Page 39 of Strange Love

She avoids my gaze, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’ll tell you all about my time in the cult if that will help,” I tease, relieved when she finally looks at me, trying to lighten the mood. “But seriously, I want to understand.”

Her shoulders shrug noncommittally. “We were close friends as kids, but he changed as we got older. He became more popular and found new friends. It was like he forgot about me completely. Remember when he introduced himself to us in the cafeteria? Like we had never known each other.”

I nod, understanding now why she seems hesitant to talk about it.

She shrugs, “He was a different person back then.”

“But weren’t we all different people back then?” I ask.

“Of course,” she replies with a nod. “But the essence of the person stays the same, no matter how much we change on the surface. Michael used to be kind and caring, but now he’s another popular guy who ignores people like me.” Her sadness is palpable. Sascha wears her tough armor the same as her eyeliner, thick and unyielding, but beneath it beats a sensitive heart.

“Look, he’s not the first friend I ever lost, and I’m sure he won’t be the last. I guess he was more important or special to me than I ever was to him.”

I reach out and place a comforting hand on her arm. “I understand,” I tell her. “People I was friends with before I was kidnapped didn’t recognize me when I came back. They didn’t know what to say to me or how to act, so they eventually quit saying anything. They quit calling. Quit trying to come around. It hurt,” I admit. I link my arms with hers as we continue to walk towards class. “But look at it this way. Now you have me.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she quips, “And aren’t you just a little ball of sunshine?”

“I used to be,” I reply. “And I’m working on getting back there. Consider me the yin to your yang.”

We say our goodbyes, and I go to class, taking my usual seat near the front.

A couple of people smile and wave as they walk by me. Even Jennifer, one of the Vipers, greets me on her way to her desk. The feeling is surreal. It makes me uncomfortable in a different way than being gawked at. I don’t trust these people, and I’m not sure what they want from me, but Corey was right when he said spending time with him would raise my popularity. Is that all it took? Going out with the hockey team captain has made people forget all about my past. I wish it worked the same way for me.

Ivy- Age 16, 1986

Ever since I was forcefully taken from my home and brought here, I’ve been stuck in a constant state of dissociation. I walk around in a dreamlike fog where I’m floating above myself and watching everything happen from a peaceful haven no one can touch. That haven exists only in my mind, and I have to guard it, or I might go crazy, but even that is starting to crumble.

Auron talks about The Voice in the Sky and how we are all here for a greater purpose, but his words hold no weight. He can never answer us about our fate or what’s to come. Any questioning or doubt is met with anger and deflection. It’s becoming clear that something sinister is happening here. Auron and some of the others are acting paranoid. I’ve heard them talk of moving the commune. I can’t help but wonder if people from outside have discovered this place.

I haven’t been interested lately in trying to unravel the truth. At some point, I started robotically moving about my days, staying in that safe place locked inside my mind, even as my body did menial tasks around the commune.

I’m assigned to work in the main building today. After cleaning up the waiting area and polishing the furniture in Auron’s office, I notice a notepad on the coffee table and reach for it. Underneath, there’s a magazine with a date on the cover: July 28, 1986. I feel my hands shake as I pick it up and study it closely, as if it holds all the answers in the world. And in a way, it does. According to the date, I’ve been here for nearly four years.

The room starts to spin, and I fear that I might faint. How is this possible? I see my reflection changing daily when I braid my hair in the dingy bathroom mirror, but I never realized how much time had passed. My birthday is June 26th, which means I’m 16.

Two terrifying realizations hit me at once. First, I gave up and stopped fighting back; that ambivalence has stolen years from me. The second is that I’m approaching the age where girls like me disappear without a trace. Time is running out for me, and I need to find a way out of this place before it’s too late, even if it means risking everything.

The familiar routine of taking walks has returned to me, a balm for my restless mind. Each step brings me closer to potential escape routes, however unlikely they may be. But the mere act of imagining freedom fills me with hope.

Today is the day the dairy delivery truck arrives, and I eagerly anticipate its rumbling engine. As the afternoon wears on, I finally see the gates open, and the truck slowly approaches me. One of the young girls approaches, eager to help, but I kindly dismiss her. This is something I need to do alone.

The man with gentle eyes greets me with a warm smile as he steps out of the truck and unlocks the back door. A sense of nostalgia washes over me as I hear the radio playing inside. The soft strains of a slow, soothing song fill the air, unfamiliar yet comforting. I miss music, even if it’s only playing in my mind. I pause and get momentarily lost in the lyrics, feeling that fate is responsible for this particular song being played.

The singer’s voice carries quietly through the air, a whisper into my heart. His lyrics paint a picture of despair and destruction. He sings of our actions when faced with utter chaos and the destruction of our dreams. Who will come to our aid when there is no one left? The chorus tells us that it will be up to us to emerge from the wreckage and find our way to the other side.

His words grip my soul, stirring feelings of determination and resilience, urging me to take my next step forward. The melody is like a beacon in the darkness, guiding us toward hope and salvation.

As the driver unloads the crates, I scan the area for potential witnesses. The words resonate with me immediately. I see it as a sign and know I’m supposed to do what I’m about to do. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small folded note and slip it into his hand as he hands me an ice cream. His eyes widen with surprise, but he quickly glances around before subtly shaking his head, warning me to avoid drawing attention to our exchange. All I can do is hope that when he reads the note, it will ignite some flicker of understanding in him. I couldn’t write much since “Mother” was constantly watching us, but those three words scrawled in my handwriting are all I could manage:

Please help me.

Chapter 22

“Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now”

Corey - Age 18, 1988