Nameless

7. Sarah

Chris and I sat at their round kitchen table, watching the two adults make pancakes, and socializing. I smiled at a joke, and looked around the room. The round wooden table had four chairs positioned around it, the refrigerator was littered with magnets and photos, and there was a calendar on the wall by what must have been the house phone. The room even smelled like normal. The three Aarons were so happy, so normal, that if it weren’t for Chris’s hand clasping mine on the tabletop, I would’ve felt like I was dreaming it all.

“Hey, bird,” Chris turned to me while his parents were talking by the stove, “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me what they did to you.” He squeezed my hand gently. I still jerked at the unexpected gesture, but I smiled apologetically.

“I-I know,” I murmured, “I just need some time.”

“I understand,” he nodded, “take your time; whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.” My eyes drifted toward the two adults in the room.

Susan laughed as Harold flicked pancake batter onto the bridge of her nose, and then she tried to wipe it on his face. They both smiled at one another throughout the ordeal, and I couldn’t help that the corners of my mouth turned up. They looked so happy; they looked like they really cared about one another. Out of nowhere, he grabbed her and kissed her, and their smiles widened.

“Come on guys, knock it off. I’m going to be sick!” Chris shook his head.

“Oh, so we’re stuck watching the young people be lovey-dovey all the time, but we’re not allowed to be?” Susan raised her eyebrow at her son.

“No! That’s just gross! You’re my parents for Pete’s sake!” he rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s sweet.” I added softly, feeling bold.

“Thank you, honey.” she directed at me, “Lori thinks it’s sweet, and you can’t argue with that.” His mom smiled triumphantly. Chris rolled his eyes again.

“Whatever; your pancakes are burning.” He smirked as his parents hurriedly broke their embrace to tend to the blackened breakfast. He raised my hand to his lips, and allowed them to gently caress it as he spoke. “Do you really think it’s sweet?” I nodded meekly.

“They care about each other,” I muttered, “that’s not something I’m used to.” Chris kissed my hand.

“Well, that’ll just have to change.” He promised. I grinned, and let my eyes wander around the room again, lingering on the calendar.

“Chris, what day is it?” I asked, suddenly realizing that I had no idea. He looked at me, confused.

“It’s Friday. Why?” I covered my mouth with my good hand, accidentally ripping it out of Chris’s grasp.

“A whole day. I was in there for a whole day.” I murmured to myself, rocking in the chair. Granted, my longest stay was for three days, because my parents had been so wasted that they’d forgotten about me.

“What? Where were you? Lori, what did they do?” Chris panicked beside me. I also noticed that the clamor across the kitchen stopped, but my eyes were glued to a blemish in the wood table, and I could only focus on the fact that I’d lost an entire day; time had a funny way of slipping by in the crawlspace. As for what they did to me, that could be anything from punching me, to holding my head in the bathtub just to watch me struggle for air.

I faintly registered my chair moving, and then Chris was kneeling on the wood floor in front of me, shaking my shoulders. And everything came rushing back. I could hear the sizzle of the pancakes cooking across the room, the words coming from Chris—and the silence from his parents, who were so jovial moments before. Chris. Chris looked so worried that it broke my heart.