remembering my first night at the Andersons’.
As the steps draw nearer, my mind spins a silent prayer, my ears heat with a sudden rush of blood. I cease breathing, blinking, and all other basic functions as I attempt invisibility.
“Oh, dear. Cataline?”
My relief is a loud exhale, but my throat protests as words shred from my mouth. “I’m over here.”
Norman comes around the bed and heaves a sigh. “Thank goodness. For a moment, I thought you were gone, but, of course, where would you go? Did you sleep there?”
I ease my stiff back from the floor to sit up. “I slept. That’s all that matters.”
The wrinkles that stripe his forehead deepen. “I wasn’t aware you weren’t sleeping well. I’ll bring you calming tea in the evenings going forward,” he decides. “Perhaps that will help.”
“Help? If you want to help, open the front door. That’s it.” I get to my hands and knees and crawl to Norman’s feet. “I won’t go to the police,” I say, looking up at him. “You don’t even have to tell me where I am or how to get home.” My voice cracks as I whisper, “Just open the door.”
He stares down, impervious to my groveling. “Why, Cataline? Look at all you have here. You have nothing like this at home, not even a family.” His harsh words are delivered gently, and instead of enraging me, they weigh down my already-heavy grief.
“I do,” I say emphatically, and my hands go to his legs, fisting the fine fabric of his pants. “I have a family who loves me, and I love them. They’ll miss me so much, Norman. I’m sure they’ve reported me missing. My mother will be devastated without me.”
I’m forced to release his trousers when he drops into a squat. He rubs my shoulder with papery fingers. “None of that is true.”
“Yes, it is,” I say. I continue to list the members of an imaginary family as he peers at me, his head angled while he listens. I don’t know where the lie comes from, but I tell him the names and locations of siblings, cousins, grandparents. He’s bluffing. He doesn’t know the truth about me or where I come from; he couldn’t possibly.
His response comes moments after my plea finally ends, and it sends a chill down my spine. “You have a foster family in Fenndale and a roommate called Frida. Isn’t that true?”
I blink, too dumbfounded to form an answer.
He looks at the floor. “Come. It’s time for breakfast.”
“How do you know about Frida?”
“You must be hungry.”
My back teeth grind together from his bullshit. Though I want to rail against him, I can’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper when I say, “Do you know what he did to me last night?”
The coward refuses to look at me, but at least he doesn’t pretend not to hear me. He glances at the door and subtly at the nearest corner of the room. “My advice is not to rile him. He only came to your room to stop your tantrum, not to torment you. If you behave and stay out of his way, I’ll do my best to ensure he stays out of yours.”
“If I cooperate, I won’t have to see him again?”
He furrows his brow at the floor as though the question requires deep thought. “Only he knows the answer to that. But I believe it’s your best option.”
Learning that Norman knows more about me than I thought causes me to miss his invitation downstairs. When I’m allowed out of the room, my chest seems to expand more easily with each breath. I insist on helping clear the table after breakfast. Chef Michael’s cheerfulness is contagious as we wash dishes, even if our conversation is stunted.
Norman instructs me on how to use the cinema, though I’m certain it would’ve taken me less time to figure it out on my own. There’s an entire library of movies to select from, but I end up watching animated children’s classics all afternoon to dull the memory of last night. A tuna sandwich and Coke are delivered to me between features, followed by popcorn at my request.
It’s early
As the steps draw nearer, my mind spins a silent prayer, my ears heat with a sudden rush of blood. I cease breathing, blinking, and all other basic functions as I attempt invisibility.
“Oh, dear. Cataline?”
My relief is a loud exhale, but my throat protests as words shred from my mouth. “I’m over here.”
Norman comes around the bed and heaves a sigh. “Thank goodness. For a moment, I thought you were gone, but, of course, where would you go? Did you sleep there?”
I ease my stiff back from the floor to sit up. “I slept. That’s all that matters.”
The wrinkles that stripe his forehead deepen. “I wasn’t aware you weren’t sleeping well. I’ll bring you calming tea in the evenings going forward,” he decides. “Perhaps that will help.”
“Help? If you want to help, open the front door. That’s it.” I get to my hands and knees and crawl to Norman’s feet. “I won’t go to the police,” I say, looking up at him. “You don’t even have to tell me where I am or how to get home.” My voice cracks as I whisper, “Just open the door.”
He stares down, impervious to my groveling. “Why, Cataline? Look at all you have here. You have nothing like this at home, not even a family.” His harsh words are delivered gently, and instead of enraging me, they weigh down my already-heavy grief.
“I do,” I say emphatically, and my hands go to his legs, fisting the fine fabric of his pants. “I have a family who loves me, and I love them. They’ll miss me so much, Norman. I’m sure they’ve reported me missing. My mother will be devastated without me.”
I’m forced to release his trousers when he drops into a squat. He rubs my shoulder with papery fingers. “None of that is true.”
“Yes, it is,” I say. I continue to list the members of an imaginary family as he peers at me, his head angled while he listens. I don’t know where the lie comes from, but I tell him the names and locations of siblings, cousins, grandparents. He’s bluffing. He doesn’t know the truth about me or where I come from; he couldn’t possibly.
His response comes moments after my plea finally ends, and it sends a chill down my spine. “You have a foster family in Fenndale and a roommate called Frida. Isn’t that true?”
I blink, too dumbfounded to form an answer.
He looks at the floor. “Come. It’s time for breakfast.”
“How do you know about Frida?”
“You must be hungry.”
My back teeth grind together from his bullshit. Though I want to rail against him, I can’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper when I say, “Do you know what he did to me last night?”
The coward refuses to look at me, but at least he doesn’t pretend not to hear me. He glances at the door and subtly at the nearest corner of the room. “My advice is not to rile him. He only came to your room to stop your tantrum, not to torment you. If you behave and stay out of his way, I’ll do my best to ensure he stays out of yours.”
“If I cooperate, I won’t have to see him again?”
He furrows his brow at the floor as though the question requires deep thought. “Only he knows the answer to that. But I believe it’s your best option.”
Learning that Norman knows more about me than I thought causes me to miss his invitation downstairs. When I’m allowed out of the room, my chest seems to expand more easily with each breath. I insist on helping clear the table after breakfast. Chef Michael’s cheerfulness is contagious as we wash dishes, even if our conversation is stunted.
Norman instructs me on how to use the cinema, though I’m certain it would’ve taken me less time to figure it out on my own. There’s an entire library of movies to select from, but I end up watching animated children’s classics all afternoon to dull the memory of last night. A tuna sandwich and Coke are delivered to me between features, followed by popcorn at my request.
It’s early
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