The adoption (regression)

(8) The spill

MICHEAL POV

Last night was the best sleep I've had in a while. Having a room all to myself for the first time in a while was nice, peaceful, quiet.

After Mr Jo— Daniel tucked me in, I tossed and turned for a little before succumbing to sleep. I haven't been tucked in since before my parents died.

I woke up to two wet noses poking my face and neck. I squirmed to get away from the attack of their tongues through the bars of the bed.

Daniel's throaty laugh filled the silence. He walked over from the door, pulling the dogs back.

"Come on bud, breakfast is ready." I let out a yawn and rubbed the sleep from my eyes before getting out of bed.

I shuffled behind Daniel, taking my time to get down the stairs, the dogs ran ahead of us falling over themselves to get down the stairs. All the the blinds are open, allowing the morning sunlight to brighten the rooms.

"Good morning sweetie." Mrs Jone— Amelia says as we walk into the dining area. She sets down plates full of food on the table, in the same spots as yesterday.

I sit down and the cloth scratches at my legs. Only now do I realize I'm in nothing but a shirt and boxers. My faces warms in a bright red blush.

Both Amelia and Daniel didn't say anything about my lack of clothing so it must be okay. Plus they use their air-conditioner and heater so I won't freeze or melt to death.

I remember one of my first families that I stayed with refused to use their heater when they weren't home. It was the dead of winter and if I was home alone the house felt as cold as it did outside.

Daniel and Amelia sit down, connecting their hands to start a prayer. I hold out my hands and they grab them gently, starting a short prayer.

"Did you sleep well last night sweetie?" Amelia asks me, cutting into her eggs and pancakes. I look down at my plate, the food is already cut up into bite sized pieces and the same fork I used last night is resting on the table.

I hum and nod my head as I pick up for fork. I don't understand why my food is cut and not theirs but I guess it doesn't matter. At least I get to eat.

"Verbal answer please. We need to get used to communicating well with each other." Daniel says lightly, pausing mid bite.

"Slept fine." I mumble. Most families don't care if I don't talk, it makes me easier to forget or blend into the background. I pick up a piece of pancake with my fork and stuff it into my mouth.

It tastes heavenly! I stifle a moan as I quickly start to eat more. It is so light, fluffy and buttery. It practically melts in my mouth, I've never had anything like it.

"Slow down there buddy." Daniel says, his hand lightly to itching mine so I will stop eating. I tense under his soft touch, and quickly pull my hand away from his.

He looks slightly hurt by my reaction, and guilt gnaws at me but I push it away. I don't need to feel bad for hurting his feelings, I don't know him and I technically didn't do it on purpose. But for some reason I can't help but feel a little bad.

I lower my head and continue eating, slower than I was before. The sweet, sticky syrup is all over my chin and mouth, making my throat dry and thirsty for water. I grab my cup with two sticky hands, trying to be careful to not get an syrup on it. I lift the cup up to my lips and it spills all over me! I quickly stop tilting the cup, trying to stop the growing damage. The water had spilled down the front of my shirt, into my lap, and onto the cushion.

I quickly set the cup down and grab the napkin that was sitting by my plate. I dab at the cushion, frantically trying to get the water to dry up. Fear and anxiety seize my body as I start to shake.