Page 21 of Strange Love

“I’m not technically related to him, but Corey is sort of like my cousin through marriage,” Sarah explains with a shrug. “His mom married my uncle.”

Curiosity gets the best of me. “Where is he today?” I ask.

“I knew it!” Sascha exclaims. “You liiiikkkkeee him.”

I roll my eyes and toss a small carrot at her. “Shut up.”

Sarah easily answers my question, “He has a hockey game in a different city.”

“I thought he played for the school team?” I inquire.

“No,” she clarifies. “He and Taz play on a junior league team. It’s the step right before getting recruited to college or maybe even the NHL,” she says as if it’s no big deal. “So they travel sometimes for games.”

“How does he keep up with school?” I ask, impressed by his dedication.

“They do independent study,” Sarah replies matter-of-factly.

I had no idea about any of this. I knew Corey was a talented hockey player, but his aspirations far exceeded what I had imagined. “He must have been playing for a really long time,” I remark.

“Since he was like six years old,” Sarah confirms, “But he got really serious about it when he moved here.”

I think back to where I was at that age, and I realize that we have led such different lives. He’s been planning his future since he was a young teenager. When I was that age, I was simply trying to make it from day to day without losing my mind.

Ivy, Age 14, 1984

This is taking a lot more time than I anticipated. I’ve spent so much time trying to gain insight into how to get out of this place. Luckily, no one has shown any amount of interest in marrying me off to some pervert. I’m still too young, even for these people. That has become my new focus since it doesn’t seem that they intend to kill me. Still, every night as I lay in bed, I pray that tomorrow will be the day I can escape. I still don’t have a plan yet, but as I lay in bed and breathe into the faint strawberry scent of my doll, I think about my parents, my sister, and my home. I cry myself to sleep most nights, but so do a lot of the girls in here, so the sound of my weeping is drowned out amongst the others.

It’s nearly impossible to sneak around in this place with our strict schedule, but I’ve managed to snag some shifts as Auron’s receptionist. My tasks involve tidying up the big building and checking if he’s available for visitors. His office is the only one with a phone, and as I’ve discovered during my sneaky attempts, it’s not connected to any outside lines. There must be some code I need to enter before making a call. The frustration of being so close to a way out but still trapped here consumes me daily.

As I walked into Auron’s office earlier today, my eyes fell on the new addition to his desk, a big computer with a place for a floppy disc. I had never seen one before and had no clue how to use it, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s information on one of those discs that can help me. I made a mental note to keep my eye out for one. I’ve searched frantically for a calendar that can tell me what month it is, but I haven’t found anything yet. Another way Auron likes to control everyone here is by keeping us in the dark about what is happening in the real world and what day or even month it is.

I’ve made it a habit to take brisk walks every chance I get. At first, I strolled as if admiring the scenery. But now, I stride purposefully, making eye contact and flashing a friendly smile at anyone I pass. They probably assume I’m just trying to get more exercise, and no one has questioned me yet. From my observations, the guards shift out every eight hours like clockwork, just like any normal job. I also noticed that there are no guards on the mountain behind us; the terrain acts as a natural barrier against potential intruders. I stay clear of the area with the “medicinal cleansing” tent. I never want to go there. Something tells me the less I know about that, the better.

Nothing I’ve seen can act as any weapon or means to threaten my way out of here. There are sticks and rocks, but what will I do? Throw a rock at a guy with a rifle? That’s a surefire way to get myself killed. I’ve searched for potential poisonous plants or herbs to put in the food, but honestly, I can’t tell a poisonous berry or mushroom from a safe one. I chastise myself for not paying more attention in Girl Scouts.

Despite the constant surveillance and sharing a room with others, I’ve managed to jot down notes in my small notebook by sneaking outside at night and writing in the moonlight or tearing out pages and sneaking them into the bathroom.

Auron’s visitors arrive in sleek cars and wearing expensive suits every few days. They always wear sunglasses until they enter the building, adding an air of mystery and danger to their presence. It’s always men who come, and they are well-protected by their attire and demeanor.

The dairy truck continues to arrive twice per week. I’m not sure of the days, but they are still my favorite days of the week. Two days ago, when the truck pulled up, there was a song on the radio with catchy lyrics. I’ve been walking around singing it to myself ever since. It’s about waking up before you go and something about a yo-yo.

That’s the only part I remember, so I keep singing or humming it over and over whenever I’m alone.

Later that same afternoon, a sleek black sedan pulled up to The Station, and three sharply dressed men stepped out. Their tailored suits hugged their frames, and they carried expensive-looking briefcases. I watched them approach the reception desk where I was working, feeling their assessing stares as they glanced over my body. I crossed my arms tightly in front of me in response.

“Hello, Gentlemen,” I greeted them with a forced smile.

“Tell Auron he has visitors,” the largest man on the left said. His commanding presence made me wonder if he was a bodyguard or some security detail.

I knocked on Auron’s solid oak door twice, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. A muffled voice called out from inside, and I slowly pushed open the heavy door. Auron sat on a plush couch in the center of the room, his dark hair slightly tousled. When he saw me enter, he stood up, smoothing out his tailored suit.

“Ah, Ivy,” he greeted, motioning for me to come closer. I hesitantly approached him, small in comparison to his imposing figure. His blue eyes studied me briefly before he asked, “How are you?” It caught me off guard; generally, he only spoke to me when he needed something done.

“Um, I’m good,” I stuttered, unsure how to answer his question.

“Do you find that you’re happy?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and studying me. As he scrutinized me, I shifted from foot to foot. His piercing gaze made me feel like he could see right through me.

I forced a smile onto my face and replied, “Yes, of course I am.”