The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects

Chapter Fifteen

Tuesday, May 22 (cont.);

Time (Still) Unknown

Uncle.

The word swirled in my mind, becoming more and more vulgar by the second, corroding my brain.

Back in my cell, I let the tears flow freely, careful not to sob too loudly. I cried until I could cry no more; until it physically hurt to force my tear ducts into action. The pain was both emotional and physical.

"How many times do I have to tell you to knock, boy?" Martin had spat, slamming his fist against the desk.

"Sorry. I'm really sorry," Marco had apologised, still standing in the doorway, wearing his familiar all-black ensemble.

"Marco?" I had asked quietly, willing myself not to run to him.

He had refused to meet my eye, and stared resolutely at Martin.

"Get out." Martin's voice had an icy edge to it. "Leave. I'll deal with you later."

I had watched as my best friend of twelve years turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. A ball of betrayal had lodged itself in my throat.

"You can go now, too," Martin had said resignedly, rubbing the sides of his head with his index fingers. "I'll take you."

Now, leaning against the cold concrete wall in the cell, I could only stew with hatred for Marco, for my parents, and for everyone in this facility.

Uncle.

If Martin Steinbeck was Marco's uncle, that made Rita Steinbeck his grandmother. The thought pained me. All those times I'd talked about my therapy... my confusion about Dr. Steinbeck's disappearance... Marco had just listened to me, passing the odd remark here and there, pretending he was oblivious.

Uncle.

The Steinbecks were Jewish. Marco's mother was Jewish.

My heart clenched with anger. Marco was a traitor. All along, I had cried on his shoulder; let him into my head; confided in him - and he was a traitorous rodent. He had ignored me, and the betrayal was still fresh in my mind.

Something inside of me died in that instant. Maybe it was the knowledge of my father's secret life, or the callous betrayal of my best friend in the entire galaxy, that changed me.

But I wasn't afraid anymore.

I was angry.

When sleep finally came, I fell into a deep slumber, plagued by visions of the past.

My father's face flashed by, his face a picture of cold indifference as he asked me how I had slept the night before.

My mother was next: A look of annoyance painted on her dainty features as I tried not to show how much I didn't want to be alone in any room of our house.

The kids that had been invited to my house for my seventh birthday party: I had freaked out while I was getting ready in my room, screaming blue murder as I ran downstairs crying, and effectively sealing my status as a social pariah from that day forward.

Dr. Steinbeck's face appeared next, crazed and haggard. She screeched for me to run...

And Marco.

"You're my best friend, Terra."

"You have bags under your eyes."

"Are you really scared of your dad?"

Every syllable he uttered in my dream was like a knife jab to my gut.

Why couldn't I wake up? Why couldn't I open my eyes?

"I love you, Terra Martins. You know that, right?"

Now I knew exactly how much he loved me.

Waking up in a cold sweat, I sobbed until I could hear the morning birdsong, reliving every moment of my Nightmare of Traitors Past.