Chasm is quiet for a while, taking us north toward some place called Gold Bar that looks to be rural as fuck, and we’ve only been in the car for about fifty minutes.
“I’m sure you’d rather I leave you alone,” Chasm starts, and I look back to see him flick a quick glance my way. Something about him seems … off? It takes me a minute to realize that not only is he missing that signature yellow lightning bolt in his hair, but that the piercings on either side of his lips are missing, too. His hair hangs over his ears, covering the plugs, and his signature eye liner is missing. Also, he’s wearing a long-sleeved sweater and khaki slacks, which is completely unlike him. “But I have to at least tell you that you look nice—and completely unlike yourself—today.”
I just keep staring at him.
“Really?” I blurt out, letting that ember in my belly go to flames again. It’s so much easier to just get angry at someone else and act like that’s the real problem when in reality, I have a million of my own issues to work through. “Is that a compliment or an insult? If I look unlike myself today, then you’re a total stranger. What did you do to your hair?”
Chasm cringes as I reach out and tug on the hair near his face, withdrawing my hand and looking down at the black powder covering my fingers.
“I sprayed it with temporary dye,” he says, looking over at me again, this time with an expression of discomfort that does nothing to make him look like the slouchy bad boy I’m used to. Maybe this isn’t Chasm, but Kwang-seon? Just like I’m Mia Patterson instead of Dakota Banks today. That’s how it feels anyway, like I’m wearing somebody’s else skin, somebody else’s life. “My dad doesn’t like colored hair.”
“And your plugs?” I ask, but I don’t wait for him to answer, sweeping back his hair so that I can trace the curve of his ear with my fingertip. The plugs are still there, just hidden. I smile slightly but Chasm bats my way hand away and lets out a huffing sound, cursing at me in Korean again.
“If you need a translation: that means back off. What the hell are you doing? You can’t stroke someone’s ear like that.”
“You grabbed my ass,” I shoot back, but he combs his hair forward to cover his ears anyway.
“My dad’s in town for the week, so I have to look … the way he wants me to look,” Chasm hazards, glancing over at me, like he’s testing me to see how much he can or should reveal. I’m reminded of Tess’ bitchy it’s my body; I made it retort. Chasm’s father must follow a similar thought process. I wonder if he knows about all of the tattoos? Looking over at the back of Chasm’s bare hand on the steering wheel, I guess probably not.
He’s taking a big risk though. It would only take one trip to the lake, one wrong photo posted somewhere on social media, for his dad to find out.
“What about your piercings?” I ask as I wonder if they were fake all along, but Chasm surprises me by smirking in just such a way that his entire face is transformed. That is the real Chasm, and no amount of makeup—or lack thereof, clothing, or hair dye can change that. It isn’t about the way your body looks or what you wear, it’s what’s on the inside that makes you, you.
I look down at the blazer I’m wearing, the one that smells like Chasm, that peppermint and dark chocolate scent that makes my mouth water because I’m a crazy person who smells people to get off.
Despite the clothes, the makeup, the fancy hairstyle the ‘Millennial’ artist gave me, I’m Dakota Banks. I’m Dakota Banks whether my birth certificate, Tess, or the law agree with that. Even if my grandparents lied.
Still, a few spare tears fall and land on the blazer’s lapels, darkening the fabric briefly.
“I use a topical filler,” he says, still smiling like an asshole. It makes me like him just a bit more though. That, and he came to pick me up so damn quick. He must’ve rushed out of wherever he was to get there so fast. And Parrish is the one that called him. Parrish. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the studio; he found me an escape; he stayed to deal with Tess.
I definitely owe the bastard one, don’t I? Or maybe we’re just even if you factor in that stupid Tiktok he made …
“A topical filler?” I ask, and I hate that my voice sounds weak with tears. Chasm pretends not to notice, running his finger along the curve of his jaw.
