Teenage Baby

Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"I'm Daddy, love, and she's Mommy, my wife. That's what you have to call us."

Aaron gawked at Daddy, every inch of him straining to swallow down the burning acid that rose to the top of his throat. Even as a child, he'd never found enough sentiment in him to call his own parents mommy or daddy. Surely not these psychos then.

Squirming furiously in Daddy's hold, Aaron said, "Please, just tell me what you want from me," then settled still and solid as he waited anxiously for an answer.

"But I told you." Daddy bounced his baby in his arms. "We want your happiness. You don't have to do anything, just be our baby."

Just leave your life behind and act like a baby for some psychos. Aaron snorted internally. Easy enough.

"But I-I can't be a baby. I'm big, I'm a teenager. Maybe you should find a real—"

Daddy let out a humorless chuckle. "No, love. You aren't big. You're a baby," he said, his gentle voice laced with a sharp edge, one that held a covert threat Aaron easily picked upon. "Our baby. We don't want a real one, or any other one, just you. Understand?"

Aaron failed beneath the harsh stare, lashes fanning over his cheekbones as he looked away in fear. He was aware of how helpless he was at that moment; he didn't have the power to fight and couldn't reach for anything sharp to hurt the captor. Even if he did find a weapon, he wouldn't use it right away. The key was patience and sensible planning. Aaron just hoped he could control his composure and not ruin everything with his intense reflexes.

Daddy noticed the fear settled deep within his baby's eyes. He almost hated himself for being the reason those beautiful eyes shed innocent tears, for causing that frail heart to tremble. Aaron was too precious to be mistreated, but Daddy knew that now that he was with him, no one could ever hurt him again. He'd take care of him till last breath. That was what his baby deserved: protection and endless love.

His hand subconsciously treaded to his baby's cheek, thumb gently caressing the soft skin. Aaron tried to turn away, but Daddy cupped his chin and forced his head towards him. "Daddy loves you so much, baby. Don't make it hard on yourself and behave."

The captor's voice changed a little—something in the core. No more sharpness, nothing prickly and hard. It turned soft and smooth, free of frighteningly demanding edges.

The way Daddy's attitude altered just by seconds and minutes terrified Aaron the most so far; sent a tremor down his spine, torturously slow. Aaron's eyes accidentally fell upon the other boy, who was sitting with Mommy on a white armchair, face snuggled into her side.

Now that Aaron noticed the first piece of furniture, he bothered to give the place a proper survey. There were two cribs pushed against the pale blue wall, each dark wooden and furnished with a white mattress and blankets. A rocking chair was set beside the two. On one side of the room was a square window, beige curtains hanging loose and veiling across the glass behind. Beside it, to Aaron's dismay, was a big changing table.

Changing table.

His breath hitched as he probed it intently. The table reminded him of the fact that he was wearing a pull-up. He was a teenager, but was wearing a pull-up, and to top it off, he was in the arms of a psychotic man who requested to be called Daddy.

This was a prank: a sick prank. It had to be. Perhaps even imagination—anything but reality. Aaron treaded a trembling hand to the zipper and pulled it down, gasping inaudibly when he saw the pull-up with his bare eyes. He really was wearing one. It wasn't imagination.