Page 7 of Sapphire Tears

“I have to find her.”

She flinches but doesn’t give up the topic yet. “Have you considered the possibility that maybe—”

“No,” I interrupt in an icy snarl. “I haven’t.”

Milana clamps her mouth shut and stares out the windshield for the remainder of the drive.

3

JUNE

The forest green mold on the wall swirls and bleeds into the cracked white paint. Sometimes, when I squint, I can see different things in it.

One night, it is a ballerina with a broken leg.

Another, it is a black Hummer emerging from the shadows.

Most of the time, though, it’s the same thing: the silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders and splintering blue eyes.

He’s not haunting me, per se. It feels more like he’s searching for me. Most mornings, I wake up wishing he would find me already.

I’m not exactly a prisoner. But when I open my eyes at the start of each new day, it sometimes feels that way, at least in the sense that my world has shrunk down to something like a cell. Just these four concrete walls, barren and oppressive.

I push myself off the creaky single bed and stretch. The room still smells of last night’s greasy fast food. Cheap oil and fried chicken hide the smell of laundry detergent that clings to the walls of this place.

I stare at the Sunshine Laundry sticker plastered on the beat-up old chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room. It’s faded and torn at the edges, and the sun’s smiling face is far from convincing.

Sighing, I brush my teeth in the plastic sink and swap my sweats and t-shirt for leggings and a tank. It stretches comfortably to accommodate my belly.

I remove the sheets from my single bed, strip the comforter from the bare mattress Adrian sleeps on across the room, and take them all to the front area of the boarded-up laundromat to shove into one of the empty washing machines. The buttons let out a forlorn beep as I start the cycle. It echoes miserably around the dusty space.

I turn to survey my surroundings. The boards over the front windows let in sporadic slivers of light, like the sun is shoving its fingers into the gaps. Skittering cockroaches stick to the shadows.

No one will find us here,Adrian promised when we arrived almost a week ago. For a change, I actually believed him wholeheartedly. Even the rats seem to take one look at this place and keep on moving in search of greener pastures.

My stomach rumbles, but I ignore it. What I really want is a proper meal. Brick oven pizza with ripe tomatoes and basil. Pasta carbonara with crispy bacon. A fresh garden salad with broccoli and blackened chicken breast hot off the grill. The fast food we’ve been eating fills my belly, but it isn’t food in any real sense. It’s just a way to stave off death for a little longer.

I hear the sound of bulky footsteps, and I feel my heart dip. It’s amazing how his mere presence makes me feel claustrophobic now. To be fair, that might also have to do with the fact that we share this tiny space. Six days in what amounts to a jail cell with anyone is a lot.

But God, does it feel so much longer.

“G’morning, Junepenny,” Adrian chirps as he shoves through the door, then carefully restores the boards behind him.

He’s carrying a brown paper bag and a huge smile. The kind of smile that suggests he’s hoping today we’ll make headway in whatever you’d call the ruins of what was once between us. It says that today will be the day I stop moping, stop questioning, and start accepting.

It doesn’t know what it’s talking about.

“Sleep well?”

“Not really. Too noisy.”

That’s true, but it’s not the real answer. The real answer is that I can’t stop dreaming of haunting blue eyes.

He frowns when he sees what I’m doing. “Why are you changing the sheets again?” His voice warbles like it’s going to crack and reveal that lava current of anger underneath it. But again, he holds back.

He’s been doing that a lot lately—tiptoeing up to the edge of a tantrum and then suddenly reversing course. It freaks me out more and more every time. In a weird way, it makes me long for him to explode, at least a little bit.

This steady building of pressure is far scarier.

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