There’s no sense of time. Nothing marks its
passing. Ten minutes, hours, days, they’re all the same to me. At
some point my knees go numb. My shoulders ache, my head buried in
the cold darkness where my arms are crossed in front of me, my brow
pressed to the floor and steel like ice picking its way through my
skin. Dylan. It’s the only word I know. Sometimes, just to
prove that I still exist, I whisper his name but I don’t like the
scrape of sound that’s now my voice. It scares me.
Dylan.
When I trust my legs, I try to stand. My
forehead hurts—I can feel the hatched pattern of the floor pressed
into my skin and I rub at it just for something to do. I’m in a
cell. Arrested. Detained. That still hasn’t quite sunk in
completely yet.
My knees wobble but hold my weight, thank
God
