Page 31 of Our Little Dove

Molly takes a deep breath and clears her throat, her fingers twisting nervously in front of her. “I—I need to tell you something,” she begins, her words coming out in a panicked rush.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I remain silent as I wait for her to get to the point. I don’t feel like seeing her or anyone. All I want is to find the masked men who turned my world upside down.

“I filled out a consent form, sort of, for the… the fake kidnapping thing. I didn’t want to mention it in front of Joel, but I just… I had to tell you. I am so fucking sorry! I feel like it was my fault.”

My blood runs cold at her confession.

Are you fucking kidding me? A consent form?

Anger surges within me, threatening to spill over.

“You did what? What are you talking about? You said you didn’t arrange anything! What fucking consent form?!” I demand, my voice rising with each word.

She flinches at my tone, but her eyes flash with a hint of defiance. “I emailed the company to arrange the kidnapping for you and they sent over a form, they said it was a formality and I had to fill it out on your behalf since it was going to be your experience. They assured me that the information would be safe,and they only needed it to match you with the best actor for your personalized experience.”

I stare at her without uttering a word as I try to process her confession. She gave them my personal information.

How else would they know my name, where I live, what my number is, or even where I fucking shop for groceries?

My expression turns to a scowl as I watch her, my mind reeling.

“I know, okay? I know it was stupid,” she retorts, her voice shaking with emotion. “But I’ve been feeling guilty for two weeks, and you… you refused to text me back or return my calls, so I decided to come over.”

Tears well up in her eyes, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I just needed to tell you.”

Silence descends upon us, heavy and suffocating. I take a deep breath, my anger gradually dissipating as I realize she might be able to help me find them.

“I appreciate you telling me,” I say finally, my voice clipped. “I need you to give me the web address and forward all the emails you sent them. Promise me.”

Molly nods, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Sure, I-I promise,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “Will you ever tell me what happened that night?”

“I don’t know, Molly. Listen, I have work in the morning. Tell Joel I’m fine and send me everything ASAP,” I say coldly as I open the front door and step aside, waiting for her to leave my house before I have a complete meltdown.

She sighs, nods her understanding, and steps toward me, giving me a one-armed, unreciprocated hug as she steps outside and starts walking toward her car parked behind mine in the driveway.

I should get some rest. Tomorrow is another day of working with unoriginal people who are seemingly never satisfied with whatever designs they get. I know my day will probably be bleak at best. Hopefully, the tedious coding and mindless design work will offer me some respite from my dark thoughts.

Earlier today I had to meet with a client regarding the webpage I have been designing for her. She has a dog bakery downtown and is quickly becoming one of the pickiest clients I’ve worked with.

She refuses to schedule online meetings and insists at least once a week that I meet her at the bakery. It’s exhausting hearing her lists of everything she wants to change each time we talk and honestly, how complicated does she want this thing to be?

Newsflash, Karen, it’s a bakery for dogs; not a high-end online fashion conglomerate! Whatever happened to keeping websites simple and easy to navigate?

I grip the steering wheel tightly, letting the music inside the car pulse through my veins and drown out the noise of the outside world. Each note feels like a lifeline, tethering me to some semblance of sanity in the chaos of my mind.

“Body bag” by REI AMI blares relentlessly in my car as I make my way home from the soul-crushing day with“Karen, the bitchy baker”.Music has become my anchor, the only thing that can pierce through the thick fog of numbness that surrounds me. Without it, I’m just a hollow shell, drifting aimlessly through existence.

But no matter how high I crank up the volume, I can’t escape the overwhelming sense of misery that weighs me down. Each traffic light I pass feels like a cruel reminder of the endless monotony of my days, trapped in a never-ending cycle of work, sleep, and emptiness sincetheytook me.

I haven’t felt…alive since that night.

As I cling to the comforting embrace of each note that blares through the speakers as I shuffle through my playlist, I can’t shake the gnawing hunger for something more, something real.

The faceless men who stole the vibrance from my soul.

As I pull into the driveway of the place I call home, I kill the ignition and the music fades into silence, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

The crushing weight of loneliness settles over me like a heavy blanket, suffocating any flicker of hope that dares to ignite within me but the fiery inferno of the need to findthemgrows with every beat of my heart.

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