Free Mistrust by Margaret McHeyzer Page A

was sent to my phone. And one more message which says ‘Enjoy the show, I have plenty of pictures with you as the star.’”
    “Oh.” Sitting on my bed, I’m numb. Completely dazed, and non-responsive to whatever the hell happened. Something died inside me the night of prom, and now, another piece of me has cascaded down to the pit of eternal darkness.
    “It’s okay, Dakota, we’ll get through this.”
    With no expression, and absolutely no emotion, I simply nod at whatever Sam said.
    “Dakota.” I can hear her calling my name, but I can’t bring myself to respond. I’m powerless. “Dakota,” Sam’s tone has now taken on a sense of urgency. “Dakota!” she almost shouts at me. Blankly I turn my face to where her voice is calling me. “Screw this,” she says. She looks down at my phone, does something then lifts it to her ear. “Damn it, the number has been disconnected. Hang on.” Vaguely I register what she’s doing. I think she opens her messenger, compares the number, then brings her phone to her ear. “Bastard,” she spits. “Different number and they’ve both been disconnected.”
    “It’s okay,” I say in a detached tone. My voice reflects my lifeless emotions. On the inside, where no one can see, I’ve . . . departed. That’s exactly how everything inside of me feels. Empty, cold . . . extinct. “You tried.” My stomach churns with those two words stumbling out of my mouth. “There’s nothing else we can do.”
    “Like hell there’s not. We’re not going to give up on this, Dakota.” Sam is igniting a tiny spark deep down in the pit of my stomach. “We may not know who the hell this person is, but we’re not going to let them rule your life either.”
    I collapse on the bed and absolutely hate myself. “I’m so damned weak. I’m not sure I can get through this.” Hugging my pillow, I bury my face in it, completely ashamed of myself.
    “Jesus, Dakota. Weak? Are you serious?” The bed dips beside me. “Weak is not the word I’d use.”
    “I can’t do this.”
    “Then we have to tell Mom and Dad.”
    “NO!” I say with authority. “You promised me you wouldn’t say anything.” I look to where she’s sitting.
    “Then you can’t blame yourself either.” Sam takes a deep breath and moves her hand out, silently asking for my mine. “I don’t know what you’re feeling. But I can imagine how painful, and . . .” She looks off into the corner of the room, trying to find the words she wants to use. “And humiliating this must be to you. But you didn’t bring this on yourself, all you did was go to your junior prom, expecting to have fun with your friends. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently, and if it wasn’t you someone else would have been targeted at the prom.”
    “That makes me feel sick. The thought of someone else waking up in the back field. I can’t even imagine it. I don’t wish this on anyone, Sam.”
    “Come on.” She pulls me up from my bed. “We’ll get through this,” she says as she engulfs me in a hug. “Together.”
    “Together,” I say, though really, I feel so alone.
     

 
     
    “What happened to you two last night?” Mom asks as she sits down opposite Sam and me with a cup of coffee.
    My hand freezes, with my spoon mid-air and my stomach nervously churning as a cold wave covers me. Sam elbows me, and her gaze goes to my spoon. “Dakota bet me she’d win in a race down to the park, but she cheated. She took off before I even had a chance to put my shoes on. She cheated, because she went barefoot.” Sam lifts her eyebrows and looks at me.
    Crap, she’s good at lying. “Yeah, I did,” I confirm and smile at Sam’s story. Taking another spoonful of my cereal, I block out the sound of Mom and Sam’s insistent chatter.
    “Did you hear what I said, Dakota?” Mom asks while Sam kicks me under the table.
    “Sorry, what?”
    “What’s happening with you? I could swear you just transported somewhere else, like