I don't cry. I can't. Tears never help anything. Reliving the day at the zoo was good for me. My mom was happy that day. She was a shy woman with no backbone. My father kept her easily in line by threatening me. I often wondered why she didn't kill him. I wondered the same about myself as I grew older.
Austin begins wiping down my skin and tapes on more plastic wrap when he's finished. I take comfort in his touch. For once I appreciate his silence. He eventually leads me back to the wall. He gives me to the darkness without a backwards glance. Remembering is exhausting and I sleep like the dead.
The next morning he turns on the overhead light when he brings food. After breakfast I feel refreshed for the first time in days. My heart thumps in anticipation at what the overhead light means.
