Don't Worry Darling

Try and Try Again

Population Count: 106- 'Try and Try Again'

I have a chance to stop it. To stop my excruciating curiosity. But, I don't want to. I can't until I know what he does. The logistics are a bit tricky, however. I dare not try the desert again. If I had known any better, I would've thought it was a death trap. Which perhaps it was. catching a ride with his friend? Too obvious. Stealing his car? Too risky. Hiding in Jack's boot? Too...... that could work? Maybe I am crazy. Why do I need to know? It wouldn't kill me to be kept in the dark. Matter of factly, it could kill me to find out.

But I'm willing to risk it.

The next day, I wake up, just as the sun is starting to peak through from behind the horizon. I walk down to the kitchen in my lace nightdress and start making breakfast; fried eggs, streaky bacon, buttered sourdough bread, mushrooms and black coffee. His favourite. A few minutes later he comes down, half-woken but could potentially be sleep-walking. He cups my face and pecks my nose. He doesn't say anything for a few minutes, still stuck in adorable slumber. "Good morning sunshine." He mumbles, hiding his face in his arms shielding his precious eyes from the light as he perches on a barstool. I laugh at his obviously hungover state.

After breakfast, Jack pops in the shower and I start to make his lunch, devising the perfect time for my plan. Before he leaves he always goes to the bathroom to check his tie is perfectly double-Windsored then backs his car out of the drive. I greet him with a goodbye and he walks himself to the bathroom, just like clockwork. I take one last look in the mirror, with an expression as if to say, 'This is it.' I smooth the pleats of my pink dress and grab the nearest pair of shoes I can find; black stilettos. Of course.

I quickly run to the garage and open the boot only to be shocked by what I see. A bloodied crowbar lay casually on the jet-black felt lining. A solid lump forms in my throat and my body goes stiff. I force myself to lie in the boot, knowing this is my only chance today. I curl myself up into a ball, only just fitting into it. I try to stop the shakiness of my breathing and close my eyes. I hear Jack open the driver seat door and my breath hitches, paranoid of him hearing me. He starts the engine and puts a cassette in the holder and after the crackly static, a tune starts to play. A tinny version of 'Dream A Little Dream Of Me' by Doris Day. The speakers in the back seat creating an echoey reverb of the beginning instrumental.

I lie in my cramped space, eyes still closed. The twinkling of the soft piano keys chiming to the melody filling my ears, along with the occasional lyrics about sweet dreams that she sings. Most of the words I don't even hear because I've heard them so many times. Eventually, the car comes to a halt, pushing my face into the back of the leather seats. Ow. Jack opens the car door, gets out and slams it shut, making the whole car shake. The unique sound of his Oxfords clicking on the slate tiles as he departs and greets his colleagues. I know every intimate detail about him, from his favourite book to his favourite type of paper. Embossed off-white Ivory paper. And as for his shoes, I've heard the lecture about a million times. 'Oxfords not Brogues,' He would quote, to imprint it into my mind. We're given presentations on how to be good wives, not successful wives, good wives; obedient.

I stay for a few moments just to make sure, and then I pull back the boot cover and climb over the back seats. I kneel on the leather seats and push up the lock, looking around to see if anybody was there; the coast is clear. I push the door open and step out of the car. An unfamiliar view immerses me. A long driveway to my right, and the HeadQuarters to my left. I gasp, noticing how enticingly close I am to it. I've never ever, been this close. But it hits me, that I've been spending so long on figuring out how to get here, that I actually have no clue what to do when I am at HeadQuarters. I slowly move towards the reflective glass which looks like a two-way mirror; it can see you, but you can't see through it. Seven shatterproof panes of glass, nobody goes inside. Not even Jack. He says only Frank can go in there. Jack just works underground as a 'technical mechanic' building weaponry and ammunition. I think he's full of shi-

I peer through the glass, trying to see anything inside, but I can only see a smaller version of me in my pupil. I place my trembling hands on the glass. My palms start to glow a luminous red colour and heat up, my legs become weak. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor as my eyes glaze over, taking one last breath before it all goes....... black.