Day 263 - Eighteen Years of Celibacy

 Eighteen Years of Celibacy

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

It had been eighteen years. Maybe. Molly couldn’t exactly tell. The days blurred and merged and she had lost count at some point that seemed like a lifetime ago. Of course, it wasn’t really years. Or lifetimes. It was a trick. An illusion. Something the spell had conjured up to keep her busy. Still, the days felt real, even if she was pretty sure they weren’t.

Jermaine was out there somewhere. She hoped. She prayed. Somewhere. Maybe he was trapped too. What would his loop be, she wondered. Had he figured it out? Or was he still repeating time, blissfully unaware? Maybe he had escaped. Maybe he was on his way to find her right now.

What would she tell him, she wondered. She had been unfaithful. So many times. For years and years. But if none of this was real, then did it really happen? If this were in her imagination, then it was as harmless as a dream. But the spell had given her a life to live. She had no idea how many days or weeks she had been in this life. If any of it was reality or if she were in a trance somewhere. Days and weeks and years here could be seconds there.

Jermaine would never understand. Even if he had done things in his looped existence. He’d never understand her choices and he’d never forgive himself whatever he had done. He took everything too seriously. There would be no arguing with that.

A year in the life, over and over. A daily routine, but a life. And life was meant to be lived. And she hadn’t remembered herself, let alone anyone else. Not at first. Not when it began. Who was she to not fall in love, to not embrace opportunity. She thought she was living her life after all.

One day she thought she heard a voice. “Molly, Trent, Jermaine, Mike.”

She thought she knew the voice, but didn’t recognize it. She was sure she knew it.

She was, of course, worried at the fact that she was hearing voices.

But then it faded and she went about her business.

But the seed had been planted. Deep down. Her subconscious went to work. She didn’t recognize the names, but she knew them. There was a hidden truth somewhere deep down.

After who knows how long, she realized the voice was from someone she knew. And that she was Molly. One day she woke up and knew it. In her bones. Her name was Molly. Despite everything she had thought for her entire life. Of course, she slowly came to understand that what she thought of as her entire life was nothing more than a yearlong loop, she had been trapped in by some renegade spell. That took some time getting used to.

Derrick was out there. He was trying to find her.

One day things felt strange and she met a man named Jermaine and Molly realized that was her husband’s name. This man was not her husband, but she knew the name and knew he was out there.

The pieces came together slowly.

How many years had she been here? 1000? 10,000? She had no idea. They all blended together. The years, the faces, the times, the activities. Once upon a time she had need of a perfect memory. Now she had to focus. Focus on each and every individual.

The year repeated. But she remembered.

She couldn’t sleep with anyone else now, now that she knew her husband was out there, somewhere.

Eighteen years of penance for what she had done.

Now, she paid the penalty of some puritanical self-restraint and ascetic abstinence. As a favor to herself. She didn’t know if these other people were real or not, so perhaps as a favor to them too. And in some small way as a favor to Jermaine, so she could tell him she tried if she ever saw him again.

Perhaps eighteen years wasn’t long enough. She had lost her virginity at eighteen. Molly thought that perhaps eighteen years of celibacy might break the loop. But it seemed to start over and over and over again until she lost all perspective on how many years it had actually been.

It blurred. 1000 years or more and memory faded. But the loops remained. It was frustrating. The solitude was driving her mad. The knowledge of the outside world was driving her mad. If Derrick or Jermaine were out there, why weren’t they sending any more messages.

“Molly, Trent, Jermaine, Mike.”

The voice had said it countless times. Like a mantra. But where was he? Where were they?

Maybe she was meant to suffer forever for the things she had done.

Wallow in self-pity or find her own way out? That was the choice. Someone had sent her a message. Maybe she could send them one back.

Molly began to whisper Jermaine’s name. Over and over again. She prayed he was listening.