The Loneliest Girl in the Universe(60)

I curl up on the floor, staring at the mint-green wall and shuddering, reliving the last few hours over and over. The dense sponginess of J’s stomach when I pushed the knife inside him. The smell of burnt flesh after he was electrocuted. The feeling of him dragging me down the corridor, squeezing my wrists. The utter, heart-stopping fear when I realized that he was on The Eternity with me.

I can’t focus on anything. Half-formed thoughts flicker through my mind, appearing and disappearing before I can process them.

I want to go back into the sick bay, to make sure J is really dead. I want to push his body out of the airlock so that he can never follow me again. I want to tear my brain out of my skull, so I never remember what happened, so I can get rid of this awful, aching feeling.

Finally, the only thing that gets me moving is the realization that I’m cold. My teeth are chattering. Shivering, clammy with sweat, I crawl down the corridor, searching for something. I’m not sure what.

A door on my left slides open when I approach, and I go inside. It’s a bathroom. I pull every towel out of the cupboard, wrapping them around me, layer after layer absorbing slick blood and salty sweat.

What do I do now? What is next?

They’re gone. They’re both gone.

I want my own bunk. I want to be back on my ship, in the rooms I know – not this alien, mint-green thing the size of a planet.

I walk out of the bathroom, moving down another corridor, taking myself further away from the sick bay.

The thud of my heartbeat in my ears when J tried to unlock the supply cupboard door. His breath, hot against my neck when he hissed into my ear. The shock wave of horror when he appeared in the stores, staring at me through the crack between packets.

I walk, following lines of red and blue that light up in the floor.

What do I do?

I find a habitation area and sit on a sofa, still wrapped in a thick swathe of blood-soaked towels.

J’s emails. J’s awful, wonderful emails. I shudder, swallowing against the sour taste at the back of my mouth.

The audio calls. Hearing him breathe, waiting for me to speak. His silhouette, standing in the doorway of the airlock when the ships connected. Standing and waiting for me to arrive and see him there.

I tip over and, without quite realizing it, pass out.





HOURS SINCE THE ETERNITY CAUGHT UP:


63


When I wake up, my eyes won’t open. I rub at layers of sleep gunk and salt from crying, but my eyelashes still hurt when I force them open.

J. My mother. The sick bay. Wires. Scalpel.

I feel so dirty. There’s blood all over me, scabbing and crisp and peeling. I long for my own ship, my own bed, my own life. My den to hide in. But I’m stuck here, at least for now.

I walk to the bathroom, leaving a cocoon of towels on the sofa. There’s a shallow ringing in my ears. My mouth is so dry I’m not sure I could talk. When I open my lips, flakes of red blood fall to the floor. I wonder vaguely if it’s mine.

My left wrist is throbbing. I cradle it against my chest as I sift through drawers for a first-aid kit. I tie it up, and then run a bath. When I rinse the last few days off my skin, it turns the water a pale brown.

Whenever I jar my wrist, J’s actions flash through my mind again. I push them away, focusing on just cleaning myself. One step at a time. Once I’m clean, then I can decide what to do next. Then I can think about all the things I need to do: get back in touch with Molly; learn how to operate this ship; wait for The Infinity to catch up; get rid of the bodies. But for now, all I need to do is clean myself. Brush my hair. Find some clothes. Eat.

One step at a time. Slow and easy. Nothing scary. Nothing to fill me with horror, or freeze me with indecision.

I close my eyes, tipping my head back and letting the water fill my ears until the low throbbing of the ship’s rotation disappears into a heavy silence.

Nice and simple.





HOURS SINCE THE ETERNITY CAUGHT UP:


135


Three days later, I finally feel like I can breathe again. I’ve spent most of that time in bed watching TV. Not Loch & Ness – not yet. There are too many reminders of J in everything Jayden says. I watch films instead; every Christmas and holiday romance I can find on The Eternity’s hard drive.

I can’t stop watching. Whenever I go to the kitchen or bathroom, or try to sleep, or even just look away from the screen, J’s face flashes through my mind.

I know I’m going to have to face the memories eventually. I’ve been through this before, when Dad died. Molly used to tell me that I couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened. That I had to work through my feelings and accept them.

But I’m not ready. Not yet.

The only comfort is that I’m not frightened of my mother any more. The thought of Mum just makes me feel achingly, tearfully sad. Which, I think, is an odd kind of progress.

I finally understand her, for the first time in years. I know why she did the things she did. I know why she found it so hard to spend time with me after the deaths of the crew. I don’t blame her. I even miss her now.

She was trying to deal with the bad decisions she’d made in the best way she knew how. She never meant to hurt any of us. She was just too weak, too lost, too guilty.

Everything I am, I get from my parents. I would never have survived J – survived life alone on The Infinity – if it wasn’t for the skills they have given me. My mother taught me about emergency protocols, first aid and ship maintenance. I wouldn’t have known how to detach the wires in the door to escape J, if it hadn’t been for her advice all those years ago. She saved my life.