Finally, I reach the house. My aunt isn’t home. Only the Subaru is here, parked in the drive. I crawl into the back and curl up on the floor, beneath the yoga blanket. It feels somewhat safe here with my eyes closed and the doors locked. There’s just me and my breath, me and whatever story I want to tell myself about where I am and how I got to this point.
Except the stories aren’t coming.
My mind won’t stop reeling.
It isn’t as easy as it was, freshman year, when Charley, a boy at Emo who loved fantasy as much as I did, would engage me in role-playing and storytelling in an effort to escape reality. As soon as break time hit, we’d flee into the quiet room—where we were never actually quiet—and sit on beanbags, spinning tales inspired by everyday items, like the mood ring I’d won as part of Dr. Beckett’s trivia challenge.
“Let’s use it as part of a story,” Charley said. “Imagine the ring gives the wearer a superpower. Which power would you pick?”
“Time travel. No question.”
“Except practically all our stories are about time travel. Pick again.”
“Invisibility?”
“Now you’re talking. So, think. What’s our story?”
The question is just as relevant now. What’s my story? About Garret? About whether or not he saw me tonight? Does he think I’m as troubled as everyone says?
I reach for my phone and log on to Jane, hoping to find Peyton.
JA Admin: Welcome, NightTerra. Remember the rules: no judgments, no swearing, no inappropriate remarks. This is a safe space for honesty and support.
Paylee22: Hey, Terra! I’m so happy you logged on!!!
NightTerra: Who else is on here?
Paylee22: I think it’s just you and me for now. No one else is chatting.
Paylee22: So, what’s up?
Paylee22: Have you watched Summer’s Story yet?
NightTerra: Not yet.
Paylee22: What are you waiting for? It’s sooooo good!!!
Paylee22: Do you have recs for me? I’ll need something else to binge once I’ve blasted through all the seasons.
Paylee22:???
Paylee22: Hello?
Paylee22: You there?
NightTerra: Yes, here.
Paylee22: Is everything ok?
NightTerra: Define ok.
Paylee22: What happened?
Paylee22:???
NightTerra: I retraced my steps again.
Paylee22: In a word: Why?
Paylee22: Why?
Paylee22: WHY is that a good idea?
NightTerra: I never said it was.
Paylee22: So, then why do you do it?
NightTerra: Sometimes I’m not even sure myself.
NightTerra: Other times, I feel there are too many reasons.
Paylee22: Give me one reason.
NightTerra: Maybe if I found some clue or made some connection, people would have to believe my story.
Paylee22: FYI, the people who love you are supposed to believe you regardless of proof. #Fact
NightTerra: It’s just pretty isolating when everyone thinks you’re a liar. #Truth
Paylee22: I’m in your life and I don’t think you’re a liar.
NightTerra: Maybe doing enough of these searches will help to reassure me that everything happened the way I remember.
Paylee22: Why do you need reassurance?
Paylee22: Are negative voices causing you self-doubt?
Paylee22: I’ll never doubt you, ok?
NightTerra: I really wish you were here.
Paylee22: I’m always here, whenever you need.
Paylee22: And I’ll always believe you.
NightTerra: xo
Paylee22: xoxo
NightTerra: I should probably get something to eat. My stomach keeps growling.
NightTerra: Except I don’t want to log off yet.
NightTerra: You help keep me sane.
Paylee22: So, take me with you!
NightTerra: While I make my food?
Paylee22: Why not? I can open a private room. It’ll be like I’m right there in the kitchen with you in case you want to chat.
NightTerra: Are you sure?
Paylee22: Of course. I know you’d do the same for me.
NightTerra: I would!
Paylee22: Exactly. I’ll send you a link now. Ok?
NightTerra: Thank you again!! xo
Paylee22: xoxo
NightTerra has left the chat room. There are currently 3 people in the chat room.
THEN
12
When I woke up again, I couldn’t see. I blinked a bunch of times, but the darkness remained. Was the lid still closed? How long had I been there? More than a day? Was anyone searching for me?
I crawled to a seated position, with my back pressed against the dirt wall, and closed my eyes, trying to trick myself into believing that it wasn’t so dark, that my lack of sight was of my own choosing.
In that tarry stillness, I asked myself questions, like who he was, and why he picked me, and how long he would keep me there.
Was I his prisoner? Like that movie I saw where the woman locked her daughter’s killer in a cage, behind her house … She brought him food and water, keeping him alive. Would the guy who took me do the same? Or was he planning to do other things?
What other things?
What could I do?
I drew my knees upward and gnawed at my kneecaps, straight through my sweats, breaking the skin, as my mind continued to reel. Was he going to come back? What would be worse: seeing him again or being left there to die?
To stop myself from thinking, I hummed out loud. Sound in place of thoughts.
The taste of blood instead of food.
The sensation of touch because I needed to feel something besides the ache of my bones against the dirt floor and walls. And so, I touched the parts of myself I’d never consciously touched before—the lines on the arch of my foot, the bump on the back of my ear, the bones of my bloody knees, and the smooth tissue inside my cheek.
When, finally, sometime later, the light came on again and the tomb-like lid tremored at least partially open, I made like a cockroach—the way roaches scatter when you turn on a light switch, the clattering of their legs across the tile countertop, like the ones at the summer house my parents had once rented; the shock of light was too much to bear, and l curled up in the corner, shielding my eyes, yet wanting to see.
Who was there?
What was happening?
I tried to scream out, but a weird sputtering-hacking sound spewed from my mouth. My throat stung from the sharp edges of my voice. I needed water—more than anything else. I looked up, just as bursts of light shot out in
