The Loneliest Girl in the Universe(47)

I crawl away from the entrance until it disappears out of sight around the curve of the ship’s wall, so that if he does find it, he won’t even see me.

Then I lean back against the steel wall, silent tears dripping from my jaw, barely able to stop myself from crying out loud.

I’m still shocked by how J looks.

He’s short.

He’s older than I’d pictured – definitely not twenty-two, like he claimed. He must be over thirty.

And he’s gorgeous.

He has blond hair curling over his forehead and carefully cultivated stubble, and bulging muscles, and bright blue irises.

But his eyes. His eyes were trained on me like he was a predator and I was his prey.

Why would he describe himself as something he wasn’t?

Surely you only lie if you’re ugly, or old, or fat. But he’s—

He’s none of those things.

So why did he lie? It must be because he gets a thrill from it. I thought it was because he was trying to make me love him, but that wasn’t the point at all. The lying was the point.

He was just playing with me. Every single thing about J was fabricated.

I curl my arms around my head, resting my forehead against my knees. I want to block out my thoughts, because everything going through my head is just making me panic more; and once I start I won’t be able to stop, and then I’ll be hidden in the dark in the stores in my nightdress, unable to breathe.

Why didn’t he chase me? Why did he just stand there and let me go? After all the effort he took to sneak up to my ship while I was sleeping and catch me unawares. Why did he let me get away like that?

Because he doesn’t need to chase me. There’s nowhere I can run to escape him. We’re on a ship in the middle of space. He’s got me trapped.

I wonder what he’s doing, whether he’s even looking for me. An image of him searching through my things slithers into my brain. He could be poking his fingers in my hairbrush, touching my handmade clothes, stroking my teddy bear, toying with my models, eating my strawberry jam…

I can’t help but let out a horrified sob.

Why is he doing this to me? Why me?

How did he even get sent on this mission? Surely NASA must have put him through some kind of … sanity test? How did someone like him manage to be chosen for the second ever deep-space mission?

My mind goes round in circles, thinking over everything until I can’t think any more. Eventually, I close my eyes.





HOURS SINCE THE ETERNITY CAUGHT UP:


1


I’m halfway towards a kind of exhausted sleep when I hear a crackle. Every muscle in my body tenses, wondering what is coming next.

A voice echoes across the cavernous stores.

“Hello, Romy.”

I bring my hands to my mouth to hold in a gasp. It’s impossibly loud. It’s like his voice is all around me. Where is he?

“I found the intercom.”

I didn’t even know there was an intercom. I press my head against the wall, half in relief that he isn’t here in person, half in increased fear. He can talk to me whenever he wants. He can torment me for twenty-four hours a day.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I thought –” he lets out a laugh, short and obviously fake, crackling over the speakers – “that it would be a nice surprise for you, for me to arrive early.”

I want to push my fingers into my ears, to block out the sound of his voice, but I can’t. I need to know what he says.

“I can understand why you ran. But it’s OK, you can come out now. I’m not going to hurt you. You know me. I only want what’s best for you. I just want to say hello, after all this talking by email!”

He pauses, for long enough that I think it’s over. When he speaks again, it makes me jump. His voice is low, almost inaudible.

“There’s no need to rush, though. Take your time. I’m going to sleep now.”

Then there’s a crackle as the intercom shuts off.

Is he in my bed? The thought makes me feel like I’m covered in bugs, a literal itch on my skin.

Does he still think I don’t know? How can he possibly think I haven’t guessed, after I cut short his call? After I ran away from him?

How can he believe there’s anything he can say that’ll make me come out?

What am I going to do?

What am I going to do?

I can only stay here until my thirst makes me leave the stores in search of water. I have a day, maybe less. Long enough to come up with a plan. Probably.

Right now I don’t believe there’s any way I can win.

I curl up on the floor, rest my head on a lasagne tray and close my eyes. I take deep breaths in and out, pretending to myself that I’m asleep and not actually straining my ears for the slightest sound, or braced for action, on the edge of a panic attack.

After an hour, my muscles ache from the tension.





HOURS SINCE THE ETERNITY CAUGHT UP:


5


He gives me four hours, and then the intercom begins again. His voice is light and soft, almost a whisper.

“Good morning, Romy. Did you sleep well?” There’s a pause, as if he’s expecting me to answer.

I shiver, but not from the cold.

“Please come out?” His voice suddenly turns into a gentle croon. “I miss you. I miss our conversations.”