Page 3 of Captured Immune

Eventually, my stomach rumbles. The sky is still black, so it’s not time for breakfast. It’s been a while since I ate, so I should probably eatsomething.

Inside the fridge, I find salad for two, chicken for two, and pie for two. Disgusted, I slam the fridge shut. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

The bedroom is worse. My sheets smell like her: sweet lavender and springtime. Groaning, I rip the linens off the bed and hurl them at the wall. The gentle way they slump to the floor pisses me off, so I rip my lamp from the outlet and chuck it across the room. It hits the wall, and the lightbulb shatters to pieces.

What else can I throw?

A book?Sure.It lands with the pages open.

Bluetooth speaker?Definitely.It leaves a dent in the wall.

Cologne bottle?Hell yeah.I thought for sure it would crack, but it merely falls to the carpet, unharmed.Lame.

This throwing stuff thing isn’t working.What can I light on fire?

I glance around for something to burn and find Arella’s dress on the floor. I pick it up and crush it against my nose. As I inhale, every memory I have of holding her in my arms comes rushing back to destroy me.

After I suck up my sorrows, I grab all the sheets and take them, with Arella’s dress, to the laundry room. Just before tossing all the linens into the washing machine, I smash her dress against my face again.Mmm.It smells so good. Like a mix of happiness and the only sense of peace I’ve ever had.

I can’t do this.

Huffing, I stomp out of the laundry room, leaving her dress on the floor.

With an achy chest, I crawl onto my bare mattress and lie facedown with my arms out wide. I could put another set of sheets on, but why? That sounds like a lot of effort right now.

My bed feels bigger without her on it. Emptier too. I can still picture her here with her back flush against my front. I’d trace my fingertips up and down her arm while kissing her neck. We’d talk about nothing and everything at the same time. I never cared what we talked about as long as I could hear her voice.

“The only stupid thing I did was fall in love with you.”Those were some of her last words to me. They keep repeating in my head.

Love.What does that word mean, anyway? Liz once told me that love is a beautiful and fulfilling experience. So far, my experience with love has only been full of pain and regret.

I should have listened to Liz when she told me to stop messing around with Ordinaries. Liz was afraid I’d hurt Arella. Little did we know Arella would be the one to hurt me.

Whatever happened to that “Ari’s perfect for you” thing? Those were Liz’s words. She said that since I can’t sense Arella’s emotions, anything I feel for Arella is real and not a reflection of her feelings for me. If Arella is perfect for me, then why do I feel like I’ve just lost a war?

I want nothing more than to see my girl right now. More so, I want to see her happy. The image of her that keeps replaying in my mind is the way I last saw her: weepy and angry. I don’t want that to be what I picture whenever I think of her.Hold on. Where’s our picture?

I fly off the mattress and scour my bedroom. It’s not here.

I sprint to the living room. I search between the couch cushions, then the kitchen. Nothing.

Where did I—Oh! My music room!I rush in there and find the photo waiting for me next to my notebook, where I wrote that sad guitar ballad about her. It’s a song that will never see the studio. The lyrics are too raw. I’d never be able to sing it without choking up.

Thankfully, the rain didn’t ruin the photo. It’s a little curled at the corners, but it still showcases a happy couple gazing lovingly at each other.

The more I stare at the picture, the more I want to rip it up. I can’t bring myself to do it though. I’m weak. Too weak to leave her when I should have. Too weak to throw her dress into the wash. Too weak to destroy the only picture I have of us.

Ripping up this picture will be like admitting it’s over.

It’s not over.

Itcan’tbe over.

Back in my bedroom, I search for my wallet. I find it lying open on the carpet. All my cash is gone—all two thousand dollars.Of course.Why wouldn’t Jess use the time I was outside with Arella to dig through what’s not hers? Unfortunately, missing cash is the least of my problems right now.

I’m carefully tucking my precious photo between the fabric of my bifold when I catch a glimpse of some writing on the back. I flip the picture over. The loopy handwriting makes my breath hitch.

I love you, Trey. You are right.

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