"A Sky Full of Love"

CHAPTER 1: Nova

September 2018

     “Something wrong?” His baritone voice overpowered the small space and pulled me back to the hell he’d created for me.

     A space that can only be described as cluttered chaos. Adam tried to turn the bedroom into a living space but failed. The small card table, which we used as a dining table, was barely enough for one person, but night after night, we both sat and ate. Just like we were now. Against the wall, directly across from the table, was the bed.

     “Nothing’s wrong.” I leaned back, causing the chair leg to rock, and crossed my arms over my chest. I stared over his shoulder at the faded pink and yellow flowers on the torn wallpaper. Those flowers were once bright and colorful. 

Like I used to be.

     “Ain’t you gon’ eat?” Adam pointed to the macaroni and cheese and smoked sausage that sat untouched on my paper plate.

     “I’m not hungry.”

     I’d been burdened with a heaviness since that morning. It happened every year around this time when I looked out the window from the upper floor of this house and saw the leaves on the trees in the field across the street had sprinkles of red, orange, and yellow—the same as when he’d brought me here. Seeing them reminded me that another year had come and gone, and I was still trapped in this room.

     A room I would never call mine, no matter how long I was forced to be here. It was hard to tell how high up I’d been imprisoned. It was high enough to give me a good view of the trees, but I couldn’t jump without breaking something or worse. Not that I could’ve anyway, since the window was bolted shut.

     A loud crash snapped me to attention. I straightened in my chair as a thousand horses raced through my chest. Adam’s jar of lemonade shattered all over the wooden floor.

When he didn’t order me to get up and clean that mess, I looked over at him. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked, seeing the beads of sweat on his forehead. He’d lost weight, and his narrow eyes held a hint of yellowish tint. 

He wasn’t well. Hadn’t been for weeks.

     Adam fanned himself with his hands. There wasn’t an air conditioner in the room, but it wasn’t that hot. He stood. Without saying a word, he inched his way to the door.

     I stood, too, the chain around my ankles clanking—a souvenir from my last escape mission. It had been a long time since he put them on me. It probably would’ve been longer had I not had that dream—the one where my parents died. I knew I had to try to escape. I came close. I would've made it out if that old door hadn’t creaked. I looked back at Adam, who had been in bed sleeping. When he heard the door, he jumped up. His clenched jaw showed the fury I later felt. That was over a week ago, and parts of me still ached from the aftermath of his rage.

     “Maybe you should stay here so I can take care of you.” I coated my words with an extra dose of sweetness. His chest rose and fell hard, his eyes stretched wide, and his breathing was the only sound in the room. What if something happened to him while I was locked in?

     Adam’s shaky hand fought to insert the key into the lock. Opening the door, he leaned against the door frame. I could’ve overpowered him and run, but my chains were hooked to the bedpost. They were long enough for me to get to the bathroom and the small table, but they weren’t long enough to reach across the room to the door. 

     The silence was louder and heavier than ever. I gasped for air that refused to fill my lungs. 

     Adam mustered the energy to push himself out. 

     The lock clicked so loudly that it was like the room vibrated. 

     Lifting my hand to my face, I realized it wasn’t the lock. It was me. I was trembling. The knowledge I could die alone in this room, amongst the outdated furniture and stained carpet, had always been a reality, but it had never felt as real as it had at that moment.

     “Adam!” I shouted. Then stretched my hand towards the door, hoping with everything inside of me that it would open again. “You can’t leave me locked in here! You’re sick! I could die!” I banged my foot against the floor as hard as I could, ignoring the pain of the chain as it scrubbed against my raw skin. Maybe the noise would make him angry enough to come running back. I knew my actions would come with repercussions, but every sting from his hand would be worth it if it meant him possibly dying in this room. His death and those keys were all I needed to take back the freedom he'd stolen so long ago. “Adam!” My voice echoed off the walls. I called for him until my words seared my throat and attempted to steal my voice, but as I had learned to do so many times before, I pushed past the pain and kept calling out for him. I called until my thunderous pleas became desperate cries. I fell to the floor, my body convulsed with sobs as I curled into a ball.

********************

I didn’t see Adam for days.

I had rationed the food from our dinner that night, taking it in and out of the dorm-size refrigerator that sat in the corner of the room, and ate small bites throughout the day. Some days, like today, I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore. But now it was all gone.

Not even a crumb was left.

I didn’t know how long I’d last without food. Maybe I’d be okay just drinking the water from the bathroom faucet. I didn’t feel okay, though. I was weak. Too weak. I wouldn’t make it much longer.

Tired from trying to pick the lock around my ankle, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. My thoughts bounced from how I could get out of there to maybe death will be quick and painless.

My family was heavy on my heart, so I reached over and grabbed the notebook from the food tray used as a nightstand. That tray, the card table, and most things in that room no longer served their real purpose. Just like me. My fingers trembled as I clutched the pen, trying to steady my breathing. Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand, but not before some escaped onto the page, causing a visual imprint of all the pain I’d held inside.

The weight of loneliness settled like a stone in my chest. An emotion I’d fought for years not to feel came back, but I didn’t have the strength to push it aside. This time, I didn’t close my eyes and make myself go to another place when Mama’s face appeared. Instead, I gave in to the vision and closed my eyes so I could fully submerge myself in the thought of Mama. This had to be a movie, and Mama was the star. I saw her moving around her kitchen, humming and smiling as she always did when she was cooking or baking, especially during the holidays. I heard the sound of one of her old songs playing through the small radio that sat in the kitchen window. I smelled the sweetness that flowed from the oven, and then I saw myself leaning my head on Mama’s shoulder as she filled my mouth with a piece of her warm, buttery cake.

I saw Daddy, dancing into the room, grabbing Mama’s hand and twirling her around as they often did. He told her that nothing in that kitchen was as sweet as she was. He’d then look over at me and mouth, “Except you,” then wink. Daddy and I laughed every time he did that, and Mama would hit his shoulder, knowing he’d said something smart.

I didn’t try to stop the tears as they flowed harder than ever. My mind drifted to Leah, and the ache that never left grew stronger. My Leah. Mama said I’d called her that so much when we were younger that people thought that was her real name. I could hear Leah’s loud laughter when we’d sneak away to our room and mock Mama and Daddy. There was so much I still had to tell her—so many dreams we were supposed to fulfill together. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d found a replacement sister. Was there someone else she told her secrets to? I exhaled at the thought.

I couldn’t do it anymore—I needed to retreat to my cocoon of nothingness. The thought of my husband was so strong that I smelled the spicy cologne that he used to drown himself in. Did he move on with someone else? Was there another woman raising my . . . And then I couldn’t think of anything except my baby girl. I often dreamed of her, at least, I thought it was her. The fact that I had no idea what my daughter looked like now was almost suffocating.

I’d leaned my head against the wall with the notebook and pen still on my lap. I opened my eyes and threw myself back into my world. A world where there was no Mama, no Daddy, no sister, no husband, and no daughter. And now, no Adam. In my world, there was only me. I picked up the pen again and stared down at the paper. My family may never read any of these entries I’d written over the years, but that didn’t stop me from writing. In the closet were stacks of notebooks I’d filled. I kept them pushed behind the wool coats and boxes that held more women’s clothes. I could only assume those things belonged to Adam’s late wife. The closet, which smelled of mothballs and dust, was one place Adam never bothered. I’d hoped the notebooks would be safe there. In the beginning, Adam monitored everything I did and wrote. Back then, it was too painful to even think about my family, so writing about them was out of the question. Besides, I didn’t want to share anything about my family with him. He didn’t deserve to know about them. So, my earlier notebooks were filled with pictures that made me happy. A sun. A big house that reminded me of my parents. Rain. I loved the rain. I missed the rain. I’d forgotten how it was to stand outside and allow it to tap against my skin.

As the years passed, Adam was less interested in the notebooks. I never knew when I’d get one. Every now and then, he’d throw one on the bed and wait for my forced words of gratitude.

I was probably wasting my time on these messages anyway. But if my family ever got the chance to read them, I wanted them and everyone else to know that I never stopped fighting to get home.

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