I should have let her drown.
I hate the thought that swims too close to the surface of my mind. It’s because of her that this old memory has ripped a fresh wound. I can’t be who I was, but I don’t want to be who I’ve become either.
13
Julie/Prey
Idon’t know what happened to Horn, but he sits on the floor like his world has been ripped up and scattered in front of him. That was me only hours ago? Or was it a day ago? I try to put a time to the memory of returning to my empty apartment, but I can’t as it feels like it belongs to someone else. It seems like it happened a lifetime ago, yet it hasn’t been that long.
Or have days already passed in my world?
How long is a day in Under?
I creep backward and gather up my clothes. I’ll wash and dress and then I’ll…I’ll…I have no plan. The moment I step outside, there are only more monsters, and these are the monsters I know. Well, I kind of know them. It’s hard to know them when they don’t even know themselves.
Horn keeps staring at his hand like he expects it to bite.
I don’t know where Tail is. And I don’t care. I sigh. That’s not true. I do because I don’t entirely trust him, which I guess makes us equal, as he doesn’t trust me. My hand goes to my throat. Not to search for my missing necklace, but to feel for bruises. When I swallow, it’s the feeling of his tail around my throat as he fucks me that lingers.
Carefully I make my way deeper into the cave. There is only one path and there should be a bathing puddle here. One filled with the bones of those that didn’t make it. For a moment I almost envy them as their struggle is over, but with my next breath, I know I need to keep going.
There has to be a way home, and I will find it.
My mother never did. How long did she survive for? Didn’t she want to come home or did she want to die and join my father? Didn’t she love me? I push the thought aside, but that doesn’t stop the burning of my eyes.
The rock walls blur, and the darkness grows deeper with each step. The walls feel like they are creeping closer and panic flares. I need to go back to the well-lit cavern. My foot connects with something hard, and I stifle a yelp. My heart hammers in my ears, drowning out all sound. I can’t move for what feels like hours, but I know it’s not.
Tears trickle over my cheeks. I am so lost and so scared and even the people who want to help don’t know how. Despair gets its teeth into me, and I drop to my knees, hunching over like I can squash the fear swelling in my chest down to something manageable. I fail, of course, so I sob quietly on the floor of the dark tunnel with what is left of my clothes fisted in my hand.
When my throat is raw, and my eyes sore and swollen, I force myself to move. I reach out and discover the thing my foot touched is just a bone.
Just. A. Bone.
Like that is a normal occurrence.
A laugh wants to bubble up. I’m sure it’s a human bone. One they picked clean. I push it aside and keep crawling, hoping that I find the bath soon. What if, in the darkness, I’ve missed that there was another tunnel entrance and I’m wandering deeper into the caves where no one will ever find me?
I stop again, almost unable to breathe as the fear becomes stronger. I’ve never liked the dark and now it’s all I have. Even when I glance behind, I can’t see the light from the main cave.
I either go back or keep going. I know what is behind me, and I’m not ready to see either of them. So I keep going, crawling forward. My hand touches another bone, then another. Each time I bite my lip, so I don’t cry out.
Am I getting closer?
At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me and that the glimmer of light is wishful thinking. But it gets bigger, and the darkness becomes gray. Slowly I realize I’m in another cavern. It’s much smaller than the other one and lit by a few cracks in the rocks that let in enough light for me to study my surroundings.
Little plants cling to the walls where the light hits, and in the center is the puddle, and sticking out of that is more than one bone. There are no bones around the edges. They are all to the side in a neat pile.
I’m grateful for that small kindness even though I know it wasn’t done for me.
Coiling up from the puddle—which is about nine feet across—are a few swirls of steam. Which I guess is better than being lined with frost, or boiling, and I have seen both since I arrived.
I dip one toe in to test the temperature. It’s hot but not unbearable. I bring my clothes with me and as I sit on the shallow rock edge, I scrub the mud off my shirt and skirt. I take off my bra and wash that too, then spread them on the side, knowing that they won’t dry, and they’ll be wet when I put them on, but at least they’ll be clean.
Then I contemplate the puddle.
While Horn said there was no way to get home through a puddle, that doesn’t mean that I trust the puddle won’t try to swallow me. Again, why would it even open to do that?
It should only open if someone were coming through.