104 Sundays of Lies

ng of a machine. The smell of

osp

checking my vitals. A nur

you hear me?"

robs with a dull,

en it

104 Sundays of waking up lost, 104 Mondays of piecing together

ber eve

he overheard conversations. The heartbreak, over and over and over again. My past selves

the last two years settles in

oor o

ve. His face is etched with the same practi

ys, rushing to my bedside. "You fell. You hi

. The eyes of the ma

I

letting my voice tr

, so disgustingly transparent. The cycle

okay. I' m Ethan. Your fiancé. Everyt

fused gratitude onto

ck with fake emotion. "I' ll t

m with my captor. I have no phone, no allies.

ave to be the fragile, amnes

remember. And I w