Forgetting Love

17

It's been about 3 or 4 weeks since the wedding I think. I'm not sure. I've lost track of time. Each day passes agonizingly slow. It's hard to believe my life, which had so much promise, has become this.

Nothing overly exciting has happened. I haven't left this room at all. I've learned to accept what happened to me, but that doesn't me it has stopped hurting. All I do is lay in the bed. Sometimes I'll get sick and go to the toilet again, but that's about it.

Chris and Joseph never found Isabel and the girls. That has to be a good sign. At least some people are safe off this floating prison. That almost makes me feel a little better. Almost.

Chris kept to his word. He hasn't come in at all unless to give me the food that I hardly eat. I still can't quite stomach it. He'll look at me longingly whenever we see each other, but we don't exchange words.

Today I'm feeling worse than usual. A constant pounding resonates in my head making life seem unbearable. It's kind of strange, though. I'm really hungry, but I'm afraid to eat because I really don't want to puke my guts out again.

I groan conflicted. Life just isn't fair.

About a week ago, my seasickness finally subsided. I had about a week that was as close as bliss that I could get because I could eat without the fear of puking everything back up. It was the most normal I felt being trapped in this room. Then yesterday, it somehow came back although it doesn't quite feel the same. When I smelled the eggs Chris brought me yesterday, my stomach did a twist, and I was sent running to the toilet. At least it's not a constant feeling anymore, I guess.

A knock on the door brings me out of my thoughts. It looks like I'll have to save that problem for later. I'm getting another thing to worry about I bet. Chris shouldn't be knocking right now.

The door opens and I'm right, Chris stands there empty handed. He looks at my breakfast that I hardly touched and frowns, like always. He sighs and looks back at me. "We need to talk."

I knew it. Bad news is heading my way. He's probably here to tell me that he is moving back in. This day had to be coming soon, I just didn't want it to be today. I haven't felt this bad in forever. "About?" I ask weakly.

I must look as bad as I feel because he asks concerned, "Morgan, are you feeling alright? You look like death."

"Thank you, just what every girl wants to hear," I say sarcastically, "Trust me, I don't feel much better," I mutter.

He looks at me warily. "It's probably because you aren't eating-"

"I am," I say cutting him off. "I just can't hold it down."

He still stares me down strangely, but says, "Ok, fine. Try to keep it down, please. You've been losing a lot of weight."

I shrug. Weight is the least of my worries right now. I look away from him. I hate his handsome face.

He is annoyed, but he brushes it off. I can tell he isn't looking for a fight. "Just get some rest then, ok?" He asks.

I nod, that was the plan anyways. "What did you need to tell me?" He obviously didn't come to tell me about how bad I look. He could've done that a couple weeks ago. There is something else on his mind. I can see it on his face.

He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm going to be gone for the rest of the day. I just wanted to let you know."

Gone? I keep repeating it in my head. Gone where? Off this boat? "What?" I ask confused. Why would be leave this boat? He knows he's wanted.

"I need to pick some things up," he replies vaguely.

Wait a second. He's leaving the boat... That means we are by land. Freedom. Life.