Day 174

He is crying in his bedroom closet, curled up and hugging himself, unable to stop the tears. He hurts all over, is sore all over, and the cut on his shoulder burns, and his face stings, and his mouth tastes like blood from where he’d bitten himself by accident, the taste strong and metallic, making him wish he could throw up…. But he is too scared to move, too scared to make a sound….

He is locked in; his door has no lock, not even a button on the handle, just a tiny hole, but his dad jabbed a screwdriver into the hole that made the handle impossible to turn. He is trapped. And he is hungry, so hungry that he feels sick; and yet the thought of food, the thought of his dinner that he watched his father throw into the trash, only makes him feel worse.

Why is this happening again? He thought it wouldn’t…he thought people weren’t supposed to hurt him…it felt wrong, he wasn’t supposed to…. But what could he do? The fear was so much worse because he didn’t know what to do about it….

Will he be trapped in here forever? Will he starve? He won’t let him starve…will he? But he said…if he doesn’t behave…if he is bad….

His sobs increase in intensity, and he buries his face so absolutely no sound would escape. He has never thought about it�"never thought about death�"never needed to; he had a vague idea that when people were “dead”, they were just taken away, like to prison, except not for any particular reason. And it must be somewhere nice…heaven, he thought…his mom must have gone to heaven, must be an angel….

But she isn’t. She is gone. Only her body is left, and it, too, will disappear soon, and then there will be nothing at all remaining, no connection to her….

She abandoned him. She left, just because, it was her own choice, and she didn’t take him with her…because she didn’t care about him anymore….

He wishes she had….

He is too young to understand any of this, even death, which seems so simple. He is too young to know how to want it. And yet he feels death, lurking somewhere near�"he doesn’t know if it is in the past, the present, or the future. But it is there. He knows it is waiting to claim him…and if he makes one wrong move….

They’ll put him in a box, bury him under the earth, let the bugs have him…they’ll make him go all stiff and white and limp, make him lay still as stone forever, unaware of everything around him, lost in darkness…just like….

They can’t, they can’t…he doesn’t want to…he’s scared…and he doesn’t know what to do to make it stop, he’s afraid that there isn’t anything he can do, and they’ll come for him, and take him, and he will be defenseless….

The sobs escape him, despite his best efforts to contain them, and then he can’t control them at all, they keep coming and coming, and he can’t breathe….

Footsteps. A clatter at the door.

He freezes, too scared to cry, waiting. He starts to shake, every muscle in his body tensing.

The footsteps come inside, shut the door tightly, walk around very slowly; and then they go to the window, and he hears the window rattle in his frame, hears the window lock click, then click again.

And then his father speaks:

“Evan, you have five seconds to get over here. Don’t make me come get you.”

No, he thinks. Stay away.

“Five…four….”

He chokes back another sob; it’s no use. He’ll be found, and then…but maybe if he goes now….

He stands up, bumping clumsily into the walls, reaching for the doorknob. His dad stops counting abruptly, and then the closet door jerks open and he is pulled out. He tries to fight, but then he is released; he recoils away from his father, towering above him, and flinches when he points firmly to the bed.

“Sit,” he snaps.

He stands his ground, confused, frightened, glancing at the door.

“Evan,” his dad snarls again, the word both a threat and a warning.

He whimpers and scurries over to the bed, sitting as far away from his father as he can. Despite what he might have thought an hour ago, he has no doubt, now, that his dad will hurt him if he is bad….

“Be still,” his dad says sharply. “Sit up.” He tries to do both of these things, a whine of panic growing louder in his head.

“Listen to me,” says his dad abruptly, his voice clipped and emotionless, his eyes cold. “You’re not going to be a spoiled little brat anymore. There’s a lot of work to do around here, and you’re going to have to do it, do you understand me?”

He glares expectantly at him; he nods slowly, tensed in preparation for a blow.

“Yes, sir,” his father growls.

He catches on right away. “Yessir,” he whispers.

Another glare, a suspicious one; but then he lets it go. “From now on, every day, I want the house cleaned, and your homework done, before I get home from work at six. The whole house. And it better be spotless, because I’ll be checking. When I’m home,” he continues, as he is watched in frightened disbelief, “you will keep out of my way, and when I tell you to do something, you will do it, right away, with no talking back or arguing or questions. And when I’m not home, you will not answer the door, you will not answer the phone unless it’s me, and you will not make a mess. At school, you will make all A’s, you will not get into trouble, and you will not talk about anything that happens at home, or about me, or your mom, or anything else about your family. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers again, staring determinedly at his toy box.

“Look at me,” his dad snaps, and he does, shivering at the ice-cold venom in his eyes, the cold conviction. “You will never tell anyone what happens when you’re at home. Do you understand? No one. Not even in secret. Because I will find out, and I will make you regret it. Don’t you ever think I won’t, Evan. If you screw this up, I’ll have to punish you.”

The way he says “punish” makes Evan shiver, swallowing a frightened wail; but he can’t hold it in for long, and he can’t stop himself from starting to cry, quietly at first, but then stronger�"

“SHUT UP!” his dad shouts, and he jumps; his dad grabs a handful of his shirt and drags him to his feet, pressing him painfully to the wall. His fist presses into Evan’s throat; he can barely breathe, and doesn’t have enough air to sob anymore, though tears still fall silently down his cheeks. “Don’t you DARE start crying,” his dad hisses in his face. “Crying is for babies, if I ever catch you doing it you’ll be sorry, do you hear me?”

He nods, screwing his eyes shut, trying to make himself stop, but he couldn’t….

“Listen to me, Evan,” his father tells him, coming closer, his voice lethally soft. “You can’t tell ANYONE about this. ANYONE. Do you understand? Because if you do, they’ll try to take you away from here, back to that place, or somewhere even worse, where they’ll beat you up and torture you just for fun, or where they’ll starve you, or make you sleep out in the cold, or kill you. Is that what you want? Do you want to go back there?”

“No,” he whispers, feeling his whole body start to shake. “No, I don’t wanna, don’t m-m-make me�"”

“I will if you screw this up,” his dad snarls. “I’ll take you back myself. And that’s if you’re lucky. No one is going to find out about this. No one. And don’t think they’ll even believe you if you tell, you stupid child, they won’t, they’ll know you’re a dirty little liar, because they’re on my side, not yours. They don’t care about you. No one does. And I’m the only one who can take care of you, I’m all you’ve got�"if you screw THIS up, you’ll have nowhere to go but back to that place, or somewhere else that’ll make it look like paradise. They won’t want you, they’ll starve you and hurt you and kill you�"I’m your only chance, do you get it? I’m taking care of you, but I don’t have to, I can give you up at any time. But I won’t if you don’t make me, if you do everything I ask you to then there won’t be any reason to punish you, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he breathes, his chest tight with fear, his heart racing.

His dad shakes him roughly, as if in reprimand. “Say thank you,” he says dangerously.

“Thank you,” Evan whispers. He winces as he is shaken again. “Sir,” he adds, his voice breaking.

“Good.” His dad drops him; he stumbles, catching himself on the wall before he topples over. He watches warily as his dad grabs his clock and sets the alarm. “I’m coming to get you at seven-thirty in the morning, understand? And you’d better be ready, and have your homework done. All of it.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies numbly, his thoughts suspended, aware only that his entire body is shaking violently.

Without another word to him, sparing only a withering glance, his dad leaves, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Evan waits until his footsteps have faded away, then runs to the bathroom, throws up in the toilet, and starts to cry, every thin, high-pitched wail echoing back at him from the walls, heard by no one at all.