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It’s the absolute truth. I’ve never seen so much rage, so much hatred in someone’s face, and when I remember just how much of a disadvantage I’m at down here, I force myself to relax and adopt an unassuming posture.
“I don’t want to sell to you,” I say softly, almost apologetically, but it’s the honest truth.
“Well, then maybe spending some time in here with the…dead will give you some time to think about changing your mind. Otherwise, you’ll end up just like them.”
“Wait!”
Before I can reach him, he closes the door, and I hear him lock it from the outside.
“Open this door!” Banging with the side of my fist, full-on panic starts to settle in. I’m locked inside thebody closetby myself.
I don’t even know if air can get in here.
“Please, open this door.” I hear the tears in my voice as I start to plead. “I’m pregnant. I can’t be in here. Please, open the door.”
But the lock doesn’t release, and there is only the echoing cadence of my heartbeat in my ears and hollow silence of the room.
He couldn’t have really left me locked down here.
My hands start to shake, and my breaths turn into gasps of air that aren’t enough to fill my lungs when I start to worry that he’s destroying all the work I’ve put into the living space. I picture him setting my chapel on fire and letting it burn down with me trapped beneath it.
“Oh my god, he’s going to burn me up in here.” Do I smell smoke, or is that my panicked imagination?
I pull my phone out of my pocket, but there’s no service down here. Probably because this room is lined with lead to keep out the moisture.
“Shit.” I lean back against the door and stare straight ahead in horror. Hundreds of names stare back at me. “This is my worst nightmare. This, right here.”
My breathing quickens, tripping from frantic to hyperventilation, and I can’t make it stop. My heart is beating so fast that I’m starting to get light-headed and dizzy, so I slide down the door, pull my legs to my chest, and drop my forehead to my knees.
“Oh, baby,” I whisper as the tears come. There’s a noise in the back corner that has my eyelids squeezing shut and the tears flowing faster. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, little baby.”
I swear that I can hear whispers—actualvoices—and it scares me so much, that my body trembles uncontrollably.
If I cry hard enough, maybe it’ll drown out the scary sounds coming from inside this body closet.
Maybe someone will hear me.
“I didn’t even get to tell your daddy about you,” I whisper, regret for not telling Apollo swelling like a wave inside me.
What’s happening upstairs? Are we going to burn down here? I think Idosmell smoke.
“No. No, we’re not going to die.”
I stand and start banging on the door again. I know that no one can hear me outside, but if someone comes into the chapel, into the mudroom, they might hear me.
There’s more whispering behind me, so I whirl around and yell, “Shut the fuck up! I’m sick of you scaring me down here. You can’t hurt me. I forbid it. So, just shut up, unless you plan on getting me out of here.”
The room falls silent, and I turn to the door once more, banging and screaming for help.
It doesn’t take long before my hands start to hurt, but I bang on the door for as long as I can stand it, but then I realize I’m just wasting energy. I need a plan, and screaming at a locked door is a terrible one.
“No one’s coming,” I whisper and rest my forehead on the door. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
May 1,2023
Dear Diary,
Holy shit, I’m knocked up. Preggers. With child. What in the actual hell am I going to do? I haven’t talked to Apollo about it yet. Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve written in here, and I forgot to tell you that the man that drives me the most crazy in all of the world is the man that I’ve gone and fallen in love with, I can’t stop sleeping with him, and now I’m pregnant with his baby.
