Alive

Chapter 40

Elle

"You're not locking the door?"

"Why would I do that, Ellie? You are my love. What's mine is yours."

"If I leave..."

"You may try. But I fear for what might happen to the dog."

"He's not a dog."

"Kiss me."

I kiss him.

Are you up there, God? Do you see us? Can you help us? You were the one who told me not to be afraid. That was you, right?

I've spent my whole life afraid. Celeste said the same thing you did. But what about now? Trapped in this hell. Being touched and touched and touched. Wondering every second if Oliver's still alive. If he'll make it another hour. Another day. Whether I'll ever see Celeste again. Or Dad. He's probably worried about me. Worried sick. Sick. He's sick.

My skin keeps bleeding these days. Bleeding and bleeding. I can't stop scrubbing it. I can't stop crying. I might die here. We both might die here. Oliver and me. Really die. So can you tell me? If you've got time.

When are we allowed to be afraid?

(Friday, May 31)

Three thirty a.m. Three thirty-one a.m. Three thirty-two. Red glowing numbers seem to stare back at me across Kirk's bedroom. My only company at night, besides Kirk's sleeping form. His arm draped across my waist.

I'm thirsty. That's what I tell myself. Like Kirk might be able to read my mind or something. And I've been so good lately. I haven't said Oliver's name in days. I've worn every outfit Kirk gives me. I've kissed him every morning. Let him touch me every night. It's never that much. Just his hand in my underwear. Beneath my shirt. He says he's taking things slow. Letting me adjust. But I never know when he'll run out of patience. When he'll decide I've had enough time.

These steps are cold under my bare feet. Kirk says I can make Lucas get me anything I want. But I tried asking him for Oliver once and it didn't work, so I guess that's a lie. I grab myself a glass of water in the kitchen. Which is at the back of the mansion, next to Lucas's quarters. It's also next to the stairwell. The one that leads downstairs. The real reason I'm here.

I set the glass down on the granite counter, and I wince at the clinking sound. I hate the way everything echoes here. It would probably look like I'm sneaking around to anyone who saw me. The way I tiptoe. Keep the lights off. And maybe I am sneaking right now. Down the stairs, to the locked double doors at the bottom. I press my hand against them. They're big and industrial and heavy. So out of place with the rest of the mansion. Like they were installed long after the original construction. To keep people out. People like me.

I press my forehead against them. Close my eyes. Try to feel him. Picture him. And I wait. Like I have the past few nights. Wait. And wait.

Come on. Please, Oliver.

I need it.

Please.

Please be awake.

I try to keep quiet when I hear his voice. But a sob escapes me. A sob, and a smile. People might think I'm crazy. So crazy, being thankful for one of his Kirk-given symptoms. His sense of smell. Because how else would he notice me? But he does. Every time I come here, he does. He's back there. Probably in another room down another hall.