INK: Abstraction
BY
The characters and events in
this novel are entirely fictional. No similarity between any of the names,
characters, persons, and/or institutions in this book with those of any living
or dead person or institutions is intended, and any such similarity which may
exist is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014
by Itzy
Cover Model Ivy Gibbins
All rights reserved. No part
of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical
means including photo- copying, recording, or information storage and
retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
Shay
There
are times throughout our existence when we are so tired and beaten
that we feel as though we’ve already lived a thousand
lifetimes. It’s then that we justify to ourselves that it’s
okay to give up and stop fighting. When you know you’ll never
feel the kind of real happiness that you read about in books or see
in movies. Me? That’s where I am at this moment. Can my
happiness ever outweigh my misery?
Doubtful at this point.
I miss that innocent
simplicity of childhood when, if something didn’t make sense,
Daddy could tell you it was okay and it really was. When a hug chased
away the boogie man and every other scary or sad thing; but as I’ve
grown, so has my sadness. My ability to love has grown, but it’s
matched pound for pound by pain. I’m only one person, one soul,
yet it would seem I’m destined to love two hearts, two separate
and unique men who both love me.
Part of me wonders if
it’s because it’s all we’ve ever known. They have
been a part of me since the beginning. I don’t remember a time
without Eli or Aiden being in my life. They are two forevers that I
desperately want to hold, but I just can’t make it work.
There’s no way that my love for them both can exist in this
world.
It’s not about
letting either of them go, it’s about love. It’s about
admiration and care. I know that both of them would die for me, kill
for me. But are either of them able to be complete without me so that
we could be whole together? Would either of them make the necessary
changes in their lives?
Would I?
My love for them is
undeniable; it flows through my body with every breath that I take
and rides encoded on every blood cell. It’s simply part of who
I am. Loving them
is
who I am. It resonates, reminding me that
it’s there even when I’m not thinking of them.
Could I really choose
between them if I had to? Probably not, but who would I choose? Do
you choose an insane chemical reaction that drives you to madness and
bad decisions? Or do you choose the safety and comfort of someone who
adores you more than life itself?
I don’t know, I
may never know. It’s thoughts like these that make me want to
give up. Give up so I don’t have to choose, and in this moment,
surrender would be a sweet relief.
I’m continuously
being judged by how I grieve for those I’ve lost and for loving
two men. That sometimes I’m too weak or too stubborn. My brain
can hardly process all of the loss I’ve had in such a short
time. How could anyone possibly know what I'm going through? How I
feel?
People try to tell me
how I’m supposed to grieve for the loss of Elise, but has it
ever dawned on them that I’ve been grieving her loss my whole
life? No. Because they aren’t inside me, they don’t know
my pain. I’ve lost friends, co-workers, my mother, my sister
and Aiden.
Aiden.
I’m driving
myself to distraction, using the quandary of Eli or Aiden. The
epiphany strikes in my mind when I realize that’s what I’ve
been doing my whole life. Am I living a lie so that I don’t
have to face the truth?
Is it so I don’t
really have to grow up or choose? Is that why I sought solitude to
find happiness without them? Was I simply trying to fool myself into
believing I didn’t need them?
Probably.
But the simple fact is
that I do love them both. Yes, doomed to live in this limbo, doomed
to never love one of them enough to let go.
It’s ironic that
now, in my terror, and what are likely my last hours, sorrow and
regret are all I have left to hang on to. That now in the end, I
finally have the clarity to grieve.
It would be so easy
right now to succumb to the darkness tugging me into the depths of
anguish. Just let go and will myself to cease. My own breathing is
paired with the breath of another.
Someone who previously
was not enjoying the quiet comfort of just being tied up, gagged and
blindfolded. His ragged cries tear through me until they finally stop
with a faint gurgle. His breathing has slowed and our tormentor has
left. We're alone, it's just us.
Just me and my
companion.
The death rattle has
never been something that I gave much thought, but the relief I hear
when he expels his final breath is inviting. He makes it sound so
good, so enticing. If only I could blow out my last breath and feel
his relief. Feel the absence of pain, both emotional and physical.
What would that be like?
To no longer feel pain
or have to eat anguish and uncertainty for breakfast, lunch and
dinner? What does peace feel like? What does it taste like? It has to
be better than the combination of chemicals, fabric and vomit that I
taste now.
The room feels darker,
colder and I notice that my companion’s breathing has
completely ceased. I lament the loss of his unspoken companionship in
captivity and torture. The duct tape across my eyes becomes slippery
with the sweat and tears accumulating behind it. The realization hits
me and despair rips through my being, dragging the truth in its wake.
For the first time in a long time I don’t want to be alone. I
miss him, whoever he was. I wish he would come back, and as selfish
as the thought is I can’t stop it from consuming me.
Remorse can’t win
this battle of fear and desperation. I try to call out to him, to
bring him back, but the cries get caught in my gag. My unspent
screams gnaw at my resolve.
Trying to refocus on
getting out of here I work on the binds on my hands. I chant over and
over in my head
I have to get out of here.
My hands are slick with
blood and sweat, but it feels like the rope is just swelling with the
moisture, making it impossible to slip free. My thoughts come full
circle back to just giving up, back to the only way I can think of
getting out of this. Only in death will I find peace from all that
troubles me, least of all the binds on my hands.
Hoe
Eli
Harry’s
holding it together, but barely. Shay is all he has left, and she’s
gone. Actually gone and in certain danger. There’s no question
in my mind that if we don’t find her soon she’ll be gone
forever. She has everything going against her. The bastard that took
her killed the security guard, proving he has no problem taking a
life. He took her from the original location, which almost never ends
well. We have no real pathos on this guy and nothing to go on. No
surveillance video, no contact or note, nothing. Not a word. It’s
been four days of silence.
“Eli, you need to
eat.” Harry puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m fine.
But you should get something. When was the last time
you
ate
or slept?” I know he hasn’t slept for at least two days,
unless you count five or ten minute naps scattered throughout the
span of days.
McNab and Carl come in
the house dragging a dark cloud of doom behind them. The look in
McNab’s eyes tells the story that they have no news. He looks
at me and subtly shakes his head, confirming that he’s got
nothing.
Miranda has all but
taken over my office; you can cut the tension between her and McNab
with a knife. I’m not sure what the story is there, but
whatever it is, it runs deep.
Carl sits on the couch
and puts his head in his hands, blowing out a frustrated breath.
“McNab, I think it's time we faced some hard facts. It's time
to start planning—”
“What plans?”
Anger pierces me sharply at the implication that we start making
funeral arrangements.
“Eli, she’s
been gone for four days.” McNab stands in front of me. “We
need to start making some decisions on what we are willing to do to
get her back.”
“Anything, I’ll
do anything,” I answer desperately.
“McNab, if you
have any ideas on how to find Shayleigh and bring her home I think we
should have heard about it four days ago.” Harry’s tone
is scolding and impatient.
Miranda emerges from my
office. “Yes McNab, why don’t you share your little
plan.”
“Miranda,”
Carl warns.
“Stuff it, Carl.”
Miranda walks across the room, squaring off with McNab. She stands
directly in his personal space. I can almost feel his sphincter
pucker. “Why don’t you tell the rest of the class what
you’ve got up your sleeve, McNab.”
He takes three steps
back and looks to Carl as though he’s asking permission. After
Carl shakes his head, McNab retreats to the kitchen in silence.
“McNab?”
Harry calls after him, sounding desperate.
“We have some
ideas, but it’s dangerous.” McNab looks at Carl with deep
concern. “Possibly for both Carl and Shay.”
Everyone focuses on
Carl. He stands and takes in a fortifying breath. “I might be
able to make contact by streaming, but there are no guarantees.”
“Carl, please,
English.” Although it would seem as though I’m the only
one in the room who isn’t getting what he’s saying.
“You
are
pretty,” Miranda patronizes, walking by me and putting her hand
on my face. It slides off slow and leaves a wake of ick that could
render me impotent for life. “That’s good.” She
takes a doughnut from the box on the counter and sinks her teeth into
it.
McNab looks like he’s
about to crawl out of his skin. “Eli isn’t familiar with
this sort of thing.”
