’t worry. We’ll make it up to you once we get back to Deepsilver.”

  Sometimes, I go stir-crazy. My cabin fever inflates proportionally with the days passing, and last night, I took my heaviest Scheuermann meds for the side effect alone, intense drowsiness. I passed out at 10 p.m., dodging my urge to take off in search of fun. Or trouble.

  I sleep in my old room, but I can’t use my walk-in closet anymore. Instead, I keep my suitcases propped open against the wall, clothes sprouting from them in disorganized heaps. To be on the safe side, Shannon and I have an understanding: if I don’t text back within five minutes of her messaging me, she’ll be over to check on me.

  “Don’t you love the idea?” my mother prattles on. “Nancy’s always the one to bring the new, fancy stuff. I think we’ve got her beat this year!”

  “Good, and I won’t have a recipe to give her either when she asks.” I smile to Mom, who slams her hands together and chuckles gleefully.

  I’m pretty good at baking even though I’m not fond of it. My mother perks up with every Christmas detail I manage, so this is an easy way to keep her happy. In the meantime, I occupy myself with the countdown until I can return to Deepsilver.

  Eight days.

  We’re preparing for the big traditional family get-together with uncles, aunts, little cousins, the whole shebang. They’ll start invading us in a couple of hours, and I hope they plan on an extended visit, because I need the distraction more than ever; it’s the second day of Christmas, and all my friends are gathering at the pier. Even Mick and Les will make an appearance, Destiny told me, the clowns of my graduation class. I’m in dire need of a good laugh, and damn if those two aren’t going to be a blast.

  Dominic still texts me every day, a one-way communication. The tenacious, handsome, too-perfect man doesn’t stop calling either, but there’s no way I can pick up.

  Today, he texts, How’s Rockcastle?

  I think of how futile it is with questions when you never get answers. He’s so stubborn.

  So I reply this time. Ask him a question back, even.

  It’s okay. Your grandmother?

  Dominic doesn’t do emoticons, but at my reply, he sends me the biggest smiley-face back. It makes me smile.

  Good, he writes. And then just… Pandora

  I hear the s
igh in his text. That deep short sigh that makes my heart soften and quiver beneath my ribs.

  I send him a heart, because it’s what’s on my mind. Then, I put the phone away.

  I guide Grandma to the car from Harry’s Big’n Tall Men’s Clothing. She’d been a bit quiet when I climbed into the attic to grab her Christmas china, but really, I had no way of foreseeing that she’d slide into oblivion while I was up there.

  My little lady’s so fast. Even in her dement state, she bounds off as if she knows she’s about to be chased down. I chuckle, impressed.

  After months in Stowden, I’m not in denial anymore. My grandmother has become a twenty-four seven job, and I cannot change the way her lucid periods shrink for each day.

  To be honest, her confusion doesn’t upset me as much as it did, because in Alan’s words, my grandma’s a happy senile. When he first said this, I told him to shut the hell up, but after a few weeks of first-hand experience, I had to admit he’s right.

  “Sir?” Grandma says politely as I hold the car door open.

  “Ma’am, I’ll take you home,” I play along. At the moment, she has no idea who I am, so I’ll be her chauffeur. The two of us might as well enjoy this.

  Today, she’s not a five-year-old Pearl. Since she ran straight to Harry’s, I’m thinking she must be her elegant church-lady self, the way she was in her sixties. That’s when her cooking finally took its toll on Grandpa, to the point of making him need fat-man pants.

  A sweet smile brightens her expression. “But… I should pick up my husband’s new slacks.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners while she attempts to collect some fleeting thought.

  “Miss Pearl,” I say, giving a polite bow. “Harry himself will deliver them on his way home tonight. I think your husband will be satisfied with the adjustments.”

  Her smile widens. “Will he now? Well, please pass on our heartfelt thank yous to Harry and tell him to plan for an after-hour cocktail at our residence.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Any particular route Miss Pearl prefers?” I keep up our light exchange, causing Grandma to giggle.