Captive - FourTris

Thirty-Five

NOVEMBER 21
2 MONTHS, 22 DAYS

When I arrive at Tobias's house today, his stereo is so loud I have to cover both ears with my hands as I walk down the hall toward his room. When I open the door, it's even louder. The sounds flood my senses, a bass-heavy rock sound.

When I swing his bedroom door open, Tobias whirls on me so fast I stumble backward. I see the flash of anger in his eyes before it changes. Before he realizes it's just me.

His mouth drops, and he pulls me close so I can hear what he says. He has to shout over the music. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I thought you were my dad." He wraps his arms around me. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I wriggle away from him. This is just weird. He looks into my eyes, and I know I must look worried because he gives me the "one minute" signal and goes to the stereo. The sounds stop abruptly. My ears ring in the silence. I wait for him to explain what's going on.

"It's been a long day." Tobias sinks into the little recliner in his room, but I just stand there, near the door. I'm still a little off-kilter from that look he gave me. From the anger that swarmed in his eyes. He was someone else. Someone I've never seen before.

I hit things, not people. That's what he told me. But for just a second there, it was like he could hit someone. Not me. But maybe his dad.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Tobias lets loose with a long, slow sigh. "I don't know. I mean, do you really want to know it all? I told you my life is just... messed up."

I step further into the room. "Tell me. It'll make you feel better."

He purses his lips for a second. He's holding back, not sure if I can handle it. I can. I know I can. If he'd just let me help.

"My dad took a bunch of my mum's favourite pictures and ripped them all up."

"Why?"

"My mum wanted to go away for the weekend and see her mum. My grandma's sick or something. He said she was choosing sides."

"Oh."

I say that word too much around him. It's always oh. Why don't I ever know what to say? Why can't I just fix everything by making him see that his dad doesn't matter anymore?

Tobias interlaces his hands into a steeple, but then starts twisting them around, full of nervous energy. Or is it fury? I'm still not sure.

"He doesn't have the right to do that to her. To take everything and just destroy it like that. It's her mum. And she's old. She could die of whatever it is, and he doesn't want to let her go see her." His voice is quieter now. I think the anger has gone.

I walk up to him so that I'm standing right in front of the chair, our knees are almost touching. "You're right. That's screwed up."

Tobias gives me a sad, pathetic little smile, but he doesn't look me in the eyes. "I told ya you didn't want to know all this."

"But I do. I want to know everything about you. No secrets."

Tobias looks back at his hands and nods. I can almost see the relief, that he's happy I haven't turned and run straight out the door. "My dad takes everything from everyone. He wants it all. If he can't be happy, you can't either. He's done it to me hundreds of times. You find something that you love, something that makes you happy, and he'll destroy it."

He finally looks up at me, and I realize it's just sadness—no anger, no fury. He reaches up and tugs on the loop on my jeans, and I sit on his lap, so that my side is against his chest, and I lean until I'm curled into him and he puts his arms around my waist. He's warm, his breath hot on my neck.

His voice gets quieter now that I'm closer. "He got a dog once, a beagle. I loved him. Named him Peanut. But once he realized how much the dog meant to me, he got rid of it. I have no idea if he gave it away or shot it or what. It was just gone. I cried for a week." He starts tracing circles on my back. "It's so hard to live like this. To have this constant turmoil. I just want it to be over. I want it to be all over."

Something in his voice isn't right. It's like he's not saying he wants the turmoil to be over, but that he wants his life to be over. I take my time answering him. All the words are important. It's about so much more than what he's saying.

"It will be, eventually. You won't live with it forever. You'll find a job soon, and you can move out and leave it all behind."

I stare at us in the mirrored closet doors, at him with his face against my neck, at me just sitting there, a tired, pained look on my face. It's such a miserable little portrait that I want to march across the house and go scream at his father for screwing everything up.

"I've been saying that to myself for years. I've been thinking it for years. But it's never over. I can never walk away from it. My mom needs my help. All the time. Why do you think he's gone right now? I had to get in his face for him to back down. It will never end. I just want it all over."

There it is again. What is he saying?

I close my eyes, because I don't want to look at our reflection anymore, and concentrate on the soothing feeling of his palm on the back of my knit top, on the feeling of his breath on my skin.

"I know," I say, even though I don't. Even though I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Sometimes I just want to... I just want to..."

His voice trails off. I don't think he'll finish it. "I'm just so depressed I want to end it all. My life."

And there it is. The statement that's been between the lines all along is finally out there.

I sit more upright so I can turn and look at him. Implore him. "Don't say that. I love you. Things will get better, I promise."

"But how can they? I'm stuck with this. It's what I was born into and it's what I'll die as. Surrounded by it."

I'm shaking my head before he's even done talking. Can't he see? He doesn't have to be this forever. "Yeah, but you have me now. We'll get through it together. I'll help you. I promise you. I'm here to stay."

It's so stupid, what I'm saying. But he looks up at me and one side of his mouth lifts in the tiniest smile. It doesn't reach his eyes, but it's still a smile. "You're so good to me."

And I smile back at him and he pulls me closer, kissing my neck, my collarbone, my arm, and I know I've said the right thing.

But even as we get lost in our kiss, I can't erase the image of the anger flashing in his eyes. It was foreign. It didn't belong there.

He's not like that.