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“Lucy?” I whisper, my voice shaking in the dark.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the hard floor, chains rattling, fighting against the shackles.
Why do I keep saying her name?
I fall silent, listening to the erratic sound of my breathing, and remember—how did I forget?—the drugs.
They’re fucking with me more than I ever thought possible.
How long has it been? How many hits have they given me?
I slam the back of my head into the wall behind me, squeezing my eyes shut.
This is bad.
I’m fucking losing it.
* * *
“Not the cage!”I scream in protest. I’m ashamed that I can’t stop the plea from leaving my lips. At thirteen years old, I should be used to it by now. I should know how to control my emotions. The last thing I want is to let my father see me like this.
“Shut the fuck up, boy,” my father spits out while he squeezes my arms so tightly I know it will leave bruises. We used to own a large Doberman named Killer, but one day he was just gone. My father never told me why. But the crate stayed, and somehow it became mine.
“Nothing but a filthy fucking animal since the day you were born. I’d kill myself too if I’d had to push you out of me,” he mutters to himself while shoving me hard into the cage.
My mother died when I was only a few months old. My father found her hanging from the apple tree out back.
He blames me.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t blame myself too.
The tears are hot on my cheeks. I let them fall, fear wrapping itself tightly around my throat, threatening to suffocate me if I don’t start slowly counting my breaths.
I sit in a corner, my knees pulled up to my chest while he locks the cage with me in it. My bottom lip trembles, I bite it hard with my teeth trying not to make a sound. But every small click and groan of the door being locked is an agonizing reminder that I’ll be stuck here for hours, maybe even days. I never know. I’ve long stopped trying to count the time I’ve spent trapped in here.
* * *
If I trustwhat my brain is telling me, I’m still thirteen locked in that cage. But my eyes track the man in the white coat. Like an apparition, flickering in and out. He walks up to me, Derek right behind. Or maybe it’s someone else. I can’t remember the last time I slept. If it’s been days or maybe hours. I wouldn’t know. I watch both of them crouch near me and I’m barely there.
Or maybe I’m everywhere. All at once. Multiple timelines stacked on top of each other, experiencing every shit thing to ever happen to me in the thirty-two years I’ve been alive. Beaten. Locked in a cage. Treated like a dog. Finding my girlfriend dead in bed. Shooting up.
Just like now. Whatever now is, or was. I can’t be so sure anymore.
“No,” I mumble, my eyes rolling, my head loose atop my neck.
But they don’t listen.
My heart pumps the drugs deeper into my body, and for a hot blissful moment, I see Lucy. She’s standing in a kitchen, smiling back at me, looking prettier than ever.
The faint smell of sawdust and fresh paint.
But this… this isn’t the past. Is it? I don’t recognize the kitchen. I try to look around as if I’m actually sharing time and space with Lucy.
Lucy.
Dead Lucy.
All my fault.
