Quarantine ended not long after that. We had all day to leave, but I wanted to go as soon as possible, so I bolted for the exit as soon as the lights came on and the doors unlocked.

But of course, Ayer caught me right as I was about to leave. I'd expected them to be one to sleep in, but I guess I was wrong. They didn't mention my hand, and neither did I. They talked about work, I nodded and occasionally responded. "Yea," "Sure," "Nope," "Alright." A light headache in the background, a dizzy spell partway through.

It was tiring to be Io back then. I just wanted to go back to my apartment and be alone. Take a nap. Go to sleep.

But would resting help me? Would my apartment really be any better? Would it cast away this empty feeling, would it make it stop?

It was so tiring. I just wanted to be alone. But as much as I wanted to be left alone, I was still lonely, still empty, still looking for something to help me out of the quicksand of exhaustion I was convinced I was in. That's why I knew I had to leave quickly. I knew it was starting to get to me.

We ended up leaving at the same time. I tried to walk fast, to leave them behind no matter how rude it was, but they kept up. No matter how many crowds of people I weaved through or families I shoved past, they managed to keep up.

Looking back now, I wish I'd slowed down. It must have been so much work for them to keep up. I shouldn't have been walking so fast, they must have been exhausted. It wouldn't have changed anything for me no matter how fast I walked. I could have made things easier for them.

Or maybe I should have sprinted. They wouldn't have been able to catch me then. I should have made sure they couldn't catch me. Or turned around and made it clear I wanted nothing to do with them. That would have been better.

But I didn't do either of those things. I just walked, and they kept up, and we made it to the elevators at the same time, and we both managed to fit all our luggage into the same one.

I was trying to edge into a corner, taking out a pack of cards from my bag to keep myself busy with for the next few minutes, when I somehow got my injured hand pinched between my suitcase and the wall. I cursed, and dropped the deck of cards on the floor.

Quickly I swooped down to pick it up, but ended up just slamming my head against the wall in the process, and fell backwards into the other wall behind me. My helmet took most of the damage, but I was still stunned for a brief moment, and had to sit there for a second to register what had just happened.

"Woah, are you alright? Here, let me help you up. Thank god your cards were still in their case, or they would have scattered everywhere."

Ayer made their way through the mess of luggage and helped me to my feet, while I muttered an apology.

"Don't be sorry, I'm not the one whose head you just slammed into a wall. You've been having a pretty decent unlucky streak. I hope that wasn't the hand that got, uh, cut the other day."

"It wasn't." I lied, raising my hand to check my head for a bump only to realize I had my helmet on.

"That's good." They said. I just nodded.

It was quiet for a moment. I was fighting back the urge to nurse my hand, not wanting them to know that what I said was a lie. I wanted them to just walk back to their side of the elevator, to leave me to stand in silence for the rest of the ride then say goodbye when we hit the ground.

I didn't want to talk to them. I didn't want to be friends. I didn't want them to know anything about me other than Io.

But I'm not Io. And I shouldn't have even tried to be.

"Hey," They said suddenly, and I froze, shaken out of my thoughts. "I kinda wanna ask you something. It might be none of my business, but something just kinda seems off. Like, I don't know. Is there something going on with you? Are you sure you're okay?"

I processed, then nodded. "Yea. I'm all good. Just tired." I smiled to try and seem more convincing, but again remembered the helmet, and let it drop.

"That's good, but just so you know, if you're having trouble with something, I'm usually free. Don't have much going on right now, so just tell me if you need help with anything."

I need help. I need help, I need to get out here, I need to go home, I need to feel better, I need to escape, this place is terrifying and not home and I can't be here and it's all gonna fall apart and crush me and I'll be stuck here forever and it's never gonna get better and you can't help me and it's not gonna stop.

I could have said all that. Spat it out right then and there, vomited the whole rambling mess all over them, but what good would that have done? It wouldn't have helped anything. I thought I knew that.

So I just nodded, grateful I had my helmet on. I could feel myself wanting to cry. It hurt to not say anything. They were nice. We were sort of becoming friends. Part of me felt guilty for lying to them, the guilt I hadn't felt for anyone else because I didn't know them, they weren't real to me, but now someone was real, and I knew them, and I wanted them to know me despite knowing that it would be so much better if they didn't.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell them something, not even something great or big, just something true. I was alone inside Io, the me that I had so carefully hidden behind her was isolated from everything and it hurt, and I wanted it to stop hurting. I wanted to not be alone, I wasn't strong enough to be on my own, even when I knew it would be stupid to be anything else.

I was stupid. I wanted to say something, anything, just to not feel alone, just to have someone know something true, even if it was small, so ignorant of how one true thing turns to another, and then another, and then snowballs into a hole of truth 6 feet deep that you can't crawl out of.

"I miss the stars." I ended up saying.

I could feel my voice crack as I said it, I could feel my eyes water at the forced acceptance of something that comes with saying it out loud, I could feel the fear of what consequences would come from that one little inch of truth.

I couldn't feel the relief. I didn't realize it then, but looking back now there was no relief at saying that piece of truth. It just hurt. It hurt because I missed the stars. It hurt because I missed the world that was under those stars. It hurt because I missed the life I had in that world. And it hurt because I knew that there was no real reason for me to say what I just said, I was just complaining, burdening another with my problems as I always did.

They paused for a moment. I remember they once said they didn't actually expect me to say anything. They had such great expectations of me, even then. They thought I would be so much stronger than I am. How could they think otherwise though? They only knew Io, and Io really was strong. I just wasn't very good at being Io.

It was quiet for another moment, before they asked, "Really?"

And I nodded, because I couldn't let myself speak, and because I was inches from crying and didn't want to cross that line.

It was quiet for a bit longer. I wish they'd laughed at me. Said the stars were stupid, mocked me for missing them, brushed it off like what I'd said was unimportant and not the only truth I'd ever said to them.

But they didn't. They didn't make me regret trusting them. They didn't push me away. And I shouldn't have expected them to. I never should have said anything in the first place, I never should have told them about the stars, I never should have accepted quarantine in the first place, but I did. And I regret it. I really do.

Because after that silence, after that moment of hurt after admitting to both myself and them that I missed the stars, they said to me,

"Do you want me to take you to go see them?"

And I said sure.

I knew how much the hope would hurt, but still, I said sure.

They told me they could show me how to see them, after we dropped our luggage off. They told me it wasn't difficult, wasn't far. They told me to meet them at a spot on a different bridge in a half hour.

And I said sure.

And when the elevator hit the ground and we both walked off in our own directions, I felt a series of nauseating twists in my stomach.

I was shocked. I didn't think my stars would still be around.

I was excited. Because I was going to see them all again.

I was sick. Because that's all I really was in this world.

I was nervous. Because even then I knew I made a mistake.

And I was horrified.

Because suddenly it was real again.

Suddenly I remembered just how much I missed seeing the stars.

How much I missed looking into the sky and knowing they'd always be there. I missed them. I really did.

I missed looking at the moon, Earth's moon, and really seeing it, bright and clear, and not broken lights with no meaning or structure.

I missed pointing out the constellations to my brother, and learning about new ones in the books my sister would buy me.

I missed drawing my own constellations in the dirt and imagining waking up one night and seeing them in the sky, and knowing I'd left my mark on the world I cared about so much.

I used to love the stars.

They used to be so beautiful.

They used to make me feel invincible, immortal, like I was a part of the world around me, even if I was small.

I wanted to see them again. I wanted to see the stars I recognized.

I wanted to feel like I was home again. Like I was in a world I belonged in.

If only for a moment, I wanted to see my stars.

I was hopeful, later that day when Ayer took me to go see them. I was so excited. I didn't let it show of course, I wasn't bouncing up and down or talking excessively or smiling nonstop, not like I used to. I walked normally, with my helmet on, saying nothing more than what Io said. But I was excited. I could feel it in my gut, in the same way I felt my nerves, that electrifying feeling that jittered and buzzed inside me.

I was nervous too of course. Ayer explained that to see the stars on this planet you had to go in one of the taller buildings and on the tallest levels, past the layer of dust embedded in its atmosphere, into an area that's mere moments away from open space.

I fully expected these levels to be locked away, only available to those who were willing to pay exceedingly high prices for the luxury of seeing the stars. To my surprise though, it was free.

The elevator ride was long and quiet. For me, at least. Ayer once said Io was talking, but I was stuck in my head. I couldn't think of anything but stars. My stars.

I remember I was so terrified, so certain, that I'd get up there, look out at the stars, and see nothing familiar. That every single star I'd ever known would be gone. Lost to time.

Part of me really wanted to believe that. To fully expect to arrive up there and see something completely unfamiliar. So when it happened I'd expect it. It wouldn't be so sudden. So shocking.

It didn't work though. I really tried to make it easier, I really did.

It doesn't matter. And I guess it didn't then either. I just wanted to see my stars. That's all I wanted.

I remember the feeling of going up those last few levels. I was beginning to get claustrophobic in that elevator. Now that I think about it, I think that's where it started. I don't remember being claustrophobic before then. Maybe I'm not now. I don't know. I just know that I felt sick. Not nauseous, but something like dread. Dread that I was going to see fake stars. Wrong stars.

There was no line, like I'd expected. No ticket. No walls. No setup.

The elevator doors opened, and in front of me was a garden. No, a park. With plants and chairs and tables, and couples watching children roam around, and food and games and people just enjoying the scenery and the company, and a big glass roof that gave way to empty space.

I remember standing there, staring at all those happy people, watching as they enjoyed their day, not a care in the world. I stared at that awful mirage, so familiar and yet so wrong.

And then I looked up.

And the roof was made of glass.

...

I walked forward, then looked up again.

Forward. Farther into the park.

...

Farther, farther.

...

Looking for a new perspective, new lighting, an optical illusion, anything to change what I was seeing in front of me.

...

There were still stars.

Stars.

Fake stars.

Perfect.

Empty.

Fake.

Stars.

Wrong stars. Broken stars. Twisted stars, future stars.

Every kind of star but my own.

I stared at them. I blinked. I kept staring. I turned my head, stepped back, stepped forward, tried to rub my eyes but just punched my helmet.

It was a punch to the gut. One I fully expected, one I had already been so certain of. One I had told myself over and over that I was prepared for. One I had demanded I fully expect, one I had worked so hard to fully believe with every nerve in my being.

So why did it catch me off guard? Why was it such a painful, sudden shock, when it was something I'd worked so hard to believe was a guarantee?

I should have known then, should have seen what was in my face, that I just wasn't enough. That even when I was prepared, even when I braced myself, steadied myself, did everything I could to hold myself in place, that this world would always have the strength to throw me into the wall.

But I didn't. I didn't want to face it. I guess I was too scared. I didn't want it to be like this. I was actually afraid of this. But I had to face it eventually.

This world does not have my stars.

I should have known that from the very beginning. I should have accepted it long before I was forced to. I should have ignored Ayer's offer, and just focused on getting home.

But I looked at the stars. And they looked back at me. And neither side recognized the other.

Ayer said I stood there for a second, just staring, just standing there, stone-still.

I felt numb. I couldn't breathe. It somehow still hurt a lot.

Then it hit me. A lot of things hit me, but one thing hit first.

I was thousands of floors high.

No. It had to be more.

I was in space.

I was in space.

I was falling through empty space.

Surrounded by nothing. No Earth beneath me. No stars above me.

I was falling, and there was no ground for me to hit, just endless falling, but I wasn't even falling downwards, there was no gravity, I was falling up down left right forward and backwards, ending up unable to move a single inch.

I felt like I did the first day I came here. Like I was drowning again. But this time instead of drowning in a sea of people, I was drowning in a sea of stars.

I used to love the stars.

They used to be so beautiful.

But at that moment when I looked at the stars, I'd never felt more distant.

More twisted.

Like something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong, that could never be fixed, never be undone.

These stars were not my own stars. These were not the stars I grew up with. They were not the ones that comforted me through my dark nights and that stuck by me when everything fell apart.

All my life I'd always found comfort in the fact that the stars would always be there for me. Even if my entire world were to collapse upon itself, the stars would always be there, as would the moon be, and the sun, and the ground beneath my feet.

No matter what, I could look up at night and know the stars are looking back at me, urging me forward, promising a bright future no matter how dark the night.

But now even my stars are gone.

Their absence left a hollow space in my gut. Like a stab wound. Or is that too dramatic? It doesn't matter.

There were few things I completely trusted in my life.

I did not always trust that my family or friends would be there for me when I needed them.

I did not always trust that when I went to bed at night, I would wake up the next morning.

I did not always trust that when I took a breath, it would be fresh air that entered my lungs.

But never, not even once, did I doubt the sky.

How could you? How could you doubt a being that was there thousands of years before you, and would be there thousands of years after you'd gone? You can't doubt something like that. They were as close to forever as I needed.

But now even that is gone.

How was I supposed to keep going when even the sky had betrayed me?

How was I supposed to trust the ground beneath my feet while I was still falling?

How was I supposed to trust the air in my lungs when I was slowly suffocating?

I couldn't breathe. I must have made a sort of strangled noise, because Ayer stepped forward.

"You good? You sound like you're choking?"

I didn't know how much time had passed. It felt like an hour. I was later told it was just a few seconds.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think or move or blink or do anything, all I could do was stand there as the sky crushed me.

"Hey, really, Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

I had to breathe. I had to breathe.

I took a sharp breath in, and it came out as a sob.

Then I was crying. Crying and breathing. My lungs were burning and my head felt dizzy, and at the moment I couldn't even comprehend what I was doing and how much I would hate myself for it, I was just crying.

I hit the mute button on the helmet. Not quick enough, though. Of course.

Ayer was saying something I think, someone stopped and asked them something I couldn't hear. Probably what the hell was wrong with me. I'm sure I looked like a fool.

I tried to hide my face with my arms, to wipe my eyes and try to stop crying, but there was nothing I could do.

I wanted so badly to hide, to escape, to disappear, to stop feeling that panic, to do something, anything, to stop feeling that icy drowning feeling. I started to back away, started to break into a run like I did before.

"Hold up, wait, where are you going? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Ayer moved to block me, and raised their hands to keep me from moving past them. "What happened? Hold up, just wait a day, I'll, I dunno, do you want some water? Some, some, maybe a blanket? Are you okay?"

I just kept crying, kept shaking my head, trying to walk away, trying to leave. I could hear them talking now, I can remember what they were saying. I could hear people around us talking too, but their words were blurry, like someone was holding me underwater. God I must have looked so stupid. At least I had my helmet on. I can thank Io for that.

Ayer kept trying to calm me down, to find out what was wrong. They always tried so hard to help me, even when they didn't have a clue what to do. They were so nice to me, and what did I do? I kept standing there, crying, unable to say a word or to stop for even a bit. They always tried so hard.

"Okay, okay, let's um, do you want to go somewhere? Let's... let's leave this place..."

I followed them as they guided me away from the glass ceiling, deeper into the building we were in, avoiding the more crowded hallways, until we ended up in an empty stairwell a few floors down. I sat by the wall, putting my head down against my knees to hide my face like I did in that alleyway, and cried.

I hadn't cried like that since the day I got here. I was so focused on being Io, being strong, being confident and determined to get home, I had myself convinced I'd be able to get through it all without breaking down. But of course I waa going to. I couldn't stop my mind from running, from spinning back and forth between what I feared and what I knew, so quickly that every line between them was effortlessly blurred.

I couldn't stop thinking about how different this world was. How far from home I really was.

I was on another planet. An alien planet. These people, everyone around me, they were probably born on this planet. Did that make them aliens? I didn't know. I loved stars, not planets, and I loved science, not sci-fi.

There was no grass here. No yards. No houses, no buildings less than a hundred stories. No plants, no flowers, how was there oxygen? How could people breathe? Was there an air purifier? A big machine somewhere that made this planet habitable? Who controlled that machine? Who kept it running?

I shivered at the thought of it. If someone were to sabotage a machine like that, it would kill everyone on this planet. Or if it were to break down, what if no one was able to fix it in time? What then? Were there evacuation plans? Were people prepared for something like that? I would have had no idea what to do. I would get lost, crushed under people fleeing this planet and its failing air. I would die here, I'd never get home.

It was scary. I didn't want to die here. I didn't want to consider that maybe I'd never see home again, never get to do all the things I wanted to do.

I never wanted to die. I was scared. I wanted to live, even if it meant I'd have to stay in this world a little longer.

I was always so scared. That same ice, the kind I could never shake away. Even on days where I just stayed in my apartment, didn't look out the window, didn't work towards finding a way home, I could still feel that ice. Sometimes I'd be fine, busying myself with a card game or a puzzle, killing time until work or research, and then it'd be there, inching its way into my gut, chilling me in a way that seemed to be the most familiar thing this world had to offer.

And then sometimes it hit me harder, and left me crying against the wall, almost shaking and trying desperately to hold still, to calm down, to somehow wake up and break myself out of that ice.

I could never do it though. All I could do was sit there and wait for it to pass, wait for it to stop hurting. Ayer was helpless too. They just sat there against the other wall, occasionally shifting around a bit, just waiting for me. It must have been so boring for them, such a pain for them to have to sit in a cold stairwell and wait for me to cry myself out. We went to that place to see the stars, they seemed so excited to show them to me, and I ended up ruining it for them and making them have to walk me down to an empty stairwell and sit me down to cry.

How childish I was. How tedious it must have been.

Did I really ever think I could change?