22 Days Without Contact

Something smells off—ammonia with a mix of gasoline. My eyes are welled up and scratchy. Whatever this is, it’s meant to kill me.

The rapid fire of different tactics being thrown at me is leading me to believe that eventually they will win. Someday, I’m going to be defeated.

The number branded along my wrist lights up. If only I could figure out to remove them or deactivate it somehow, maybe I could stop running. Peter and I could find a suite meant for celebrities, one that isn’t too torn up from the raids. We could be happy in one of those places for awhile. We could pretend our world is rational and safe. We could maybe even find happiness.r

My stomach twists. Tears fill my eyes.

I can’t panic.

I will find him.

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