Page 116 of Doesn't Count

As my fingers lift to touch the ache pulsating against my face, I notice the cuffs chained to my wrists. I push myself up to a sitting position, my back resting against the concrete wall. The same wall that holds five years' worth of secrets, heartache, and agony.

I take a look around the barren cellar, the same rotten mattress still lays in the corner and the same white, wooden chair still sits in front of me. Nothing has changed. My eyes even spot the dark brown stains along the ground where I’ve nearly bled out time and time again. If I listen closely, I can even hear my younger self screaming for mercy, begging for reprieve, and praying for salvation.

None of it ever came.

Hopelessness settles deep inside my veins like a lethal drug, killing any dreams of saving Ash and making an escape. I’m not fucking Superman, I’m not a hero, so why the fuck did I ever think I could save her? I hardly saved myself, worse yet, I’ve willingly stepped back into my own living nightmare.

Time drags on, yet I have no clue if it’s been hours or days. My head feels heavy, yet my mind feels lighter than air. A loud scream startles me, only to realize that it’s my stomach crying in hunger. It’s all too familiar. Even the uncomfortable fullness of my bladder despite my tongue yearning for water. Every movement is like a needle threatening to pop a balloon that’s stretched too thin with water. I’m seconds away from just pissing myself.

Before I decide to finally give in, the door to the basement cellar creaks open. Soft footsteps traipse down the stairs taunting me. I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze, none of them worthy of my attention, but the voice that fills the silence demands it.

“Oliver?”

I train my blurry eyes on the figure gliding towards me.Soft, bare feet pad forward peeking out beneath the hem of a long white dress. She crouches down, falling to her knees, her face level with mine as she hands over a clear, plastic cup of water.

“May?” My eyes widen as I take the cup, swallowing it down in one gulp.

“What happened? Why are you back?” Her quiet voice flutters out of her dark red lips like butterflies on a warm summer day.

My fingers reach up to touch a strand of her blonde, silky hair that hangs low past her shoulders. It’s been five years since I’ve seen her last, but she looks so different. What once was a round face padded with youth is now tight with hollowed cheeks and deep circles. There’s a small cut on her lower lip and bruises worn like blush.

As I look her over, it’s not only the gauntness I notice, but further down she sports a round, swollen belly. My brows cave in, concerned. With the tips of my fingers I graze her stomach, knowing all too well what’s growing in there.

“You were right.” She whispers, looking down at where we connect. “I don’t know what normal is outside of here, but I know it can’t be this.”

“You should’ve come with me. We should have left together.” I swallow down the emotions threatening to consume me.

“You know I couldn’t have. What was I supposed to do with a baby in a world I’ve never known? Anyway, look at you. You ended up right back here. What do you suppose would have happened to me if I ran off withFather’schild? I wouldn’t live to find out, now would I?”

“You have another?” I ask, curiously.

She nods, “I have two others. I think I’m more trapped than you’ve ever been.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I am. Beneath her words lays a darker meaning. I always had the choice to suffer or choose peace in death, but May is shackled to this world with children that rely on her for safety.

“Don’t be. It's the life I was born into.” She dismisses my apology with a wave. “It’s gotten worse since you left.Fatherhasn’t been the same and when he found out you were famous, he just about lost it. I think he’s afraid that you’ll talk, tell the world about thefamily. He’s been so on edge.” Her fingers inch up towards the purple and blue coloring that splashes across her cheek. “He’s been in this paranoid state the last five years thinking extremists were going to tear us all apart.”

Extremists? More like the Feds.

“I’m not famous. Well, I wasn’t, not until I became the boy that rose from the dead. I had a family out there looking for me while I sat down here for years.” I remind her.

She gnaws on her bottom lip, flinching when her teeth scrape over the open wound. I watch as she licks away the blood that starts to ooze.

“They must’ve been so happy to hear you were alive.”

“They were. I can’t imagine they’ll be too happy to find me missing again.”

“Why are you back, Ollie?” She asks again.

“That bastard took something of mine.”

Her brows raise, puzzle pieces starting to click behind her eyes.

“The girl?”

My heart skips a beat and I sit up a little straighter, trying hard to ignore the increasing pressure in my abdomen.

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