I sat in my bedroom that night, scratching at what I could reach of my itching broken leg and wishing that it was time to removing the cast. Surely my leg would have mouldered away underneath? Surely when we removed it we would find just dead, white flesh?
Doc was going to try and run away. I had forfeited my chance to see him, but I knew it was the right thing to do. After all, it would only make it harder. But could I live with myself if I never, ever saw him again? Could I live with myself if because of that we were forever parted. It would be too much to bear. I was sure that if it happened, I would not be able to live ...
But I couldn't see him. It would have broken us both.
Would he have been able to live with himself for not protecting me more if he saw me with the livid red and white scars across my stomach, legs and arms? Would he have been able to live with himself if he had seen the grazes on my face, the bruises on my back and the plaster cast on my leg? I knew the answer was no. And so it was right that I had abstained from seeing him.
We might never see each other again.
If he managed to run away, and I stayed behind ... well, my security would be doubled and that would be my hopes dashed. How would I ever get away? But if he failed in his attempt he would almost certainly be killed or at least tortured for his disobedience. Doc ... my Doc.
I have to see him. But I can't.
I called to Dr Jones. He came into my room -- he now slept just down the corridor, so that I was never alone for too long -- and knelt beside my bed. "I can't bear it," I said. "I don't want to think of him not managing it. Promise me, doctor, promise me that you'll help him in this attempt, whatever happens."
"Of course I will," he replied. Smoothing my hair away from my forehead, he added, "And we will get out of here too, don't worry about that." Then he left the room and I was alone with my thoughts once again.
If Doc died and I hadn't seen him ... I could talk him out of it. I could help him live through this ...
It was too late for that now. He was going to escape, no matter what I did about it. And if the Voices caught me with him, if I went to see him when it was not permitted, my own life would be at risk. Besides, what about my mother? She was waiting on Earth for me. She knew where I was.
She can help. I tried to comfort myself, but it wasn't working. She can help. She'll get me out of here. But how? The police were hardly likely to listen to a story of alien abductions and mysterious 'Management'. They'd think she was drunk, or worse, crazy. Perhaps they'd even send her to the Apollo.
I'm on my own here. But I will get out.