Silent Child(102)

He’s changed too. He looks at me differently. He doesn’t do the stuff he used to. He says I’m getting big and that I look all wrong. He mumbles to himself about being tired when he thinks I’m not listening. He looks tired. I don’t think he likes keeping me a secret anymore. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll just never come back. Then I’ll run out of food, water, electricity, water… I’ll die.

There were times when I thought it might be nice to die. At least then I might get to go somewhere else. But I don’t know for sure, so I decided not to. I might one day get out of my cage, but I might not go anywhere when I die, so it seemed too risky.

It’s 9:15. This is it. He’s never coming back. I’ve almost run out of food and I’m cold. My shirts and jumpers are all too small for me. The nights are colder lately. Maybe that means winter. I remember winter outside the bunker. I remember making a snowman and throwing snowballs. Sometimes he shows me movies on his phone. I like the Christmas movies the best. I like watching the happy families making snowmen and snow angels. But they make me cold so I only watch them when it’s warm in the bunker.

I walk back and forth in my cage trying to keep warm. I press the button on my LED light. On. Off. On. Off.

Thu-thunk.

The first door.

A scrape.

The key.

The door opens.

He’s here.

“Hiya, mate. Sorry I’m late.”

He’s always friendly like that. I don’t talk back.

“I brought you a treat. Pizza.” He grins at me.

I don’t want it to, but my mouth waters. I’m so hungry my tummy hurts.

“It’s a bit cold. It’s a walk from the car to get to here. Should’ve built this place closer.”

He always complains. Especially when he has to fill up the water tank.

“How you doing, mate? You look cold. You should wrap up in the duvet when you’re cold.”

There’s something wrong. He’s avoiding my eye and I don’t know why. He’s never brought pizza to the cage before. Why is he doing this? I stare hungrily at the pizza. I cross my arms and try to figure out why something feels wrong.

“Want to come out here and eat?” he asks.

I nod.

He puts the pizza box on the table and reaches into his pocket for the key. His fingers are shaking. Why is he trembling like he’s scared? He never has been before. Not even right at the beginning. It always frightens me that he’s so calm and in control. I never liked that. It used to make me think about what else he could do. What was he capable of? I decided he was capable of anything very early on and that was why I did everything he told me to do, no matter what.

It takes him a few attempts to unlock the cage door. He’s fumbling with his keys. He keeps his head angled away from me. I stand away like I always do. I’m not allowed near the door to my cage. I have to keep my hands out in front of me where he can see them, otherwise he’s forced to hurt me like he did the time he stamped on my ankle. Or he tells me he’ll put me back in the shackles like at the beginning.

“Stay there, Aiden,” he says in a croaky voice. “Wait at the back for a moment.”

It doesn’t feel right. He’s different today. I’ve been wondering for a while whether he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s been struggling to make a decision. Now, watching him, it seems to me that he’s made a decision and it isn’t a good one. It isn’t a decision like whether to eat pizza or Chinese takeaway, it’s something horrible. I can feel it. My insides are all squirmy, like they’re moving. I’m not hungry anymore. I just want to throw up.

The door swings open and he stands there looking at me. There are tears in his eyes.

“You’re a good boy, Aiden. You’ve always been a good boy. We’ve loved each other, haven’t we? You’ve loved me? I love you?”

I don’t answer. I’m not sure I know what love is anymore. I don’t think it’s this, though. I don’t think love should make you feel dirty like I do now.

He takes a step back, with his eyes all shiny and wet. He’s looking at me now. He won’t stop looking at me. His arm reaches back behind him and his fingers fumble with the pizza box.

I don’t think there’s pizza in there.

The lid flips open and he grabs the wooden bat inside, like the kind I used to play sports with. Rounders. That’s what it was called. We ran to bases after hitting the ball with the bat. I was always good, I got picked first. I cower away from him. That squirming feeling in my tummy is gone, instead I feel like a large, cold hand is gripping my stomach, squeezing tighter and tighter.