Silence | Book 2

3-10: Concern

The blaring of his alarm woke him up far too early, even as a morning person. With a loud groan he sat up, rubbing his face and blaming himself for sneaking in one or two glasses of champagne too many the evening before – but how else was he supposed to get through that awful gathering?

He couldn't fall back asleep: not until he had made sure Tristan would be alright. He didn't care if he would be an absolute wreck all day, as long as he knew he was safe.

In nothing but his underwear and a shirt he walked to his bathroom, taking his phone with. Begrudgingly he began to brush his teeth, unable to stop thinking of what could happen. He still remembered vividly that moment Tristan had confessed that his mother beat him, and the pain that filled his voice and eyes. The very idea of him getting hurt by her filled him with rage, yet at the same time it felt like he was squeezed tightly. His worry was nearly unbearable, leaving him agitated and restless.

With harsh motions he ran the brush over his teeth, unable to find another outlet for the aggression. Rather he'd punch Tristan's mother straight in the face in that very instance.

A loud buzz pulled him out of that violent fantasy, and immediately he dropped everything to grab his phone. Seeing it was Tristan, he spit the toothpaste out in the sink and wiped his mouth. He hadn't expected Tristan to message so soon, but he was glad he got one in the first place.

T: I don't know if you're awake yet, but I've arrived at my mum's. We will probably be going to church soon.

H: I'm awake

I promised I'd be here, didn't I?

Even though he was tired, and had his own worries, being there for Tristan gave him a sense of fulfillment. For once in his life he wanted to be the person relied on, instead of someone that had to be helped. Yet at the same time his pride was eroded from the bottom up by deep, roaring concern.

T: You did.

I won't be able to reply much though, if mum catches me on my phone during church I'll be in trouble. But I will probably hide in the toilet and update you.

He frowned, just from the notion that Tristan wouldn't be able to text. It felt wrong to be restricted so much – especially to him as he both believed and demanded his own freedom. Moreso he felt like he was missing a fundamental understanding of the situation: he knew about cults, he knew about abuse, but somehow he couldn't quite get a grasp on what it was like.

H: What is going to happen?

I don't think I really understand

T: Well, mum will take us to her church, where we will be preached to. It lasts all night, it's sort of a tactic to exhaust you so you don't question what they say. That's why I want to be there for Anya. We will have to confess our sins from the past year and beg for forgiveness. I know it sounds horrible, but I've done it before.

He felt his jaw go slack, his mouth falling open from sheer disbelief that this was really a thing that happened. It felt like something straight out of a movie cult. His fingers gripped at the side of the sink, turning white from sheer anger as he tried to figure out what to write next.

H: So they're going to fuck with your mind?
What happens if you don't agree?

T: It means I would be excommunicated. They will kick me out of the church, and my mother will never be allowed to speak to me again. She'd probably also forbid Anya from seeing and talking to me. It's easier to just go with it.

In his mind he ran through all the ways he wanted to dismantle and obliterate this cult – and his mother with it. He bit down on his lip, but even the taste of toothpaste couldn't cool him down. With a heavy sigh he ran both his hands through his hair, before leaning back down on the sink to confess how worried he truly was.