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I PASS ON DINNER, COMING out of my room after Brody goes to sleep. I grab a protein bar from the cabinet. I’ve kept tabs on everything I’ve eaten so I can pay Brody back. After selling the books and unwanted items Frank gave me, I finally have enough to pay the rent I owe. Food and carpet cleaning are next.
I settle into the couch and turn on the TV. The news pops up, so I leave it. I’m so unfocused that I don’t care. Too many thoughts in my head. Too many worries. I just need a distraction.
I chew on a mouthful of vanilla and almond crunch while a man talks about the weather—hot but getting cooler. When the next news story appears, I cough and force the food down my throat before I choke. Then I cough more.
My name is on the screen, right there on a red banner next to a picture of me in my teens.
“The County Sheriff’s Office is asking for help finding a missing twenty-five-year-old woman with autism,” the anchorwoman says. “Our own Elizabeth Richardson visited the home of the missing woman, where her mother cried out for help.”
The TV switches to shots of my mom’s house and pictures of me on the wall. I’ve never seen those pictures before, and everything is clean—no alcohol, pill bottles, or needles lying around.
“I’m here at Paige Hayden’s home,” the reporter says, standing in the living room holding a microphone, “where her mother, Dana Hayden, broke down in tears talking about her only daughter. Hayden said she just wants her baby home.”
My mom sobs while that man wraps an arm around her shoulder. He’s wearing long sleeves to hide the marks on his arms. “I don’t know how they let her wander off,” my mom croaks through cracked lips. “I told them to watch her. She gets confused and scared in hospitals.”
My heart twists. I hate when my mom cries, and I’ve seen it so much throughout my life. The guilt of leaving was eating me up so I sent her a letter a few days after I got to Brody's. I told her I was safe and not to worry, but maybe she didn’t believe me. Maybe she didn’t get the letter.
My shoulders slump. I’m the one making her cry. I’ve been selfish.
The reporter now stands in front of a hospital. “Paige Hayden was last seen at Williams Regional Medical Center where she was being treated for self-inflicted injuries.” A gray video of a woman in a hoodie walking through a hallway shows. “Deputies say security cameras recorded an unidentified woman entering Hayden’s room, but it wasn’t until a day later that Hayden was seen on surveillance leaving the hospital and walking down the street. Deputies aren’t sure if the unidentified woman is connected.”
“I just want her home,” Mom says. “She can’t cope out there and she needs help. I’m scared to think what’s happened to her. I need my baby home where I can keep her safe.”
“The County Sheriff’s Office says they have not given up hope in searching for Hayden. They urge anyone with information to call. Hayden’s family has set up a fund for anyone who wants to donate and help during this difficult time.”
A clip of my mom with that man lingers on the screen along with contact info and a web address for donations. I swear I see him smirk. This news story was his idea. I’m certain of that. Anything he can think of to get money that he’ll burn the next day.
I can tell my mom is distraught, though. I knew she would miss me, but I didn’t know it would be this much. Why can’t she let me go?
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Brody asks from the hallway entrance.
My heart leaps into my throat. How much did he see? No, don’t worry. If he saw, he would say something. He didn’t see. He doesn’t know. I change the channel and a cartoon appears.
I shrug, forcing my hand not to shake.
“Do you want company?”
I pat the cushion beside me. He sits on one end with his back against the armrest, and then motions me closer. I situate my hips between his legs and then fall against his chest. I’m practically laying on top of him as he stretches his legs out. This is my absolute favorite position. I love being squeezed between his legs, held close by his arms. I press my ear against him to listen to his heartbeat. It gets fast every time I’m near.
This is the last time I’ll feel his heartbeat. Lay on the couch with him. Fall asleep in his arms. I have to go. Time to stop living in this delusion and face reality. I’ve already stayed too long. Moving in wasn’t a good idea and I knew that, but I kept ignoring the little rational voice in my head telling me I needed to go home.
You can’t stay.
You don’t belong here.
The longer you stay, the worse you’ll make it for everyone.
I want to cry, but I hold it in. I’ve cried too much around Brody. I want to savor these last few embraces, our last few moments. Brody is everything. Part of me screams not to let him go, to ignore that black hole inside me and stay. Forget about my mom and hope she moves on. Go after everything I’ve always dreamed of, because why can’t I have the life I want? I want love and happiness and a future with Brody.
This isn’t a dream, though. Life has consequences. The cops might figure out Amber helped me escape. She said she studied CSI shows and kept her face hidden, but they could find a clue. Maybe they’ll find surveillance of the parking lot I walked to where she picked me up. Maybe satellites in space really do watch everyone. Microchips inside the walls.
Several neighbors in the park here know me. What if one of them saw the news? Frank wouldn’t tell, but someone else might. Brody and Amber could get arrested, go to jail, and I’d be forced to go home anyway. Amber will be pissed at me for leaving—I hate making her upset, especially when she’s trying to heal and move on from her past—but I can’t risk Brody and Amber going to jail. I’ve already put them in danger by staying this long.
This situation has always been against me. Apparently, I ‘self-inflicted’ my injuries. It doesn’t surprise me the news and authorities would say that. I learned a long time ago that no one believes the Silent Autistic Girl. Brody’s house is the only place I’m treated like a person who can think and decide for herself.
He kisses my forehead. “I love you. Am I saying it too much? Just tell me and I’ll stop.”
