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So I reluctantly wrap the towel around myself.
Mason peaks from behind his fingers and then straightens to bring me the bowl of soup he prepared and a cup of tea.
“I wasn’t sure if you could handle more than soup, but if you can keep this down, I can get you whatever you want to eat.”
I look at him with big wide eyes. Food. He would get me anything, anything I craved. Doesn’t he realize I don’t crave anything anymore?
Mason sits on the edge of the bed next to me and holds out a spoonful of the soup to my lips. I look down at the cup of tea he sat on the small end table. I take that instead
, lift it to my lips, and drink slowly.
He sighs in exacerbation and sets the bowl next to me.
“I will do anything to help you, Kai. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I don’t know who took you or what evil you’ve experienced. But I...” He takes a deep breath. “I love you, Kai. I have since we were five. I’ve just never had the courage to tell you. Not having you all these years, thinking you ran away and never called was hard. Realizing the truth is harder. I love you. I will never stop loving you.”
His words should comfort me. Make me stop feeling so alone. They don’t. I don’t feel anything anymore. All I feel is numbness.
So I don’t speak. There are no words to say back. And if I speak, he might ask questions I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to talk about what happened. I don’t want to see a doctor or a therapist.
His eyes travel over my body again. They slowly meet my eyes.
Broken.
He thinks I’m broken.
He sees my frail, ruined body. He thinks my spirit has been crushed; my heart ripped out of my chest. My soul trampled on.
I’m not broken, I say inwardly. I can’t be broken. I swore they would never break me.
He doesn’t hear or see that though. All he sees is a broken doll he thinks he can fix.
I don’t need fixing. I need answers.
This is who I am now. I need acceptance.
I finish my tea and then eat some of the broth soup before I pull the covers up and close my eyes, pretending to sleep.
Mason eventually leaves me alone in the room and shuts the door.
Finally, alone.
I stand out of the bed, letting the towel drop, and curl up on the carpet floor. Even that feels too soft.
I want cold.
I want ice.
I don’t want comfortable and warm.
But the floor is better than the bed. And my body is too tired to find a better, harder bed.
So I sleep.
The next morning, everything happens again.
Mason is still here. He must have slept on the recliner. He feeds me. He encourages me to talk. He talks. He tries to get me to shower. To eat. To go to a doctor.
The only thing I do that makes him happy is eat.
