Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Kylie
Fifteen days.
I would’ve noted the number of hours and minutes, but my brain was too fuzzy to do the math.
But fifteen days was how long I’d been here, based on my estimation. That included the day I arrived.
Provided I hadn’t slept for days at a time, of course.
Which was possible at this point. I was weak and groggy, and there were times I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
The heat was unbearable. Not even the breeze that blew up from between the floorboards did anything to alleviate the swamp-like humidity.
I’d found one spot about two feet from the southernmost corner where I could actually feel some wind.
Not always, but from time to time. I would press my nose to the floorboards and pretend I was inhaling clean air.
My clothes were plastered to my body, stained with sweat.
I smelled like … I didn’t even know what I smelled like.
Lucky for me, the heat exhaustion dulled my senses.
Not to mention, the bug bites split my attention.
Because I was constantly looking for the next culprit to attack, I never really relaxed.
Then there was the chain. Not only was the cuff splitting my skin open, the relentless sound of the metal when I shifted kept my brain from relaxing.
The only way it could possibly get worse would be if my period started, which it would eventually, I was sure. And that was going to be really gross.
Not that Martin gave a shit. If history repeated itself, he likely wouldn’t stop by for another ten days, and by then, I wasn’t sure he would be able to stand to be in the same room with me.
If I were even alive at that point. Heatstroke was a real thing after all.
Given that the only things I had to keep me company were the red bucket, the disgusting mattress, and the shackle that was tearing into my flesh, I found it difficult to want to be awake.
I hadn’t had a shower since the hospital, and I could only imagine what was growing on me.
There were bites up and down my arms and legs, from ants or mosquitoes.
Or maybe spiders, but I tried not to think about the big web I could see in the crawl space beneath me.
At times, I would sacrifice hydration so that I could sparingly use some water to cool myself down, mostly pouring it on my wrists and feet. Not that it helped.
Then again, I tried not to think about how gross I was or that the cut from the rusted metal shackle on the top of my foot looked really red around the edges.
It was most definitely infected. Not surprising, given my living conditions.
And the last damn thing I wanted to do was ask Martin for medicine.
He would think of it as a gift and expect something in return. God only knew what he’d come up with.
Rather than sit around and fret about how soon death would claim me and put me out of my misery, I was coming to peace with my existence.
Or rather, the end of it. It wasn’t difficult since the heat was beginning to have a negative effect.
For the first few days, I had attempted to keep my strength up, standing up frequently and walking the perimeter of the room.
That dwindled as the days continued until I no longer bothered to get up. At this point, I wasn’t sure I could.
Sleeping worked best. It allowed me to escape this shit hole and venture into a world I longed to get back to.
My dreams were always of my family. With every passing day, I knew I was missing out on more and more.
More birthdays, more milestones, more firsts.
I didn’t get to see any of them. Since Martin had informed me that my family had moved on, I could only assume they were now enjoying their days without me.
I didn’t know exactly how long I’d been dead to them, but it was more than a year, less than two. Long enough for them to have moved on.
But I hadn’t. And I wouldn’t. Not until the day I went to sleep and never woke up again.
Since the dreams happened when I closed my eyes, I had to assume the daytime hallucinations resulted from the dehydration and hunger.
Not that I minded them. They involved conversations with my family and friends, so it was a win as far as I was concerned.
I wasn’t sure it did much for my sanity, but I found distinct pleasure in believing my husbands and my children could feel my love across the universe when I talked to them.
I was going to celebrate another big one today. It was Haden’s fourth birthday.
God, I remembered his smile, the way he would giggle at everything his brother and sisters did.
How his eyes would glitter with excitement whenever Kate walked into the room.
She had spent so much time with him when he was born, helping me to take care of him.
I wondered if he still talked without saying his R’s.
If he did, were Travis and Gage thinking about getting him a speech therapist?
Or had they already? Perhaps he’d grown out of it.
Tears welled, but they didn’t fall. I didn’t have enough energy to expel them at this point. They were a good sign, though. At least I wasn’t dehydrated yet. Or was I? Maybe you could cry even if you were dehydrated. I wasn’t sure.
Nor did it matter.
“Happy birthday, Haden,” I whispered, forcing a smile even as my chin wobbled. “I hope you have a lovely day.”