Page 48 of Fallen Stars

Although it eases the ache, it doesn’t wipe it away fully. For now, that’s okay.

June 14th

I had a dream last night that felt more like a memory. But when I try to conjure up the memory, I can’t quite see it.

About a week after the Memorial Day Festival, L texted to meet up with him and A at Dalton’s. A’s boyfriend was also going to be there, and they were grabbing beers and burgers. My insides twisted when I read the text. Something felt off as I read the invitation. But I ignored it and went anyway.

The entire night, it felt as if I was an interloper. An outsider as my boyfriend, if he is my boyfriend, was ona fake date with his fake fucking girlfriend. I zoned out frequently. Desmond appeared to do the same.

It was fucking weird, but I didn’t say anything. I wanted to spend time with him.

And then, last night I had a dream, or flashback, of that night. Like I was seeing things I missed in person. It might be all in my head. My mind might be jumbling up what actually happened with my irrational, borderline-jealous thoughts. But in the dream, I caught A staring at L longer than usual. I saw the way she looked at him. Like she wanted him to be more than her friend. Like she didn’t want their relationship to be fake anymore.

I haven’t told L about it. I don’t want him to disregard it as foolish or impossible. I don’t want to be placated.

But fuck, it’s eating away at me. I know he doesn’t want her as anything other than a friend. I remind myself of this every time my thoughts spin out of control. But it’s still hard as hell.

I feel like the third wheel.

I should tell him. He’d want me to share my insecurities with him. He’d want me to be open and honest. But right now, I just can’t. Maybe when his workload tapers off and he’s not so stressed. The last thing I want to do is be an additional burden.

TWELVE

NUMBER 263

Day Ten

My stomach crampsa breath before pain blooms on the right side of my body. I press the heel of my hand to my side and inhale slow, methodical breaths. The sharp stabbing sensation dulls into a throbbing ache as I lightly massage the area. After several passes, I breathe easier.

A small collection of empty child-sized water bottles and containers sits off to the side of my narrow prison. In a corner near the door, excrement litters the floor. My stone cell reeks, but the putrid odor is inescapable.

With no access to the outside world, to the sun or moon, I have no concept of time. I’d base the days on my sleep cycle, but with my body reserving energy and sleeping in fits and starts, it is unreliable. Mixed with the screams and laughter and randomly played deafening music, my mind shuts down at every possible opportunity.

My stomach twists with another cramp and I know it’s from lack of water and food. Mere hours may have passed since awater bottle and container of tasteless slop were set in my cell, but it feels like weeks.

Three.

Three bottles of water.

Three measly portions of food—if you can even call stale crackers and insipid goop food.

Enough to keep my body functioning, but nothing more.

Back against the wall, I draw my legs to my chest. I stare into the darkness and pray for someone to rescue me. Anyone. But as quickly as the wish flits through my mind, it vanishes.

If no one knows where I am, how will they save me? How will I be set free from this hell?

I hug my legs closer to my torso. My body screams in protest at the simple action. Muscles weak and bones weary, I lick my cracked lips and loosen my hold. Give my weakening muscles an ounce of reprieve.

The door flies open, the bright light in the hall momentarily blinds me, and a man steps into my cell. As my eyes adjust to the light, I glance up at his face.

Black fabric covers his face and neck and clings to him like a second skin. Holes expose his eyes, mouth, and the base of his nose. He wears a long-sleeve black shirt, black cargo pants, gloves, and boots. He has no food or water in his hands.

This isn’t an obligatory visit.

Digging my heels into the floor, I crush my spine to the wall and try to evade him.

A robotic laugh echoes off the walls as he inches closer. And then another man steps up behind him. More or less as tall. Equally as brawny and menacing. Side by side, they stare down at me on the floor. One reaches for his groin and rubs up and down several times. The other backhands him in the chest.

---