Page 111 of Twisted Heathens

I don’t respond. Not even a look. There’s no way to describe how I feel about my father’s death.

“Look, we’re here for you. Okay?”

My hands brace on the desk and I manage to meet his eyes. Kade fucking flinches, as if afraid I’m going to attack him or something. I look away, hot shame flooding every nerve. It isn’t his fault, he just picked all the lost causes and has no hope of fixing us.

“Did you see Brooklyn on your way over by any chance? Running?”

Shaking my head, I roll my shoulders until they crack. The mention of Brooklyn doesn’t even scratch the surface, I’m too ensconced in my confusing grief to clock his words. Kade just sighs, clicking on his computer as the guard comes to escort me to Mariam.

I don’t look at him again.

I can’t bear the disappointment and lack of hope I’ll find there.

Back in Mariam’s office, she begins with some lacklustre condolences, offering me the space to talk about him. I decline, my pursed lips and hard eyes portraying my refusal. Even if I could talk, there’s nothing to say. Nothing can make this better.

Mariam continues to talk endlessly without paying any attention to me. The words simply pass over my head as they always do. I’ve spent months enduring this pointless therapy designed to ‘cure’ my mutism. What a joke. Some people simply aren’t curable, that’s a fact. We’re too fucked to be cured.

“The sky is blue. Yes or no?”

Mariam watches me expectantly, her smile a poor attempt at comfort. The flavour of vile, acidic spoiled milk sits heavy on my tongue, denoting the fear pulling at my skin. It mingles with my volatile emotions. How dare he fucking die and escape his punishment early. Meanwhile I’m still trapped, the real prisoner in this screwed up situation.

“Use your cards, Eli. Come on, we can do this.”

I reluctantly study the two slips of paper, the words yes and no printed across in big letters. My entire body judders as the pins and needles spread, anxiety pulsating through every nerve. It takes me nearly a full minute to find the courage to lift the yes card.

“Excellent. Well done.”

I cringe internally at her pointless reinforcement, the fake enthusiasm only adding to the storm brewing beneath the surface. He used to be enthusiastic too, that pathetic excuse of a parent. Beating on me and starving me with pleasure, all in the name of purging a devil that didn’t exist.

“Next statement…Tomorrow is Tuesday.”

I study the wall behind her, watching flames in my mind that don’t exist.

“Give it a go. There’s a commissary credit up for grabs.”

My hand shakes as I nudge the no card, forcing myself to appease her. The sooner she gives up, the sooner I can escape. Find a quiet corner to cut myself in, alone this time. I don’t want any witnesses to this impending breakdown. Especially not her.

“How about telling me yourself? Can you do that?”

Fucking persistent bitch. She still doesn’t get it, even after all this time. Mariam thinks I can be treated and I will speak again with enough therapy. She doesn’t fucking understand. It’s not that I can’t speak. I choose not to.

Words only bring punishment. Pain. Fists and blood. Fire and ash. That’s what he taught me. Keep quiet or else you’ll pay the price. I will hold my tongue for the rest of my life before I subject myself to that particular form of evil again. I have the scars to prove it.

My collar bone clicks as I tilt my head, remembering the break that sealed my lips for good. The baseball bat connecting with my little body as I swallowed the screams, his sermon of pain torturing me endlessly. Any sound would have only resulted in further punishment. I knew that well enough even as a kid.

“Try this one… My name is Elijah. Yes or no?”

I shudder, the name cracking like a whip on my skin. Mariam tries another smile, forever playing the doting mother that I never had. Staring at the thick carpet and resolutely ignoring her, more flavours invade my overwhelmed mind.

Expectation and hope tastes like ripe fruit. Sweet, but underscored with something rotten. Ultimately disappointing when I refuse to give in. I’m trapped in a vicious fucking cycle. The silence breeds my Synaesthesia, senses strung tight from all the words trapped inside. Yet the more overwhelmed my mind becomes, the less I’m able to communicate.

I can’t escape the perpetual hell.

Not like he did. He’s free now.

“Look, Eli. You know that I want to help you. I’m just struggling to see any route that leads to progress. You won’t be allowed back into the community until you show signs of improvement. Don’t you want to go home?”

I don’t have a home.

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