His Many Masks *The Boy fan fiction*

Chapter Thirty One

"No quote, I'm burnt out."
- me (lol)

I gasped sitting straight up in bed. Another nightmare. I pushed the sweaty hair back off of my forehead and attempted to catch my breath. Ever since our argument, I've been fighting my demons alone.

I felt in some way it was my fault. I knew my turbulent thoughts would come back to find me eventually. Mentally, I had been toying with him. I deserved his wrath, but not the circumstance in which he chose to display it.

It isn't like he didn't try to apologize. I just shut him out to shield my own pride, and to nurse my ego.

Like me, he was damaged. He feared I would leave him and acted accordingly. I didn't blame him for his territorial behavior, but I didn't like his choice to oppress me of my own free will.

That was something I couldn't forgive, not easily anyway.

My birthday that he had been so excited about had came and gone. I didn't bat an eye. Nothing like that mattered to me anymore. Twenty years of hell, wasn't much of an exciting landmark. I just knew I was a year older than the last, and it would only increase with time.

It made me think about the village, leaving, possibly getting Brahms out of the house.

That didn't matter to him, nothing I wanted truly mattered to him. At least, that's how I felt.

He didn't forget about me however.

Each day, there would be a tray of food just outside my door. I wouldn't touch it.

It's been a week.

I haven't eaten a thing.

The bruises have now faded to faint yellow marks on my arms and face. My neck still carried small marks, but the outside of me didn't matter much when my insides still bore the anger he carried that night like a scarlet letter.

I glanced at my bedroom door. It was locked. I had locked it after I was able to leave the bathroom. There was one door however that I purposely kept unlocked. The one in the closet. The one that led straight to the heart of it all.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, it was unlocked for him. Whenever he wanted to access me, he could; but he never did.

It made me wonder if he cared at all. It made me wonder if I was just a toy to him. A plaything that made him feel superior for once in 20 years.

My stomach practically howled as I sat against the wall staring at the closet door.

It made me think.

He let go of his pride to bring food, I was only harming myself by not eating it.

This didn't mean that I forgive him, but it did mean that I was famished.

I crawled across the floor with as much strength as I could muster, and grabbed the key that had been hiding underneath the dresser. I sat on my knees, and poked the key inside of the lock before rotating  it counter clockwise and turning the knob.

The door omitted a loud creak, before ultimately falling silent as I released my hold of the knob and pulled the tray through the doorway.

I quickly shut the door behind me, and stared at the contents on the tray.

A glass of water, a cup of tea, an egg and a slice of buttered toast all sat neatly placed on the decorative tray before me.

My stomach couldn't help but release it's butterflies at the gesture. How many days had he been leaving meals pertaining to the time of day outside of my door?