I'm drowning, aren't I? This couldn't possibly be the reality. My life is a joke. Please don't go. Are you on... fire? Oh, Harry.
In place of words, I simply spoke with my skin.
HOTLINES
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"But I can see through all the lies That they've been selling me Quit telling me you know they know what's best for me"
10.
STOCKHOLM SYNDROME
THREE MONTHS LATER
"Harry? I... I don't know where I am." I sob quietly into the phone. How did I get here? "Please call me back." I end the call and I peak out of the window. All I can see for miles is a beautiful skyline. Beautiful yes, but New York? No.
"Houston, Texas." A woman speaks and it startles me so much that I scream bloody murder. I can barely see my hands in front of my face, I had no idea anyone else was in the room. "Jesus." She groans and switches on a lamp.
"Who are you?" I feel my eyes widen and when her eyes wander my body is when I realize that I am completely nude. I search frantically for my clothes, a blanket, anything really. She tosses me a robe and I silently thank her.
"Your... wife..?" Her eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and I nearly drop dead. Wife? I'm not even... gay? Am I? "No, I'm just joking. Nothing legal.. yet, anyway. You really don't remember anything, do you?" She laughs and stands from the bed. She is gorgeous, I'll admit, but she is no Harry. Harry.
"No. I have no idea where I am, or who you are. Oh, Houston, yeah. That's where I am. Why are we here? Where is Harry?" I want to break down and sob. I have very few recollections of anything and I feel so sick to my stomach at the thought of them. "How long?" I let myself choke out the smallest of sobs.
"How long what?" Her voice is so soft, so kind.
"How long has this been going on?" The hot tears streaming down my face feel so.. relieving. To feel anything at all is strangely comforting. I feel completely and utterly deprived.
"Three months." My reaction seems to have thrown her off because she is no longer smiling, a sympathetic frown has taken its place.
"Three fucking months." I cry out and grab at my chest. I don't know if I can physically take the pain that this information is causing me. "Do they know where I am?" I beg her for the answer, hoping it's what I want to hear.
"No, I don't think so. You never mentioned anyone ever. It was just us, we were happy." She is sad. I'm sure this isn't easy for her, either, but I have no idea what has happened to me or why.
"Not even Harry? Naomi? Emma? My dad?" I ask and she shakes her head.
"Is Harry your husband? You mentioned a husband and you said he was at my party when we met but you were talking to my houseplant. I figured it was the shrooms fucking with you but I guess not." She shrugs.
