Future Lost

6

I sit up slowly, blinking sleep from my eyes. Our bedroom is small but tidy, with a queen-size bed, a dresser, and not much more. Adam was living with his mom before he moved in with me, so he didn’t bring much with him. The biggest difference is that there’s a dog bed in the corner for Max, although he isn’t in it.

The clock by my bed reads 9:38 in sharp red numbers. Later than I normally sleep, but we were up pretty late last night. I yawn and head into the kitchen to make some coffee. This morning it’s already waiting for me, filling the apartment with its rich, warm smell. I grab my mug and spot a note on the coffeemaker.

I love you. I’m going to make things right. I promise.

I run my fingers across the edges of the note as I sip my coffee. He’s trying at least; I’ll give him that.

The first time I woke up to find him gone, I freaked out. I used to be a light sleeper, thanks to my years in foster care, but with Adam in my bed every night, I started to feel safe for the first time in my life. When I woke up without him at my side, I was shocked. I couldn’t understand how I’d slept through him leaving, or how he could take off without saying good-bye, or where he might have gone. Then I panicked, thinking he had left me for good, that he’d vanished from my life without a trace like everyone else I’ve cared about. Or worse, that Aether had taken him. After that, he started leaving notes so I’d know he would be back.

A whining noise brings me back to the living room. Max is sitting against the front door, his nose pressed under it, like when he waits for Adam to get home in the evening.

I slip on some flip-flops, pull on a light sweater, and put Max’s harness on him. We head down the stairs to the lobby, then step outside into the brisk morning air. It’s early enough that the street is empty and quiet, the sun still low and sleepy in the sky. I wait for Max to do his business on the grass and check my phone. I send Adam a text: Thanks for the coffee. Miss you.

Our apartment is in West LA, equal distance from the community college I attend and UCLA, where Adam is getting his PhD. The rent here isn’t cheap, but it’s not too bad either (by LA standards, at least), especially with the money Aether gave us for participating in their time-travel experiments. When our lease is up in a few months we could get a larger place, but it’s been nice not having to worry about moving all the time—a luxury I never had while in foster care.

By the time Max and I get back inside the apartment, Adam still hasn’t responded. He must be wrapped up in whatever he’s doing at the lab. Sometimes he forgets to check his phone when that happens. Annoying, but not unusual.

I feed Max. I take a shower. I get dressed.

Still nothing from Adam.

I finger the necklace around my neck, tracing the edges of the origami unicorn before letting it fall against my chest again. Did any of his words last night mean anything? Or were they, like his gift, just a way to distract me from my worries?

I’ve wasted my morning in bed, and now it’s time for me to get to class. I get ready quickly and give Max an extra treat on my way out. He sits for the first one, and then I make him catch the next one in his mouth, his tail wagging the entire time. If Adam were here, he’d laugh and tell me I’m spoiling Max, and I’d grin and say he deserves it. I can picture it perfectly: Adam leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal his masculine wrists, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me in for a kiss. Those small, tender moments between us were once so common I took them for granted, and I’m filled with a terrible longing to go back to that time.

By the time I’m done with my two classes for the day—English and psychology—Adam still hasn’t responded to my message. It’s unlike him not to text me anything all day. Even when he’s wrapped up in his research he’ll send me a silly emoji or a quick note to let me know he’s thinking of me.

I send him another text. Everything okay?

I head home, take Max for another walk, and then get ready for my kickboxing class. Adam’s lab is on the way there. Maybe I’ll stop by and make sure he’s all right. I’m probably paranoid, but this is the anniversary of Trent and Zoe’s deaths, and I’ll feel better knowing Adam is safe.

The lab is fifteen minutes away, and I check my mirrors constantly to see if anyone is following me. I don’t see anyone, but that does little to ease the worry nagging at me.

Adam’s lab is in a small, brown one-story building with a tile roof and round glass lights on either side of the door. The place looks like it hasn’t been touched since it was built in the sixties, but Adam says the large space inside more than makes up for that. Plus, it has a parking lot in front, which is a rarity in LA.

My car is the only one in the lot. Adam’s car isn’t here, but this morning it wasn’t in our apartment’s garage either. If he’s not here, where is he?

At the front door I enter my security code and do the retinal scan, but the system lets out a harsh beep. Access Denied. I try the code again, just in case I typed it too fast or something, but I get the same message.

What the hell? Did Adam purposefully lock me out of his lab?