what you have to do and you can come upstairs and enjoy Grandma’s barbecue chicken wings and potato salad. She’s done a black bottom pie for dessert.”
My stomach growled angrily at me.
I shifted, and started to stand.
He stepped towards me. “First though, I think we need to make friends don’t you?” he asked. I whimpered when I heard his belt buckle. My stomach cramped again; he would starve me longer if I didn’t make friends with him. This was the longest he’d kept me down here in the dark and cold.
“We make friends, boy, and you can have some clothes and that hot dinner upstairs.”
Tears rolled down my face but I nodded because it hurt too bad.
***
The smell of hot food assaulted me, and my stomach prayed this wasn’t a joke. I had done what was needed, I hated what I had to do for food, I hated what I had to do for clothes and water. Sometimes if I were quiet enough I would sneak into the dog pen and take the leftover dog kibble and drink their water. I daren’t try it in the house, because Grandma Violet caught me once and thrashed my hide with a wooden spatula.
“Look who’s joining us for dinner,” Grandpa announced, his hand firm on my shoulder. I didn’t look up at the others, but I could feel their gazes on me. I didn’t want them to see me. No one spoke as Grandpa lifted me into my seat. I felt all of them watching me, staring at the dirty, wretched boy at the table.
Ryan was seated in his usual spot beside me. I chanced a quick glance at him and smothered a gasp when I saw his busted face, not just his lip or eye but his whole face was blue and purple. His lips were cut and his jaw looked like he had golf balls hidden underneath. His eye was swollen shut and looked angry. I looked over at Grandma Violet, but instead of the angry stare I usually got, she had watery eyes. She looked at me for a few seconds before looking at Grandpa. The other boys were silent; no one spoke like normal. Usually they argued over football, but today everyone was quiet.
I picked up my fork and started eating. I tried real hard to stop my hand from shaking as I stabbed my fork into my potato salad. I tried not to gobble my food because I did that last time and vomited it back up and Grandpa made me clean it up without a cloth and that made me sicker.
“Tate, eat your damn food and stop playing with it,” Grandpa snapped.
“Yes sir.” Tate quickly picked up his fork.
Ryan never spoke; he made slow movements towards his food, I could see he hurt worse than I did. His fork fell to the floor in a loud clatter. He cursed but no one ratted on him.
“Pick it up, boy,” Grandpa said calmly. Ryan didn’t move, but Grandma Violet moved her chair and started to stand.
“I said the boy, not you.”
“But—”
“Did I stutter,” he shouted.
Grandma’s face paled and she shook her head. She slowly sat back down.
Ryan grunted as he started to move. He moaned and stopped, he seemed out of breath as he sat clutching at his sides. I held my breath, jumped off my chair and grabbed his fork from the floor. Handing it to him, I heard everyone around the table take in loud breaths.
“Why did you do that?” Grandpa asked, sounding angry.
“I...I...” I stuttered, I panicked about how to respond. I didn’t want to go back to the basement. “He’s our special friend. We help special friends right?” I said quickly. The strangest thing happened. Grandpa smiled.
“Good boy,” he said and patted my shoulder. Ryan moaned at the side of me. “You can help Ryan here, but no secret chats. We’ll have no more of that, you hear?” he said and pointed to both of us. I nodded. Grandpa had caught Ryan and I hiding, Ryan wanted us to run away again but somehow Grandpa always caught us or found us and he would hurt Ryan, real bad. I always had to go to the boatshed, I hated the boatshed. Bad things happened there.
C hapter 3
Louis e
York, England
2 Weeks Later
Nothing much had changed
My stomach growled angrily at me.
I shifted, and started to stand.
He stepped towards me. “First though, I think we need to make friends don’t you?” he asked. I whimpered when I heard his belt buckle. My stomach cramped again; he would starve me longer if I didn’t make friends with him. This was the longest he’d kept me down here in the dark and cold.
“We make friends, boy, and you can have some clothes and that hot dinner upstairs.”
Tears rolled down my face but I nodded because it hurt too bad.
***
The smell of hot food assaulted me, and my stomach prayed this wasn’t a joke. I had done what was needed, I hated what I had to do for food, I hated what I had to do for clothes and water. Sometimes if I were quiet enough I would sneak into the dog pen and take the leftover dog kibble and drink their water. I daren’t try it in the house, because Grandma Violet caught me once and thrashed my hide with a wooden spatula.
“Look who’s joining us for dinner,” Grandpa announced, his hand firm on my shoulder. I didn’t look up at the others, but I could feel their gazes on me. I didn’t want them to see me. No one spoke as Grandpa lifted me into my seat. I felt all of them watching me, staring at the dirty, wretched boy at the table.
Ryan was seated in his usual spot beside me. I chanced a quick glance at him and smothered a gasp when I saw his busted face, not just his lip or eye but his whole face was blue and purple. His lips were cut and his jaw looked like he had golf balls hidden underneath. His eye was swollen shut and looked angry. I looked over at Grandma Violet, but instead of the angry stare I usually got, she had watery eyes. She looked at me for a few seconds before looking at Grandpa. The other boys were silent; no one spoke like normal. Usually they argued over football, but today everyone was quiet.
I picked up my fork and started eating. I tried real hard to stop my hand from shaking as I stabbed my fork into my potato salad. I tried not to gobble my food because I did that last time and vomited it back up and Grandpa made me clean it up without a cloth and that made me sicker.
“Tate, eat your damn food and stop playing with it,” Grandpa snapped.
“Yes sir.” Tate quickly picked up his fork.
Ryan never spoke; he made slow movements towards his food, I could see he hurt worse than I did. His fork fell to the floor in a loud clatter. He cursed but no one ratted on him.
“Pick it up, boy,” Grandpa said calmly. Ryan didn’t move, but Grandma Violet moved her chair and started to stand.
“I said the boy, not you.”
“But—”
“Did I stutter,” he shouted.
Grandma’s face paled and she shook her head. She slowly sat back down.
Ryan grunted as he started to move. He moaned and stopped, he seemed out of breath as he sat clutching at his sides. I held my breath, jumped off my chair and grabbed his fork from the floor. Handing it to him, I heard everyone around the table take in loud breaths.
“Why did you do that?” Grandpa asked, sounding angry.
“I...I...” I stuttered, I panicked about how to respond. I didn’t want to go back to the basement. “He’s our special friend. We help special friends right?” I said quickly. The strangest thing happened. Grandpa smiled.
“Good boy,” he said and patted my shoulder. Ryan moaned at the side of me. “You can help Ryan here, but no secret chats. We’ll have no more of that, you hear?” he said and pointed to both of us. I nodded. Grandpa had caught Ryan and I hiding, Ryan wanted us to run away again but somehow Grandpa always caught us or found us and he would hurt Ryan, real bad. I always had to go to the boatshed, I hated the boatshed. Bad things happened there.
C hapter 3
Louis e
York, England
2 Weeks Later
Nothing much had changed
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