Kazumi.
Fuck. Poor Kazumi!
Just thinking her name tears a fresh sob from my chest. I’ve cried and cried, curled in this dingy cell, wrapped in furs that do nothing to stave off the chilling cold. Exhaustion presses in from all sides—mind, body, and soul. There’s nothing left. No future, no hope. I wish I had listened to Carmen, gotten on that ship with Kazumi. At least then I’d have finally found peace—an end to this miserable existence. No more pain, no more pretending, no more rejection.
I was never wanted, anyway. My parents never wanted me. My so-called friends hate me. It would’ve been better if I’d never been born.
Even sleep won’t take me. I’m too tired to cry, too broken to sleep. And when I drift off, I’m haunted by her—Kazumi. I shudder, thinking back to that horrifying moment. Her frantically flailing in space, the terror in her eyes before the spasming.... God, the spasming! I should have turned away, but I couldn’t stop myself. Now her image stalks my mind and terrorizes my dreams.
Every time I close my eyes, she’s there. Her face swollen and gray, bloodshot eyes with a river of frozen tears, locked in death. I see her pointing accusingly, reaching for me. I beg and beg for forgiveness. But her horrifying form keeps coming until it consumes my mind, jolting me awake, gasping in the crushing darkness.
I deserve this. It’s my fault, like it always is. No matter how hard I try, I’m always the one who ruins things. Everyone always said so—my friends, my mother. Even my father knew to avoid me before he ever met me. It must be true because I’m always alone and abandoned.
Unfixable and broken.
There are two Lexies inside me: one is light, the other is darkness. One lies, and the other tells the truth. One pretends to be strong; the other knows she’s weak. Two sides that can nevercome together. So, I shift between them—up and down, like riding a rollercoaster that never stops.
“I am sofuckingsick and tired of your crying,” Sandra snaps from the corner, her voice brittle and raw. Even she hates me now—the meek, ginger mouse.
It’s okay. I hate myself, too.
My shoulders heave with silent sobs, but there are no tears left; I’ve already cried myself dry. Through a gap in my furs, I glimpse the hole in the ground that serves as our toilet. I almost laugh. It reminds me of myself. A dark, stinking abyss no one wants to be near.
“I am the toilet,” I murmur to myself, finding it strangely comforting.
“Toilet?” Sandra’s voice cuts through the cold. It’s raw from her own weeping, but laced with deserved venom. “No. You’re the shit that belongs in the toilet,” she spits.
If only I could flush myself away, down into that filthy vortex where I belong, marred in shit. I have nothing left—my clothes, my makeup, my life—all stripped away. But they were just lies, a pretty façade covering the real Lexie. Now there’s nowhere left to hide. Everyone has seen the real me—a crumpled, broken mess. There’s no dignity left. Dracoth and Sandra know exactly what I am: the lowest of the low.
“Nothing to say?” Sandra sneers. “Where’s that manipulative bitch from the showers?”
The showers... that’s right. I remember that moment, feeling so smug and clever over a childish game I won. Seems so farcical and pointless now. A tiny insignificant thing. Why did I do it? Just to get close to Dracoth? Crazy.
“I’m sorry, Sandra,” I whisper, my throat hoarse and dry.
Sandra snorts. Somehow, even that is laced with scorn. “Spare me your fake apologies. You’re only sorry because you’ve been exposed for the lying, manipulative bitch you are!” she shouts.
Her harsh voice is too abrasive, forcing me to cringe deeper into my furs that provide no comfort. Has this cell always been this cold? When did I last feel warmth? I have a vague memory of Dracoth carrying me, the heat from his crimson body filling me with pleasant heat. A stark contrast to his bitter words and brutal actions. He blames me, too. But they’re right, I could have stopped this.
“It’s my fault. All of it,” I mutter, my voice barely a whisper. I want Sandra to hate me. I want her to lash out, to tear me apart with the truth.
“Don’t,” Sandra snaps. “Don’t pretend you care. You think saying sorry and playing the victim makes it better? You think it’s going to bring Kazumi back? Or Carmen...” Her voice falters on Carmen’s name. “God... Carmen’s probably dead, too...”
I wish I could take it all back—the pain I’ve caused, the friends I betrayed, the lies, the games, the cheating. The countless little abuses—all of it. But none hold a candle to this... Why didn’t I just tell Dracoth? Or one of the mini-Dracoths? There were reasons, of course. At the time, they felt like reasons. Now, they seem so stupid, so naïve, crumbling to dust under the weight of what happened.
Carmen came to me, her face lit with excitement like a child on Christmas morning, happier than I’d ever seen her. I hoped she’d found some actual food other than the horrible jelly sticks. But, of course, the only thing that ever really pleased Carmen was thoughts of escaping.
She told me Kazumi had figured out the alien’s wrist device, that they’d already used it to open sealed areas. I looked at Kazumi, searching for any sign this was a joke, but she nodded, her face solemn and determined.
It got worse. Carmen explained she’d seen smaller ships docked on board, and she wanted to test if the alien device could operate them. I went with them, more out of concern thananything, trying to talk sense into them. But Carmen didn’t want to hear it, and I never imagined what would come next.
I should have walked away then, found Dracoth and told him everything. But I didn’t want to get them in trouble. Who knows what Dracoth would have done to them? The excuse dies in an instant under the brutal reality—nothing could have been worse than this. Dracoth might be a big, cruel bastard, but he’d never have cast us into space... not like this. Not like Kazumi.Fuck, I’m so sorry, Kazumi.I shudder at the memory, pulling the furs tighter around me.
So, I followed them to the docking area, hoping the wrist device wouldn’t work. But the massive door opened with a groan. Carmen wasted no time rushing to the strange ship. Her enthusiasm was a contrast to the dread creeping over me. Kazumi fiddled with the blue, glowing device and the ship spluttered to life.
I stood there in disbelief while Carmen practically danced with joy. Kazumi just stared at the ship, as quiet as always. Then Carmen urged us to get on board, insisting we could escape. I remember it so clearly... it’ll haunt me forever. We argued—the same tired arguments. What started as a test had turned into a desperate, half-baked escape plan. But Carmen wouldn’t listen; she only saw one thing—freedom. And so, I left them.
Left them to die.
