Page 83 of A Thousand Second Chances

I’m not sure howmany loops I pass through on autopilot. The Saturdays blur together, each drearier than the last. The cycle after our Disastrous Date Part 2, Percy tries to catch me at breakfast, but I walk right past him like he isn’t there, ignoring the twinge in my chest at his sharp intake of breath.

I wrap myself in my anger like a protective cocoon. Better to be angry than so depressed I can barely bring myself to crawl out of bed. Not that I don’t spend a few iterations like that as well, without bothering to leave my room. What’s the point when all I have to look forward to is more of the same tedious monotony?

Every time I close my eyes, I see Percy’s face. I’ll think I hear his familiar voice in a crowded street or imagine his phantom fingers grazing mine only to discover no trace of him.

Some cycles, I wonder if I’m losing my mind. Can you go stir-crazy from repeating a time loop? Who the hell knows, but I’m beginning to loathe Mackinac Island and its forced charm. Onthe surface, it’s a veritable paradise, but for me, it’s become my purgatory.

Occasionally, I take the ferry to the mainland for a change of scenery, but that’s hardly any better. If anything, it only highlights how trapped I am. No matter how far I run, how desperately I struggle to escape my fate, the universe drags me back each night kicking and screaming so I can endure yet another Saturday from hell.

I have no idea how Percy’s coping. After a while, he’d taken the hint and left me alone. A small, savage part of me hopes he’s hurting just as much as I am. That he feels equally heartbroken and lost. But the rest of me prays he’s still fighting. That he’ll keep going and find a way out, for himself if not for both of us.

Not that I expect his efforts to amount to anything. The universe is clearly playing a cruel joke on us—the ultimate cosmicfuck you!

There’s this play I had to read in AP Lit. I don’t remember its name or who wrote it, only the ending twist. The characters realize that the room in which they’ve been trapped together is their own personal version of Hell. I hadn’t gotten it at the time, but now I think I do. Because being this close to Percy, knowing he’s right there but will never be mine, is such exquisite torture. Maybe we died that first Saturday—passed away in our sleep or suffered an accident—andthisis our eternal torment, doomed to circle endlessly around each other until it drives us mad.

In my darkest moments, I consider giving up—or at least, trying to. The only thing that holds me back is the promise I’d made to Percy. I don’t want to risk causing him any more pain than I already have.

Instead, I try to forget about him however I can. Infinitely resetting time means no hangovers the next morning, no matter how shit-faced you get. When I’m not moping in my room, I’m out partying. I dance. I drink. But I don’t hook up. That’s a line Ican’t quite bring myself to cross. There’s only one person I want to share a bed with, and if I can’t have him, I refuse to sully it with anyone else.

Sometimes Quinn tries to intervene. She’ll bang on my door, shouting at me to let her in, or else track me down at my latest bar so she can keep an eye on me. I know she’s only trying to help, but that doesn’t stop me from resenting her for not leaving me in peace. I knowexactlywhat my problem is, and since there’s nothing I can do abouthimright now, I need distractions—not reminders of how fucked everything is.

So, I do my best to distance myself from her, too, with mixed results. Turns out she’s harder to shake than Percy had been, no matter how mean and petty I get. I’m not sure whether to love or hate her for her persistence.

After a couple of weeks, even my self-destructive behavior loses its luster. What’s the point? It doesn’t change anything. Hell, what’s the point ofanythinganymore? Nothing matters. Why bother with infinite do-overs when I feel like this in every one of them? When I have no one to share them with?

I’m stubbornly refusing to wake up to a fresh iteration when a knock comes on my door. It’s tempting to ignore it like I usually do, tugging the covers over my head so I can pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.

What if it’s Percy out there, wanting to talk?

The thought is absurd. It’s been nearly a dozen cycles since we’ve crossed paths, and even if itishim, what more is there to say? He made his choice, and so did I. As much as this self-imposed isolation sucks, it beats giving him the power to hurt me even more deeply.

Still, that tiny kernel of hope—of gazing into his bright blue eyes one last time—is enough to make me drag myself out of bed and stumble to the door in my rumpled pajamas. I pull the door open, holding my breath…and expel it in a huff.

It’s Quinn standing there. Of course, it is. She tries to rouse me every morning I don’t appear, regular as clockwork. Usually, I slam the door in her face, cajole her into leaving me alone, or simply ignore her. Today, however, something stops me. I don’t know what. Sheer exhaustion, maybe? Or perhaps simply the desire for something,anything,to change.

“What do you want?” I demand.

She shoves past me, barging into my room and looking around with a critical eye. I slowly shut the door, unable to muster more than a flicker of annoyance at the intrusion.

“Professor Oshkoff sent me up here to drag you down for the bike trip.” She eyes me. “Though I assume you’d rather I tell her you’re sick?”

I shrug. It doesn’t bother me either way. I know from personal experience that Oshkoff will eventually give up if I don’t answer my door.

Quinn scowls and sets her hands on her hips. “Yeah, screw that.” She points forcibly to my bed. “Sit!”

She glares at me like she expects me to disobey, but I listlessly shuffle to my bed and collapse into it, closing my eyes. They pop back open an instant later, wide and startled, when I hear a loudclap.

I glare at Quinn as she lowers her hands. “Was that really necessary?”

She rolls her eyes. “You tell me, Mr. Moody McMoodface. You’re the one getting your ennui all over me.”

“So sorry.” I turn my back to her and face the wall, squeezing my eyes shut again. “Feel free to show yourself out.”

A moment of silence passes before Quinn says more gently, “Oryou could tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t help me. No one can.”

“You know this much self-pity stunts your growth, right?”