He squats down next to the tray at the side of the cot. He reaches out to me, swiping a hair away from my face. My jaw tightens as soon as his finger grazes my cheek. My skin crawls the instant I feel his touch. It’s like having a million spiders scattering from that one spot.
But the silence in this room has put me in the mood to play, and I consider his questions. I mean, I’m locked in a basement and have been confined. According to him, it’s been days. I think. Maybe. I’m not sure; since I’ve been awake I’ve counted only two nights. Any shred of hope I can find in his words needs to be considered right now. But I focus on the happiness he’d mentioned, because it’s as good a time as ever to self-reflect. Was I happy then? Before Luna, before Jesse? While living in blissful ignorance, amidst all the lies?
I think maybe there were times when I was happy with Marcus. But even if I could go back to those moments, I wouldn’t want to. I know now I was weak; my judgement was skewed by innocence. When I really think back to when we were together, what I remember most is the manipulation. There were so many times when he was overbearing, controlling, or where his anger peeked out from underneath the mask. At least now I can live in my truths with no regrets. My eyes are wide open, and he would rather they be covered and bound by his dominance. Unfortunately for him, I will never be blinded by Marcus again.
I lean over to the edge of the cot, reaching out for the tray of food. I take a moment to appreciate the view of all the items on the tray. It’s nicer than anything else I have to look at down here. It’s a shame. He really took the time to place everything in neatly on the tray. There’s even a small familiar blue flower placed in the middle. It’s a blue butterfly pea flower, just like the ones I stared at for hours in my old neighbors’ garden when I wanted to hide from my shadows. But the flower has taken on a different meaning for me. Because even then, he always knew where I was and what I was doing. He was always watching, always following, even in a place where I thought I was safe from his prying eyes. In this moment, I realize I was always hiding from him, and I know that no, I wasn’t truly happy. You don’t hide from happiness.
I run my finger over the small petals. I trail my finger down the stem, then over the smooth top of the tray towards the edge. I continue tracing along the side until my finger hitches perfectly under the lip of the tray, and tip it over in an almost slow-motion manner. I watch as the food scatters, a cup of water tips over and splashes on Marcus’ shoes, and the flower is crushed under the rattle of spilled dishes off the tray. Beautiful, and ripped from the longevity of its life in the matter of a moment. One slow, almost everlasting moment.
Just like Luna.
I stare at him calmly. Probably a little too calmly, if you ask me. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I’m not sure I’m feeling much of anything. I’m just here, living the nightmare. Taking joy in the small satisfaction of watching him tick away, like a bomb.
Go ahead, explode.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move. He stands as still as stone with the water dripping from his shoes. Once again, I’m curious. Will the tray be what breaks his game?
I give him a small smirk as I watch the ticks in his jaw visibly spread to his left eye. It’s a twitch he can’t control, though he’s trying. After a few short huffs of his breath, he turns and walks through the door with a slam and a loud click. The dreaded click wipes this damn smirk off my face. The noise of the lock being turned in place now echoes within my mind. I wince knowing a single sound has brought me to the brink of my emotional existence.
I let out a sigh and scan the bare walls. I think of all the pretty things I could place on them.
I can’t stand the smell of this place. The disinfectants overwhelm my senses. It reminds me of a dank, musty closet, and the smell fills the entire hospital. I round the corner at the nurses station and come face to face with the door I’m looking for. I never thought I’d be in this situation—where I had to tell my girlfriend’s mother that her daughter is missing. If I’m honest with myself, I never thought I’d find someone like Fallon. Someone I couldn’t live without. This is one of the reasons why I didn’t let myself love. Beating the hell out of someone is much easier than caring about a person’s life. And to have her ripped away from me, to worry about her and not know whether or not she is okay, is almost more than I can handle. Now I have to face her mother, and I know in my gut this will be harder than any confrontation I’ve ever had.
I stop in front of the door and take a few deep, steadying breaths as I prepare myself to go tell Fallon’s mother that her worst nightmare has come true . . . and on my watch. While I was supposed to be protecting her. I can’t blame her if she hates
