The moment I wake up, it feels as though something awful is lurking in the pit of my stomach.

I stay paralyzed for a moment in the folds of my duvet, eyes squeezed shut. It feels as if I might never get out of this bed, as if my body is destined to be imprinted on this mattress for the rest of my life.

No. My world might be breaking into a million pieces, but this isn't the end. Crystal may be gone, but I can't let myself suffer the same fate. I have to push down the fear and the pain and I have to be strong.

Valerie doesn't mention Crystal's death when she visits, which only further strengthens my hatred for this place; it's clear to me now that we don't mean a thing to these trainers. Maybe we never did.

I spend the time before opening swimming laps in the pool, almost able to taste my freedom on the tip of my tongue. I don't quite know what it will feel like or how it will be, but I can sense it lurking just within my grasp, waiting for me to reach out and take it.

Or maybe it is just wishful thinking. Maybe I am no freer than I was yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that.

Guilt stirs in my chest every time I look at Asia or Jewel, but I tell myself there's nothing I can do for them trapped in here, that I can only get them out once I'm free on the outside. It does little to make myself feel better, and as the morning stretches on, I begin to doubt myself.

"Everything all right?" Asia asks once I break the surface, her thick eyebrows pulled together with concern. She has always had a knack for knowing when something is wrong, but confiding in her about Crystal's death would be too cruel. I can't inflict that kind of pain–that kind of heartbreak–and then just leave her behind.

"I'm fine," I say, but the words come out breathless, causing Asia to tilt her head.

"I know when you're lying, you know," she says.

"How do you know?"

She smiles slightly. "The same way I know your favorite animal's a bird, or that you hum to yourself when you think no one is listening. Also, because you're a really bad liar."

I take a moment to study her face, tracing her prominent cheekbones and small, curved nose with my gaze. That same cheeky smile still plays on her lips, but I don't smile back. I am too busy trying to remember her this way–warm and loving and alive.

"How do you choose between two things you need the most?" I ask, acutely aware of the guests beginning to swarm the enclosure.

Asia tilts her head again, searching my eyes for the source of such an ambiguous question. "Well," she says after a moment's pause, "you ask yourself which one you couldn't live without."

I study her for a second longer, my heart tearing at the seams. This is my chance to back out; to choose the people I love over freedom. But instead, I turn to face the guests, ready to play my part one last time.

I spend the majority of the morning floating at the bottom of the enclosure, knowing it is easier to conceal my emotions when the guests can't see any evidence of tears.

At one P.M, the girls and I line up in the main enclosure for the Dining Experience, where it dawns on me that this is where it all started. This Dining Experience. Crystal's defiance. This is the moment Crystal decided she was going to kill Alison, and ever since then we've been living in a tsunami, trying to keep our heads above the water or risk being lost in the waves.

I look to the spot next to Asia, where Crystal used to hover and where Muriel Two now resides. Her oval face seems to blur out of focus, her features replaced with Crystal's softer ones, causing my stomach to lurch. I want to reach out, to touch her one last time, but our trainer's voice breaks through the moment, pushing the memory of Crystal away.

During the routine, I am a jumble of emotions, all of which fight for a spot at the front of my mind. It means my flips are out of sync by a mere few seconds, but they are seconds my trainer will notice. During my break, I'll be expected to go over my routine again until I get it right. It means I won't have a chance to follow through with Reece's plan, and all of my preparing, all of my dreaming, has been for nothing.

After the performance, we're each given a small, yellow ring and then it is back to waving and smiling at the guests, whose eyes stay glued to the enclosure's glass for the day's entirety.

I hover before them, staring out at their looming faces with a heaviness in my chest. I was supposed to be one of you, I think, resting my palm against the cool, hard glass. I was supposed to be free.

A little boy moves toward the window, resting his own palm over mine. He is small and wiry, with thick blond hair, a pointy, upturned nose and round cheeks the same color as the pink blossoms near the plunge pool.

I study him for a moment, wondering why it is that he is on the other side of this glass, but I'm not. Why he got to be born with freedom, but I didn't.

Help me, I want to scream. Please help me! Instead, the little boy drags his palm down the glass before disappearing into the crowd.

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