Page 78 of Love Sick
Tears sting my eyes because now, my son is merely a memory, memories which were stolen away. But they’re returning, and I don’t intend to ever forget again.
Brushing away my tears, I place the Mickey Mouse ears-shaped pancakes on a paper plate and present them to Bobby with a smile. His little face lights up when he sees them. I give him a plastic fork, which he happily accepts before sawing off Mickey’s left ear and stuffing his little mouth full.
I have zero appetite, but cook the rest of the mix as I know Dutch will eat what I don’t.
Once I am done cleaning up, I see Bobby playing with two cars, using the counter as a raceway. I wonder if Alanna actually cares for him. Or if she’s just using him as a pawn in her sick game. If she wasn’t a doctor, I could pretend he was hurt or sick, and needed to go to the hospital and use that as an excuse to get out of here.
But she would only send people here to examine him.
We truly are their prisoners in every sense of the word.
“Hey, baby.” Dutch wraps his arms around my middle, kissing the top of my head. It’s amazing how natural things feel with him in this far-from-natural situation.
“How’d it go?” I ask, leaning into him.
“Great. I don’t think I’ve ever played music as I do now. I suppose it’s the circumstances we find ourselves in.”
He steals a pancake and I laugh, turning around in his arms. I can’t help but admire him as he is shirtless and those V-muscles I like so very much are pronounced. His eyes are exceptionally blue, just as they always are when he finishes playing.
He is like a walking Instagram filter. He’s beyond good-looking. He’s a work of art—mind, body, and soul. His blond hair is getting long and I run my fingers through it.
“You need a haircut.”
He allows me to fuss over him, chewing his pancakes with a smirk. I want to kiss that smirk from his face, but don’t because Bobby is watching us. However, I do want him to see what “normal” interactions are because God knows the horrors he’s been exposed to.
“You both need a haircut,” I say, smiling at Bobby, who continues banging his cars into one another.
I can see something is on Dutch’s mind, but he doesn’t want to say what it is with Bobby in the room. He reaches for a piece of paper and red crayon and begins to write something down. Once he’s done, he offers me the paper.
I read over it and look at him, confused, as what he wrote makes no sense. He said he found what appears to be a child’s room in the attic. The room is equipped with chains and a single mattress as a bed.
“What is this place?” I whisper, shaking my head.
It’s not Bobby’s room. Well, I don’t think that it is. But Dutch is certain it’s untouched, unlike the rest of the house which is barely standing.
This place deserves to be burned to the ground as nothing but horror lives here. And that’s just confirmed when I hear my name being called from outside the front door.
Dutch pauses from chewing, and when my name is shouted once more, he quickly grabs the cooling frying pan as a weapon. “Stay here.”
I scoff in response and instead, snatch the flashlight off the counter.
“Kiddo, I need you to go to your room and cover your ears, okay? Wait for me to come get you,” Dutch says to Bobby, trying to stay calm. “It’s going to be all right. We won’t leave you.”
Bobby jumps down from the stool and surprises us both as he hugs Dutch’s legs.
Dutch ruffles Bobby’s hair, but it’s evident he’s as moved as I am. “Go.”
Bobby does as he is told, his little legs almost too fast for his small body as he runs from the room.
“Luna! Are you in there?”
That voice…I know who it is.
“Kyle?”
“Who the fuck is Kyle?”
“Joy’s son,” I explain, running to the front door. “Kyle!”