DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 8, AUTHOR'S NOTE - 2/5/15, 2:38pm

Okay, so at least now I know this computer is actually online, because I can see you guys commenting. So I guess there must be a satellite dish somewhere, probably powered by the generator I can hear. Thank you so much for everything you're saying. Each of your comments of support gives me a little jolt of hope, and I feel a little less alone.

Nothing's happened since my last post. At all. No one's come or gone through the driveway outside, and whatever house I'm locked in is still totally silent. It doesn't sound like anyone's here. If they are, they're not moving around, anyway.

Now that I've posted a description of where I am, I'm going to do my best to explain how I got here. Once that's all posted publically online too, then I can try to figure out what to do next. I have no idea what that will be, though, and I'm still totally confused about what's going on. I just have to take things one step at a time. I've promised myself that I'm going to be strong and get through this—whatever this is—and force myself not to think about how afraid I am.

So where do I start? I'd been living in LA for a while before all this happened, but I guess I have to go all the way back to the beginning for any of it to make sense...

Last year, I ran away from home. But if you're reading this you already know that, because I guess that's where my updates left off. So I might as well start there.

After I got to LA, for the first few weeks I lived with Kyle in a sublet in Pasadena. I think I'd mentioned that plan in one of my old updates? Well I ran out of money pretty fast, so I started working as a waitress at this restaurant in Malibu. It was really hard for me to be on my feet that long, even when I kept up with my medications. Luckily, though, they let me start working as a hostess instead. The tips were still really good, and I made enough to scrape by without quite maxing out my credit card.

Then Kyle finally started his classes at Cal Tech, and things got a little easier. You're not supposed to have guests in the dorms, but his three roommates turned out to be really cool. They didn't care if I stayed with Kyle in the dorm, as long as I kept my head down and avoided the RA. They even let me borrow their key cards to get in and out of the building.

It sounds like really cramped living, I know, but, honestly, it was the best time in my life. Sitting here now, in this room, I realize that I'd never been happier. Not even close, actually. Not even when I was a kid and my mom was around and everything was magical, and, you know, innocent. Kyle and I got used to sharing his little dorm bed, so I got to sleep next to him every night for months on end. He was always crazy busy with studying, but every day he made a little time for us to hang out. On weekends when I didn't have to work, sometimes we'd go camping up the coast, or maybe go to a club. When Kyle was in class, I spent a lot of time in Pasadena coffee shops just writing. And because I was taking a break from Dead in Bed, I made a huge amount of progress on a couple of new novels. Honestly, it was all, well, kinda unspeakably amazing to have the freedom to just go out to any coffee shop I wanted, order an espresso, and just get lost in my writing without my dad breathing down my neck. 

It was around that time, actually, when I stopped calling my dad altogether. He would only ever yell at me when I refused to tell him where I was, which of course I never did. I was absolutely certain that if I did tell him, he would come find me and try to force me to go home. He'd even threatened to get a private investigator a couple times. And there was no way I was going back home.

It wasn't always easy in LA, of course. Don't get me wrong. I was living illegally in a tiny dorm room. And sometimes Kyle and I would fight about stupid things. But, in the end, we always made up, and we even felt kind of closer afterwards. Sometimes my job was really hard, too. On some nights, taking the long bus ride home after a shift, I'd get these new types of aches all over my body that I hadn't ever felt before, even after they'd moved me to hostess.

But then I'd get back to the dorms, and there was Kyle, always, waiting for me. And we had this rich life together that I knew I wasn't ever going to give up. I would step in through the door, exhausted, and he'd be sitting in his bed with his laptop studying. I'd collapse beside his slim body, then he'd kiss me in that unique way that's his alone and put my hair behind my ear like he always does. I'd tell him about my writing, he'd tell me about his classes, and sometimes we'd just, you know, talk about anything for hours. Sometimes all night even. We talked about stuff like love, or different religions, or the huge expanse of the universe, or sometimes even about politics or gender that I never would have considered back at home. 

We started keeping his roommates up whispering at like four in the morning, so we devised this system where we could "tap" little messages to each other. He'd learned about Morse code in one of his Computer History classes, and we made up our own version where, late at night, we could rest our hands on each other's chest and tap our fingers to communicate. We couldn't exactly have in-depth conversations, but once we'd both memorized our made-up system of dots and dashes, it went almost as fast as texting. When we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer, Kyle would tap out, "s...l...e...e...p     t...i...t...e     l...u...v     u." And we'd drift to sleep.

I know these details don't really matter right now. I should just be sticking to the facts so I can get this posted as soon as possible. But it's actually really calming to write about Kyle like this, so I think it's okay to indulge myself just a little. Because oh my God I'm missing him so much. I just, I can't even describe it. I'd do anything—anything—if I could be with him right now.

But I really should get back to what happened. I guess I'm kind of dreading writing about it. I'll basically have to relive the whole thing all over again in order to explain it, and it's not going to be easy. But I know I have to do it.

So, okay. I'm going to post what I've written so far. Then I'm going to work myself up to describing the events that got me here. Wish me luck.

Bailey