Page 4 of The Oath We Give

I smooth my thumb across the scrawled digits, the moon providing me just enough light to make them out clearly. My back rests against the side of my parents’ house, the white slats digging into my back and the roof rubbing against my thighs.

The night sky is brilliant tonight. Many people don’t even know that because of the complete lack of light interference, the Oregon Coast provides some of the best views of starlight and the Milky Way.

There was a time when I would spend hours on this roof, lying on my back, blowing smoke rings, and contemplating just how vast our universe was. Smiling to myself as the stars winked at me, as if mischievously saying,You’ll never know all our secrets, but you can admire our truths.

Tears wet the apples of my cheeks, shed so casually that I don’t even notice them anymore until a breeze passes by.

I’m not usually like this. Weepy and sad. I do not often stumble drunk onto my parents’ roof to cry about what happened to me, to feel sorry for myself. Life is a constant pendulum of pain. Everyone experiences it, and I am not special.

So maybe it’s my father’s expensive cognac that I stole from his office or the smell of rain in the wind that is unearthing these emotions I carefully buried.

I keep thinking if I just continue doing things the way I did before, if I mold myself into the person I was prior to being taken, life will go back to normal. Last week, I hung out with friends from high school. We sat at the cafe we’d frequented every Thursday during our summers off school. Yesterday, my stepmother and father demanded I attend an art show, and I went. Tonight, I’m sitting on the roof to stargaze.

The tea at Luca’s Cafe was bitter and cold. The friends I once knew were strangers with moving lives, while mine is stagnant. Art, which had always been something I found joy in, was lacking life. And the stars don’t feel so bright anymore.

When I stand in the mirror, I look the same. I am the Coraline my family and friends recognize, but I am a different person now. I was never this afraid before. Scared to breathe, to move, to live.

On the inside, I’m stillCirce.

I left that basement physically, but I’m still living in it mentally.

I hate it. Despise myself for living in fear, being stagnant, and not just moving the fuck on with my life. I was kidnapped, beaten, raped. So what? There are millions of people who experience that. I’m lucky. I shouldn’t feel so fucking sad.

My bed I’ve had since freshman year of high school is too soft. There is always too much sun, and everything is loud. Food doesn’t taste like anything but sustenance, and joy has become a dream just out of my reach.

Life isn’t supposed to be this hard.

The wind flutters the small piece of paper between my fingers. With shaking hands, I dial the seven numbers I never thought I’d call. Promised myself I wouldn’t.But this is the end of my rope. What could it hurt?

When the dial tone begins, I immediately want to hang up. This is stupid. I survived, came out on the other side with my wealthy family waiting ready to make me shiny and new. It could’ve been worse.

My finger hovers over the End Call button, but a scratchy voice filters through my speaker.

“Coraline.”

My name slips off his tongue. It’s not hurried. He takes his time with it, not rushing or shortening it, keeping it in his mouth until the last syllable is spoken.

“How’d you know it was me?”

My heart bangs loudly against my ribs, thrashing around inside my chest from the nerves. I hadn’t expected him to answer. Maybe a part of me hoped it would keep ringing until I got his voicemail.

“I’m the heir to a cybersecurity firm,” he says plainly, as if it’s obvious. “Are you okay?”

It’s simple, three words strung together that I’ve heard on repeat for the last eight months, but coming from his throat, from him? It triggers my eyes to produce more tears and my chest to tighten.

God, I hate this.

I don’t know how to explain it, but I know he truly means it. That he’s not just asking to be polite, knowing I’ll lie and say I’m okay. In his voice, which sounds like night and crackling embers, lies genuine concern.

The sob that echoes from my chest trickles out of me, and I slap my hand over my mouth to keep the rest buried inside. My eyes shut tight as my body shakes.I fucking hate crying. Loathe showing this weakness, this vulnerability that has no room in my life or in this town.

“Where are you—”

“No, don’t, I’m fine.” I rush my words, shaking my head for no one to see, hearing through the phone the sound of him rustling around like he was getting up to come to my aid.

A complete stranger that he doesn’t even know.

I bite down on my bottom lip to keep it from shaking. “Did I wake you?”