Release by Keyaira at Inkitt

Silence has a sound

Please see me.

Ugh. Please open the door.

I can feel myself getting weaker.

Those words kept repeating in my mind until they no longer felt like thoughts. They became a song. A sad song. And no, not like R&B. Like some real sad shit.

Ouch. My damn lips hurt. They were so dry. Looking at myself in this piece of glass, I could see old, dried blood caught in the creases of my lips. It burned even more when I swallowed.

Cough. Cough.

My stomach hurts. Hunger twisted it into painful knots. I felt like my stomach was touching my back.

I had been locked inside the garage for nineteen days.

Nineteen days without real food.

Nineteen days without fresh air.

Nineteen days of heat pressing down on my skin until breathing felt like work.

I couldn't even bear the smell of myself. I was so embarrassed. My own feces and urine had soaked into the concrete, even into my clothes. They were damp and stiff with mildew. The funk clung to me like a second skin. Every time I inhaled, I gagged. I tried to vomit until there was nothing left inside me.

My skin was irritated. Bug bites covered my arms and legs, swelling and itching until I scratched them raw. My whole body felt heavy, foreign, like it didn't even belong to me anymore. Just dead weight.

Most of the time, when I felt a panic attack coming on, I trained my mind to go somewhere else. If I had nothing left, I still had my imagination. I inhaled and exhaled with my eyes closed until the world went quiet and my mind began to slip. I whispered to myself just to hear a voice.

Sometimes I laughed without meaning to.

Sometimes I cried until no sound came out at all.

There were moments when the darkness felt too heavy to survive. Moments when I wondered if this was how it would end.

Still, I prayed.

Maybe someone would notice I was gone.

Maybe someone would ask where I was.

Maybe someone would save me.

As another day came, I was completely exhausted. My eyes wouldn't open, so I left them closed. I told myself to think of the good memories. It felt like my last day on earth, like my life was flashing before my eyes.

I could feel the wind brushing against my face.

The smell of food cooking on the stove.

Me sitting in the kitchen, feeding my family who I loved and missed so much.

Then a memory flashed, and I heard my mother's voice floating softly through my mind.

I am here with you, baby.

I could feel the warmth. The happiness.

As the dream faded, I opened my eyes.

That's when I noticed something.

A jagged opening in the garage door.

A hole.

My heart began to pound.

Dragging my weak body across the floor, I pressed my face close and squinted through it. Light spilled in bright and blinding. Beyond the hole was the front yard. Green grass. Open space.

And then I heard it.

Laughter.

My breathing caught painfully in my chest.

Wait… are those my—

My children.

As my eyesight adjusted, I saw them. My sons, Jay and Kyle. Outside. Alive. Unaware. Playing beneath the Arizona sun.

Jay was three years old, tall and slim, his long black hair flying as he ran. People often mistook him for a girl, but there was nothing fragile about him. Even at that age, he was protective, always watching his little brother.

Kyle was only two. Short and chubby, his cheeks round and glowing with innocence. His laugh was always full of joy.

Tears filled my eyes as I watched them.

The heat was relentless, but the boys didn't care. They kicked a soccer ball back and forth, their laughter echoing across the yard. Every sound cut deep, reminding me of everything I was missing. I wanted to run to them. To hold them.

Kyle kicked the ball toward the garage.

It rolled closer.

Closer.

Until it stopped right in front of the hole in the garage.

Jay ran after it, his feet pounding the ground. He bent down to pick it up, excitement lighting his face.

This is it, I thought.

This is my chance.

I gathered what little strength I had left and banged weakly against the garage door. My voice came out thin and broken.

Jay… my son.

Jay, it's me.

Jay froze and the ball dropped from his hands.

Mommy?

Mommy, is that you?

Jay screamed, slamming his small fists against the garage door. Kyle followed, crying loudly. I sobbed as I spoke to them, telling them I loved them, telling them I was right here.

Listen, boys. Mommy needs help getting out.

Right as I said those words—

I saw him.

Standing in the shadows behind them.

It was him.

My husband. Robert.

Tall. Strong. Handsome. His brown skin glowing in the sunlight. With a smile that always made me feel safe.

His face hardened instantly.

In one swift motion, he scooped up both boys. Their small bodies clung to him as they screamed. He dragged them inside the house without hesitation. The door slammed shut behind them.

Silence.

I buried my face in my hands and wept.

Then I heard the front door open again.

Ginny.

My husband's Robert's mother.

A tall white woman with curly red hair, freckles, and the prettiest brown eyes.

She stood frozen in the yard, then slowly stepped closer to the garage. Her heart raced as she bent down and peered through the hole.

As my eyes met with my stepmother.

Hope surged violently inside my chest.

Please, Ginny. Help me. Please get me out.

Her breath caught as she stared at me.

Suddenly, Robert rushed back outside.