The Resolution of Callie & Kayden(9)

My cheeks warm and he laughs at me, amused by my embarrassment. Still chuckling, he wanders around the racks filling the small store, searching for a costume. The selection is pretty picked over and there are a lot of people here skimming through the already-limited supply. There’s some Halloween-type music playing through the speakers to add to the scary decorations of bats, witches, and ghosts.

‘So have you decided on one yet?’ Seth asks, backing away from the rack and rubbing his stomach. ‘Because I’m getting super hungry.’

I shake my head as I pull a face at a thin piece of leather that’s supposed to be some sort of dress, yet looks more like a really short shirt. ‘The problem is I don’t want to be something scary or slutty and that’s all they really have here.’

He glances over at the wall of masks then the rack I was just looking through. ‘That sort of eliminates a lot of options, if not all of them.’

‘I know,’ I sigh, glancing around the store. ‘I just want to be something pretty. Something that’s not slutty, but is sort of sexy in a way where I don’t have to show a lot of skin, if that makes any sense. Something that will … dazzle Kayden.’ I grin at my word usage because dazzle is one of Seth’s favorite words.

He bobs his head up and down to the music as he looks around the store contemplatively. ‘That actually makes perfect sense for you.’ He takes my hand. ‘Come with me, beautiful; I think I have an idea for the perfect thing for you. One that will make you’ – he grins at me – ‘dazzle the whole entire world.’

I smile as I follow him out of the store, hoping that today’s efforts will be worth it, that maybe somehow I can make the night magical, or at least get Kayden to smile. That alone would make all efforts worth it.


Later that day, I return to my dorm room with a bag that’s holding what I think will be the perfect costume. I know I’m being silly, that I’m almost twenty and should not be getting excited over a silly party, but I am.

Last Halloween, Kayden and I weren’t technically boyfriend and girlfriend. Yeah, we were hanging out, but that was about it. And about a month later, around Thanksgiving, everything fell apart when Kayden beat up Caleb for what he did to me and then his father beat up him and stabbed him for getting in trouble with the police over it. It was a terrible, horrible time. I know Kayden still thinks about it a lot, even though he doesn’t talk to me about it too much. So I want the end of this year and future ones to be fun. Plain and simple fun.

After I put my bags away, I turn on my iPod, hitting random before popping my headphones on. ‘Winter Song’ by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson clicks on, totally fitting for the storm outside. Then I get my laptop from the nightstand and plop down onto the bed.

I do a little writing for my internship, but after getting bored with it I change documents and work on one of my Advance Fiction projects for my end of the year portfolio. The theme is fiction, but Professor Gladsyman pressed that we should write about something that feels real, something that’s resting on the line between fiction and nonfiction.

Sometimes, I feel …

Yeah, that’s all I have so far. It’s not like I’m having writer’s block. Okay, well maybe I do, but it’s not only that. Writing the vague truth, that’s the hard part. But I’m not even supposed to be writing the truth, am I? Honestly, I’m kind of confused which route I’m supposed to go, especially since the professor kept making air quotes whenever he said fiction. I swear he wanted us to read his mind or something to figure out what he wanted.

Sighing, I delete my whole three words and then take up the hobby of staring at the blank, white screen and that damn blinking cursor, the one that I swear is whispering, you better find an idea, over and over again, not to encourage me – to torture me. Every time I try to get it to stop, the voice only grows louder and I swear to God I’m going crazy – writer crazy.

After a while, I get up and get a snack from my dresser drawer then I take out my dress – aka my costume – and admire it again, totally procrastinating.

When I’d tried the dress on in the store, I’d felt like a gothic princess. Yeah, it was of a cliché thought – well, minus the gothic part – but I welcomed it, remembering how I used to dream of being a princess and going to prom before it got squashed. After I was raped, I shut down completely, living only within myself. I chopped off my hair and only spoke to my journal for the most part, everything I was feeling pouring out through that pen. That’s what I did until I left for college, which means I convinced myself all that high school stuff was silly when really I wanted to go. Never happened.