Locked Away | DAMON BGT

Eric

The twelve-year-old runs through the second-floor corridor like an exhalation. He descends the steps of the stairs with a speed worthy of applause, especially since he carried a box in his hands and therefore hadn't much visibility.

Knowing that his father would be in the garden,
leaves the house, without decelerating.

The well-to-do Cowell was talking to the gardener, specifically about remodeling his garden. He sees over the subordinate's shoulder his son running towards them, without much care and barefoot, to add. Simon leaves what he was saying halfway down and shouts, worried.

"Eric! Don't run! It's wet!"

The boy ignores him and finishes running the last meters, his childish red face from the intense career.
Simon could breathe again and closes his eyes.

"What did I tell you about going out of the house barefoot? You can get sick."

"I know."

His father finally realizes the old box that Eric was holding in his hands.
He frowned, "Where did you get that?"

"This box was in your room, Dad, and I have a lot of questions."

Eric sees his dad rub his neck, as he often does,
like when he's embarrassed or nervous.

"We'll talk later, Martin."

"As you wish, Mr. Cowell."

Martin says goodbye.

"May I begin?" Eric was quite impatient.
He needed to test his hypotheses.

"Let's go inside the house, okay?"

The boy makes a desperate sound and holds his father's hand,
dragging him rushing home.
They sat in the living room.
"Ready, now can I?"

"No. I'm upset, Eric. I told you it's not okay to peep other people's stuff. What were you doing in my room?"

"I was looking for my book."

Simon takes the box from Eric's hands. "This doesn't look like a book, does it?"

"No, but... I wanted to see what was in it."

"So you've already opened it?! Eric!"

The little black-haired guy is quick to say:
"Dad! Before you get mad and punish me for what I did, could you answer my questions?"

Mr. Cowell murmurs in God's name and opens the box. Normally he would do that at night when no one would see.

He pulls out the letters.

"Who's David, Dad?"

"He was your mother's lover"

Eric shakes his head.
"That's a lie. The dedications have your name on them."

Simon smiles slightly: his son is very intelligent.
"Well... he was... a good friend. We met more or less at your age, maybe a little older."

"Were you just friends?"

He feels the heart fall at his feet,
although he's trying to make his huge surprise go unnoticed "um, yes, why?"

The boy rolls his eyes "and again you lie."

"What?"

"So why the love-letters?"

Eric sees an adult blush.
Impressive, he thought that adults could no longer do such an infantile thing.

"They aren't love-letters! They are... they are..."
Simon feels really goofy under the watchful eye of his son.

He understood, somewhat late, but he did: his son has already read the letters,
his childish curiosity had won him over.
It was pointless to lie to him.
"Oh my God..."