Hunger

Rory: The Missing

Somewhere along the way, I stopped dancing because I loved it and started dancing because I had to. It is the only way to exorcise my demons, the only way to atone for losing Seth, the only way to hurt myself. And everyone loves it.

Since that day at the fair when Seth disappeared, I have been busy reaching the peak of my performance, astonishing my teachers with my tremendous and uncharacteristic growth and fending off questions about what's changed in me. In three years I've gone from being a kid flirting with pointe shoes to what my instructor describes as a prima ballerina in the making, with a talent as rare as any of the greats who came before me. The compliments don't even touch me though. I can't feel them. I just keep going, keep dancing.

Though I gave up New York because my dreams vanished with Seth, I couldn't stop dancing because that's how I breathe. But I no longer strive to dance with breath-taking  angelic grace like Anna Pavlova or with manic passion like Gelsey Kirkland or even with supernatural fire like Misty Copeland. I dance with rage. When I dance, I am the darkness inside me. And oh how endless that darkness is, how rich its energy, how ferocious that beast. I can ride it forever.

"Rory-"

I turn my head away when he tries to kiss my mouth. Kyle. Yes, the same Kyle from that same day of all days. He has been there all along, so how can I let him go?

He's on top of me, and we are both drunk and fucking in the backseat of his brand new truck. It's gotten uncomfortable with my back pressed up against the knobby door and one leg stretched into the driver's seat, and I want it to be over even though we've only been going at it a minute or two. It sorta hurts despite the lubed condom because he didn't wait for me to get wet enough and never bothers with foreplay. My drunk head throbs.

But I love Kyle. I think.

No, I definitely do.

Probably.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm gonna..." He stops talking.

"You better be saying you're gonna come and not you're gonna puke!" I say, starting to panic.

He laughs. "Maybe both."

He does come then, and I sigh with relief that sounds like satisfaction, and I let him believe I enjoyed it. The second he gets off me he opens the door to puke. Ah, romance. I'm putting my bra back on when he finishes and closes the door.

"Rory?" he says.

"Hm?" I ask from underneath my t-shirt.

"I really didn't wanna do it like this..."

"What do you mean? You're the one who wanted to get laid and couldn't wait 'till we got to my house! Horny douchebag."

"Not that," he says, shaking his head.

"Then what?" I ask.

"I didn't want to break up with you like this."

The words hit my drunk head like an iron skillet. I go cold all over.

"What?" I whisper, so soft, like a candle flame blowing out.

"I haven't really been feeling it for a long time. I never see you. You're always dancing twenty-four-seven. Plus, I sorta... I kinda cheated on you. A month ago."

"A MONTH!" I shout, grabbing the door handle so I can escape.

We're parked in some wooded area I don't recognize, but I don't care. I have to get far, far away from him. I jump down from the truck and start to run through the woods with Kyle hot on my heels. Three years. I gave him my virginity. I gave him everything. Three years.

As I run I shout things like,

"WHO IS SHE?"

And,

"HOW COULD YOU?"

And,

"YOU USED ME!"

And,

"I HATE YOU!"

Then I trip on a big rock, fall to the ground and black out. Or I guess I do, because I wake up in my bed with a folded note on my stomach. It's still night outside, but when I look out the window above my head I see that Kyle's truck is not in the driveway. I read the first word of the note, which is a sloppily written apology from him, before crumpling it up and throwing it across my bedroom.

Everything that happened tonight from the stupid party to the bad sex to the run through the woods wells up inside me, and I start to sob, wrapping my arms around myself and rocking back and forth. This can't be real. Three years. I loved him. At least I think I did. And even if I didn't, he was always there. Always. Through the entire investigation, through my multiple meltdowns, through my father's icy silences. He was my rock. It feels like the floor under me has given way, and I'm just falling and falling and I never hit the bottom. There is no one to catch me.

The blue light from my open laptop creates shadows all over the floor. I drunkenly roll off the mattress and stumble over to it, desperate for any distraction.

Every night since Seth disappeared three years ago, I have done this ritual. One of the cops who was assigned to the case in the beginning suggested it so I could feel like I was doing something. Now, the case is considered a cold case, Seth is presumed dead, and that cop probably doesn't remember me. But still... I tell myself Seth's alive. I tell myself I would feel it if he was dead, like I felt it when Mom died of cancer ten years ago. It's a final feeling, an ending feeling. And I don't have that feeling when I think about Seth. Instead I have a feeling that's almost like hope, and I can't ignore it.

I scour the internet for information about missing people who have been found dead or unidentified. Because Seth isn't on his meds, there's a chance he could have had some kind of mental breakdown and won't remember who he is. But there's no luck here tonight. Usually the unidentified are just old homeless people who look crazy or skeletal junkies a day from death. No innocent little boy with big blue eyes.

Next I put in Seth's information on all the missing person's websites. Finally, I scroll through thousands of message boards, databases and pictures looking for hints, or anything that might lead me to him. First I check Texas, where I live, and then I check the four states that surround us: Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana and New Mexico. I used to check all the databases in the U.S., hour after hour and day after day, but the cop told me I was wasting my time because Seth was probably somewhere close. Dead. He didn't say that last part, but I know it's what he was thinking. What they all think.

Nothing tonight. I'm not surprised, but at least the distraction made me stop thinking about Kyle for a couple of hours.

Just as I lean back in my chair, preparing to cry some more, the page I'm looking at suddenly refreshes with two new entries from Oklahoma. Missing kids. I check out the pictures just in case, but neither of them is Seth. Instead it's a teenage boy with dark hair and a little girl with blond curls. Upon closer inspection I see that they share the same last name, and because I'm curious about that, I click for more information. Their names are Austin and Emmie Dolan. They were reported missing this morning. Last seen in a white van. Heading south down I-35. Heading here.