Haircut motions Leah to the stairs. Before he turns to leave, he says, “We’ll be back. Please keep calm in the meantime, okay? We’ll know if you don’t.”
Panic hits me as they clomp up the stairs. What if they leave and don’t come back? What if they leave us here and flies lay eggs in our eyes? That strange déjà vu finds me again. This time it’s—
panic as they retreat and the meager dark descends; hunger twists and burns and twists and burns and eventually sleep comes but not true sleep and then the light again and the hunger again and the pain again again again
The basement door snicks shut.
Emma stands stock-still, glaring at the bottom of the stairs. She blows air out of her nose like an angry bull, then says something I can’t understand through the bandanna. She kneels, and after much wriggling and manyangry muffled words, manages to work the handcuffs under her feet. She yanks the bandana down as soon as her hands are out front.
“Wow,” I say.
“What the fuck! Like, literally what thefuck, Lou.”
I hold up my hands. They’re shaking, just like my breath.
“I’m not saying I told you so, but I fucking did tell you so. I warned you, dude. What did I say? You were going to be serial-killed.” She stands and holds up an angry finger. “You may be thinking, ‘But it’s a cult, Emma. Technically you were wrong.’ I submit the fact that they’ve clearly done this before to other people. It’s a serial-killing cult!”
She motions to the other chains on the wall, then begins to pace as far as the one attached to her will let her go. I don’t have words. If I did, what would they even be? She stops and turns to me.
“Why are you wearing an ugly prairie dress from Target?”
Her tone makes the question into an accusation, like out of this whole situation it’s the thing she’s angriest about. There’s definitely something wrong with me, because it makes me laugh. The skin on my face pulls weird and too tight when I smile.
“Maybe it was on sale.”
She scowls at me, then slides to the ground. Her arms go around her knees.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
All the anger she had before has drained away, leaving a quiet despair I’ve never seen from her. Despair is infectious.It’s airborne and insidious. When they come for us, they’ll crack my ribs and find nothing but dark, despairing air inside.
I draw my knees up too and press my back to the wall. The chain cuts into my middle. I resist the urge to dig my fingers into my skin and tear. I ache all over. Did the person who undressed me feel anything when they saw the bruises decorating my skin? Were they gentle or did they press down on purpose?
“I don’t know.”
Lou 3:09 pm:they keep asking me about the Ascent weekend thing
Mom 3:49 pm:tell them to fuck off
Lou 4:03pm:i think i might just have to do it to get them off my back
Mom 4:11 pm:
Lou 4:12 pm:it might be interesting?
Mom 4:15 pm:its a hippy dippy bullshit cult
Lou 4:25 pm:lol yeah i think you might be right
Mom 4:26 pm:i just don’t want this stupid job to change you into a person you don;t like
Lou 4:27 pm:I like being able to pay the rent. I like you being able to take days off sometimes.
Lou 4:53 pm:*image of latte with foam resembling a dog*
Emma made this for me this morning
Text conversation, July 13, 2018
