Songs for this chapter are:

Ocean in the Sky- Angus Dawson

When We Were Young- Adele

Without- Years and Years

Control- Kevin Garrett

(i have an exciting author's note at the end of the chapter) 

Landon's POV.

The flight feels so much longer than three hours. We were lucky I could even get a flight on such short notice this morning. The sun wasn't up when I woke up with a text from Dakota and an empty bed. Nora left in the middle of the night, sending me reeling again.

I feel so much older than twenty and Dakota seems so much darker than the dancing ballerina I once loved. Her eyes are heavy when we land, still swollen from last night's tears. I don't look at her long enough to feel guilty. Those tears weren't for me. They were for her.

While Nora was in my bed, Dakota was sobbing in hers.

"I'll get the bags. You sit down," I tell her at the airport. Her eyes stare past me to the circling luggage belt and she nods. I point to the empty row of chairs next to her and she sits down.

A woman holds her baby and I think of Nora, holding her sister's baby. When I see another woman with long, dark hair, I think of Nora. When a promotion for Game of Thrones came on before the movie on my flight, I thought of Nora. Everything reminds me of her and I hope she can't look at anything around her without thinking of me.

The luggage comes quickly and I gather it and walk to Dakota. She looks as if she's going to fall asleep any moment. "You okay?" I ask her. She looks up at me, hollow brown eyes and nods.

"I'll be fine."

I work toward breaking the habit of pushing for more. I nod instead of telling her that I don't think she's okay after all.

The Kia I rented is nice, but smells like cigarette smoke despite the "no smoking" warning plastered on the windows and the dashboard. Dakota remains silent most of the drive from the airport. It takes about thirty minutes for me to start recognizing what's on the other side of my windshield. I drive in silence, my hands clutching the steering wheel, as we pass the old building that used to house the Blockbuster my mom used to take me to on Friday nights. Every single Friday we would order Pizza hut and rent a movie.

Now, it looks as abandoned as the old dusty VCR on my mom's mantle in Washington. I glance over at Dakota, wondering if she remembered the time she stole a Baby Bottle Pop from in front of the counter. We ran with wild abandon down the street while Carl, the short man with blond hair chased us. There were rumors around the town that Carl had just gotten out of prison, and maybe he had, but he never caught us. From then on, I told my mom I was more into watching t.v opposed to movies and she bought it.

The further I drive into Saginaw the more the roots of the town take hold of me. I feel like a stranger here, an intruder. At twenty, I've seen more of the country than most of the people in this town. When we stop at a red light at the intersection between Woodman and Airway, I look at Dakota again.

"They tore down the McDonalds," I tell her. We used to have one of those classic McDonalds right there on the corner, but now there's nothing but a plot of concrete.

Dakota doesn't look at me, but she glances out the window. "There's a new one," she points to a box shaped McDonalds and drops her hand back down to her lap.

"What happened to Dizzys?" I nod toward another patch of concrete where a locally famous bar used to be. Memories of dragging Dakota's dad from through the doors flood me but I stay passive, not a smile or a frown on my face.

Dakota shrugs. "I heard it burned to the ground. I'm not surprised."

A distant memory pushes through my brain, splaying itself in front of me. Dakota's dad, Dale, leaning against the wall of the crowded bar. In one hand he held a beer and in the other, he held the waist of a short brunette. The woman's body was stubby, short and compacted. Her hair was curled around her face and it was clear that she lived her better years in the eighties, as she still tried to force the style.

When Dakota pushed through the crowd, I followed closely behind her. She found her dad, inebriated and intoxicated by booze and this woman.

Before he noticed her, Dakota snatched the beer from his hand and tossed it into the trash can near his feet.

"What the fuck?" He looked up to see his daughter and she straightened her back, took a deep breath and prepared for battle.

"Let's go," she said through clenched teeth. He looked at her and had the nerve to laugh, to actually laugh in the face of his only daughter.

The poofy-haired woman looked from Dakota to her shitty excuse for a dad and then to me. I stared at her, warning her off, but she didn't move. Instead, she took a swig of her drink and squared her shoulders.

Dakota tugged at Dale's shirt. "Let's go."

He furrowed his brows and looked down at his empty hands. "What the hell are you doing here?" He slurred. My stomach churned. The strange wanna-be-Farrah-Faucet stepped forward and wrapped her slimy hand around the back of Dale's neck. Dakota's brown eyes seemed to turn red under the dimly lit bar lights. She hated the idea of her dad with another woman, even though she knew her own mother wasn't coming back from Chicago.

Dakota's eyes set on the woman and I reached for her shirt, pulling her back to my side. "Come on Dale, it's late. You have work in the morning." I said.

"Why are you kids in a bar anyway, take your asses home and leave us be," his lips moved to the woman's ear and Dakota lurched forward. All day, she had been surprisingly stoic for a fifteen-year-old girl who buried her brother that same morning. But not now, now she was feverish and savage, pushing past me to shove at his shoulders, her small hands pounding against his chest.

I lunged for her, grabbing her by the waist and I pulled her to me. "If he doesn't want to leave, that's his problem. Let's go."

She shook her head furiously, but obliged. "I hate you!" She shouted as I pulled her back.

"I'm glad that fucking place burned to ash, it's more than it deserved," Dakota's voice brings me back to the present.

"Me too." I agree and we drive on through our hometown. It feels like ages since I left this place and the gnawing pang of discomfort in my stomach makes me feel guilty as I turn left onto Colonel Glen Highway.

When we get to our hotel, there's a woman in the parking lot, sores on her face and barely clothed. She's swaying back and forth on her feet.

"Welcome to Saginaw, the Land of Heroine Addicted Prostitutes," Dakota's voice is meant to be flat, but I can sense the slight tremor of fear at the ends.

I turn off the ignition and stare past her, into the lot. "I doubt she's on heroine." I tell her, not sure if I mean the words.

When we check into our room, I ask the woman behind the desk for two beds. Dakota tries to hide the sting, but I saw her flinch when I asked. She knows that we are here as friends, as life long friends, nothing more, nothing less.

The hotel employee, Sharon, hands me two keys and I, the now spoiled New York kid, look for a bellman. Not because I can't carry my own bag to my room, but because I'm just used to seeing them. The room is small, smells like mothballs and the light is dim. It's not like there are a ton of hotels to choose from here and since we waited until the last minute to come, I had to take what I could get. I didn't exactly tell my mom that I was coming, so I couldn't use her member reward points at the only nice hotel in this town.

While I search the walls for another light, Dakota sits her bag on top of the bed closest to the window and tells me she's going to shower. I could definitely use a shower too. I check my phone and read the messages from Tessa.

If you need anything, I'm here.

Be careful, in every sense of the words.

I tell her that I will indeed be careful and I remind her not to share my little adventure with my mom and Ken. Not that I'm not old enough to make my own travel decisions, but it's just something I would rather not have them worried about, and worry they will.

It's a little after ten when Dakota comes out of the shower. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are puffy. The idea of her crying alone in the shower makes me lose my breath. Instinct, the evil little thing, makes me twitch to grab her into my arms and hold her until her eyes turn from veiny red to a milky white. I want to ask her what it was that set her off, that made her so upset. Her dad's failing health? Her fight with Nora just before we left?

I can't imagine that Dakota cares too much about the latter.

"I'm going to order some food," I turn over the booklet on the desk, searching for room service. There doesn't appear to be any. "No room service," I mutter.

Dakota tells me she's not hungry. I look up at her, her small frame wrapped in a white towel and her curly hair soaked, dripping down her exposed shoulders and chest.

"You're going to eat. I'll order Cousin Peppy's," I tell her and she almost smiles. "Remember how we used to order it and have the driver come to my bedroom window so my mom wouldn't wake up?" I pick up my phone from my bed and search for the number.

Dakota stays quiet as she rummages through her bag for clothes. I order a pizza, breadsticks, and a two-liter of pop for us to share. Just like old times. I look over at Dakota who's walking into the bathroom to get dressed. This is nothing like old times.

When she emerges from the bathroom she's wearing an oversized t-shirt that hits right at the middle of her thighs. Her brown skin is shiny and I can smell her cocoa butter lotion from here. When I tell her that I'm going to shower, she nods and lays down on the bed. She's so distant, almost like a zombie, but worse. I would rather her try to eat my flesh than lay this way, curled up on her side, staring at the window.

With a sigh, I grab a clean pair of briefs and walk to the bathroom. The water is hot but the pressure sucks. I need it to beat down on me to get rid of this aching kink in my shoulders that doesn't seem to want to go away.

I use Dakota's lotion. It's the same kind she's used since I can remember. I love the smell of it and try to fight my brain's urge to take my senses down memory lane. I brush my teeth, twice, even though I'm going to eat soon. I brush my hair. I brush my growing beard. I'm stalling, I know I'm stalling, but I don't know what to say to her or how to comfort her from a distance. I only know one way and that's not the right way for us. Not anymore.

After another few minutes of being a coward, I walk out of the bathroom. Dakota is still laying on the bed, her back turned toward me and her legs curled up to her chest. I move to turn off the light just as a knock sounds at the door. The pizza! Of course, the pizza. I pay the college aged kid who smells like weed and close the door behind me. I lock it, both locks, and call for Dakota. She immediately rolls over and sits up. Since I didn't remember to ask for plates and Steve-The-Stoner didn't bring any, I grab two slices and sit them on top of the breadstick box.

When I slide the pizza box toward Dakota she takes it in silence. I'm going to go insane if she doesn't speak soon. Hypocritical of me to think that, since I haven't said much of anything to her that doesn't have to do with pizza.

We eat in silence and it's so deafening that I have to turn on the t.v. I set it to local news and cringe when they start talking about politics. Enough of that. I flip through the channels until I get to the Food Network, and stop there. Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives is much less likely to give me a headache than a political debate. I can't believe I waited twenty-years to be able to vote and these are my choices.

After eating only one slice of pizza, Dakota puts the box back on the desk and begins to walk back toward her bed. "Eat more." I tell her.

"I'm tired," she says in a small voice.

I stand up and grab the pizza box, open it and hand her another slice. "Eat. Then you can go to bed."

She sighs, but doesn't meet my eyes or argue with me. Dakota eats quickly and gulps down a glass of pop and goes back to her bed. She turns over on her side and doesn't make a sound. I eat until my greedy stomach is full and bloated and I lay back on the mattress and stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn for sleep. 

(Guy! The FIRST OFFICIAL AFTER SHIRT IS HERE! I'm super excited about it and if you guys like it, it will just be the first of many! I'm also working with a charity called All Eagles Oscar, and they work with injured soldiers and heavily focus on PTSD. for those of you who don't know, my husband was in the Army and delayed to Iraq three times. He has suffered from PTSD and was diagnosed after his second deployment so this cause is important to me. The shirt/sweatshirt will only be available for TWO WEEKS! if you're interested, the site is https://represent.com/annatodd 

Also, NOTHING LESS COMES OUT IN THE US IN TWO WEEKS!! HOW DID IT GET HERE SO FAST??? Nothing Less is my favorite US cover, it's so beautiful *sobs*