SIXTY-FOUR DAYS AND I’M STILL waking up every night when I have a nightmare of that man’s chest being sliced open by the knife Marco threw. Every night I wake up and wish I had Jay here to hold me and tell me everything would be okay. And every night I fall back to sleep disappointed.
Seventy-three days and I’ve lost my second job at a shoe store. The first one doesn’t count because I didn’t even show up for any of my shifts.
Ninety days and I’ve lost my third job as a waitress because a man walked past the window, and I thought it was Jay, so I took off after him. But when I saw it wasn’t him, I just went home and slept for the rest of the day. Two days, actually.
Two hundred and twelve days and I try to dye my hair myself but it looks orange. I can’t fix it, and I can’t get it to look right, so I don’t leave my apartment for three months until the color fades. Finally I go to a stylist who does it the right way.
Three hundred and sixty-five days, one whole year, and I get so drunk I don’t know how I end up waking up in the middle of a park at four in the morning.
Three hundred and sixty-seven days and I think I see Marco, so I park my car in the police station parking lot and sleep in it for three days until I get kicked out. Then I find a different police station and do the same thing. This one kicks me out after two days, though.
Five hundred and seventy-six days and I sleep through the night for the first time since I’ve been here.
Five hundred and seventy-seven days and I’m back up at nighttime seeing red teeth and beady eyes.
Five hundred and ninety-nine days and I have my second Christmas alone watching reruns of A Christmas Story on TBS. Over and over again.
Six hundred and seven days and I got another job. I think this is number five now. Or maybe it’s six.
Six hundred and thirty days and I walked out of my job as a bikini barista. I thought maybe working somewhere like that would draw Jay out of hiding and he’d come to me and make me cover up before he dragged me away. But he never showed.
Seven hundred and two days and I get another job stocking at a grocery store third shift. The menial task allows my mind to wander so much that I just stand in the aisle for hours not getting anything done. They fire me after two weeks.
Seven hundred and thirty. That’s how many days I’ve been here. Two years of nothing but sadness and anger.
I’m completely alone, and I hate everything. I want my old life back.
I want someone to tell me something. I want to know anything. But all I get is nothing.
Nothing. Two fucking years of nothing.
I feel nothing.
I wish for nothing.
I have no hope.
My body slides down the wall in the bathroom. My ass hits the floor with a resounding thud, and I’m thankful I felt it. The last time I did this… the only time was when I was seventeen years old, and it was because of Connor Golecki.
I’d just had my heart broken by him, and I was trying to put on a strong face for my family while we were going through a financial crisis. I was working eight hours after I was in school all day just to help put food on the table.
My problems, my stupid teenage heartbreak, wasn’t important enough to burden my family with. Especially not because Opal was sick and at the time the doctors suspected she had cancer. Thank God it wasn’t.
So, no, I wasn’t going to cry to Mommy about the boy who broke up with me because I wouldn’t have sex with him but told everyone I did. Then all the girls who I thought were my friends started talking about me behind my back.
Boys would whisper that I was a slut as they passed me in the hallway. Everyone believed Connor, but nobody believed me when I said I didn’t have sex with him. They’d make crude gestures and draw them on my locker. I eventually numbed myself enough not to care. Too numb.
Like now.
And I just wanted to feel something. Anything.
So, as I set the cold metal blade on my skin, a chill goes up my arm. A sadistic smile forms on my lips as I slide it across my wrist. Right where it bends so it’s not noticeable. Blood trickles out, and as soon as I drop the razor, the burn starts.
And I love it.
Too much.
So I pick up the blade from the ground and aim the corner at the skin on the right wrist this time and slide it over the very faint scar from when I was seventeen. The scar that Jay, observant as ever, noticed immediately and questioned me about.
Which, of course, led us into a conversation about how I was always the strong one for my family and how hard it was for me. How I internalized everything and never let on how hurt I was. How scared I was about my sister. Or… how badly my heart ached.
He promised me that I’d never have to feel that way again. That he’d always be there to take that pain away, to be the strong one, to be the one who would listen no matter the time or the place.
“You lied!” I whisper. Angry tears don’t even come anymore. I’m not sure if you can cry yourself dry, but that’s what I’ve done. The rage inside me is the only thing that peeks its head out. It taunts me. And right now, it’s unleashed.
“You lied!” I scream this time. My fingers shake, but I take the blade and make another cut.
“I hate you!” Then another one.
And again, just because I like how it feels.
I throw the razor across the room, ashamed and so, so angry because I like it. The red dripping down my arms reminds me I’m still alive, and no matter what, I need to keep fighting.
As more and more blood falls to the floor, so do I. My fingers grip my hair so hard I feel the roots ripping from my scalp. And then I feel something else I haven’t felt in over a year.
Angry tears fall from my eyes and drip on my arms, burning the thin, shallow slices. They fall hard and fast, and I let them. I don’t try to hold them back or tell them to go away. I’m sick of not letting myself feel this. So tired of trying to be strong… for what? Myself? Nobody else cares, so why the hell should I?
I’ve stayed secluded to keep my family as safe as I could. I’ve barely left my place since you can literally get anything delivered. Because that’s what they said. They told me I need to stay as inconspicuous as possible to avoid any attention. It could be dangerous for my family. Keep your family safe. Your sisters.
Yeah. My family. The sisters who love me sooo much. Who turned to me for advice. Who asked me what to do about getting knocked up. Who cried on my shoulder.
I never thought I’d be here this long. I assumed I’d be home by now. But I guess there’s a time limit on how long family will stay loyal.
I’m ill with the thought of what I saw on Opal’s picture. I should have stayed off Facebook. I know I should have. But since this is the second anniversary of the day I was taken from my home, I caved. I just wanted to see my family. So, I made up another fake email account so I could get a profile, then I searched for Opal.
When I pulled up her account, I had no desire to see Jay. Absolutely none. I hate him. He did this. He put me here. He left me here for years living in fear and uncertainty with no end in sight… and if there is an end, I don’t know when it will be.
So why would I expect to see him on my baby sister’s profile picture? I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have. The thought didn’t even cross my mind.
But sure enough, there he was. A beautiful baby nestled in his arm. His other arm around Opal who is lovingly gazing at Jay. Jay’s lips on the top of my baby sister’s head and a caption that reads <3 this guy.
They look like the perfect little family.
And it makes me sick.
There’s no way they’re together. Are they? He’s thirty-two years old, and she’s eighteen now. No. He’d never do that. She’d never do that.
Opal and I look so much alike, we are often mistaken for twins, but he wouldn’t… no. No!
“No, no, no!”
The thoughts ping pong against my brain, each tap like a sledgehammer pounding until I can’t take it anymore. The drops of blood turn dark, and before I know it, everything around me becomes fuzzy. I try to push myself up off the floor, but my hands slip on the wetness of my tears and the blood drained from my body.
I stay on the floor, close my eyes, and pray, wish, and hope that when I wake up this is all just a really bad dream.