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JUNE 28TH, 2017
IT IS 1985.
I am a mother. His name is Jamie, named after my closest friend, James, or as I call him, Bucky.
The only thing getting her through each and every day. She had no idea how she lost everything, yet was "saved" by a man claiming to be her best love in life. She was so confused, and her brain felt so broken.
Cynthia felt so much older. The morning she first woke up to this man, she felt like she should have expected city sounds, yet was greeted by silence inside their farm house and the birds chirping outside. Her favorite place to be alone was the beach near their house, where she would collect seashells to count out how many days she had been there.
"Cynthia, my dear," The man, John, said, and Cynthia's body instinctively went frozen in fear, but she quickly recovered from it, replying, "Yes, John?"
"I want to take you somewhere," John explained, "There's this . . . Beautiful place. It's like my own personal heaven, and I want to take you there—we'll be flying there."
"In a plane, I assume," Cynthia said, a smile painting it's way onto her lips. John smiled back, saying, "We'll be flying there, yes."
A shimmer of excitement shivered down Cynthia's spine, and she grinned, "I can't wait to go explore with you, John."
"And I, you."
And before she could stop it, Cynthia braced herself on the chair in front of her, a foggy image clouding her vision. Bucky's hair was shoulder length, and he was walking away from her, grinning. She could practically feel the cool metal bars her hands were wrapped around.
"Darling? Are you okay?" John's voice cut in, causing Cynthia to blink rapidly and stumble back, almost falling into the bookshelf behind her. "Did you have one of your headaches again?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so," Cynthia replied, looking up at John, who was cupping her face with his hands. "I'm-I'm going to go get ready, alright? I'll be okay. I just need some water."
Walking past him, and ignoring his protests, Cynthia filled up a glass cup with water, before going down the hallway to the room she shared with John. Clara ended up picking out a tank top, and some jeans. Cynthia slipped on her favorite socks that she owned, slipping on a small cardigan, and put on some boots, practically chugging her water every now and then to get rid of the aching headache she had.
Her body was so screwed up, yet the only thing she had knowingly done to it was the healing power, and her burnt out hormones.
