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“It’s the first name that the first person who ever loved you gave to you.” He smiles. “You copy?”
I don’t know what that means, so I smile again.
“What does your mom call you?”
My mouth opens to answer but is stopped when the silver haired man yells, “Don’t you fucking say a word, Charlie!”
Bannon’s face tilts to the side like he doesn’t understand something. “Is that your name? Is your name Charlie?”
No.
It’s not Charlie.
It’ll never be Charlie.
I don’t ever want to be Charlie.
“Shut him up, Kaut!” Bannon yells to his friend who hits the man in the mouth with the gun. The silver hair man makes a sound like the brown hair lady usually does, and I almost smile wide. “Are those people over there…” he starts talking again, and I look back at him, “the ones my friends are…watching…are they your parents?”
His question makes my eyes grow big.
I hate that question.
I have to say yes when strangers ask me, or I don’t eat.
I have to say yes when strangers ask me, or I have to stand in the corner until I pee on myself.
I have to say yes when strangers ask me, or new circles from his cigarettes come to my back.
I have to yes to something I know isn’t true or I get hurt.
I learned that a long time ago.
I don’t like getting hurt but some days I think it’s worth it to remember my old life.
When I don’t answer his question, he nods like I did. “They call you Charlie, but that’s not really your name, is it?”
Rather than answer, I swallow.
Hard.
“Do you remember what you were called before Charlie?”
I nod again.
“Can you tell me?”
“Charlie, don’t!” screams the lady from the floor.
“Look at me, kid,” Bannon says in a dad like voice. “Don’t look at them.”
My blue eyes glue themselves onto his.
“Tell me, little dude. What’s your real name? What’s the special name that was first given to you?”
**
The sound of footsteps crossing the hardwood floor to my left results in me swiftly reaching under the mattress to my right, unholstering the weapon, and rolling onto my side to aim it at the intruder. “Not another step!”
