Page 11 of Kept

The thought is comforting. I resolve myself to ask Ethan next time he comes, even though he won’t like it. I went through a stage of asking a lot of questions in my teenage years, until Ethan lost his temper.

I stopped asking after that, but maybe it’s time to ask again.

But thoughts of my birthday swirl inside my head as I make myself a coffee from the fresh supply, breathing in the familiar scent as I stare out of the window. There’s nothing to see up here, only my own eyes staring back at me in the darkness.

I thought a hot drink might help settle my shaking fingers, but it’s only getting worse.

Twenty-three.The thought of more years stretching out in front of me, lonely and cold in the vast expanse of this apartment, makes my throat close up.

A lifetime here. I may as well be one of the statues Ethan stores.

The tremor in my hands proves a little too much, and I cry out as the cup falls from my hands, smashing against the solid marble floor.

Hot coffee flies everywhere, hitting the wall, soaking into my dress, staining the floor. My hands continue to shake as I jump up to grab a cloth from the kitchen, frantically wiping and wiping until the only coffee left is the dark, damp stain spreading across the material I’m wearing.

Leaning back on my ankles, I realize my face is damp too. The tears come slowly, opening up into a flood as I bury my face in my hands.

I’m safe here. I’msafe.But I’m so lonely, too.

5 – Zella

Mymoodissourthe next morning before my eyes even open, thanks to my sleepless night. I can almost feel the dark circles etched underneath my eyes, deep purple imperfections that I’ll need to try and draw out with cold compresses before Ethan notices.

Everything about my usual routine irritates me. Washing my hair with almost frantic energy, I yank the comb through my hair roughly, uncaring of the snarls and knots and just working around them rather than working on them.

I can’t face trying to dry it, so I sloppily drag it back into a messy braid, my fingers catching in tangles that make me wince. Tears spring to my eyes as I get caught on an especially stubborn blockage. I’m going to pay for this later when I try to brush it out.

Unease swirls inside my stomach as I tie the ends off. If Ethan saw my hair like this…

He won’t know.

He’s not even coming today.

Pulling my dress over my head, I force myself into the apartment rather than climbing back under my covers and hiding from the world.

All four walls of it.

“Enough of that,” I mutter, reaching with relief for the new coffee. At least I have caffeine.

This morning’s sunrise finally settles me, calming the frenetic energy that’s filled me since I watched the doors close on Ethan last night.

I lean forward, coffee forgotten as I try and take in all of the color I can, my eyes flitting everywhere. Golden light rises up my arms, landing on my face as I tip it back, imagining how the morning air would feel on my skin.

When the little bird swoops past, so close I could touch it, I finally manage a smile. “Back again, are you?”

It glides back around, dancing back and forth as it flaps its wings before flying off to join the others.

The smile fades from my face.

Once the kitchen is clean, the coffee machine cleaned out and my cup dried and put away, I settle into my chair, opening the drawer of the table next to me and pulling out my sketchpad and pencils. Since Ethan won’t be here until tomorrow, I can spend as much time as I like drawing today.

As soon as the graphite touches the page, I’m lost.

First, I sketch the sparrow, trying as best I can to capture the fluff in its wings, the markings along its back. Not for the first time, my fingers twitch, wanting color, but Ethan won’t hear of it. He says that graphite sketches are cleaner.

When I turn to a blank page, my hand pauses, the graphite hovering over the white paper.

Just once, I wish I could draw somethingnew. Something other than my immediate surroundings. But I don’t have anything to reference.

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