Teenage Baby

Chapter 32

Chapter 32:

Soft.

  Aaron's body felt like it was sunk in something soft and comfortable, a drastic contrast against the sharp pains that swallowed every frail bone in him; his neck hurt, his shoulders hurt, his back hurt, his knees were screaming—every possible spot was aching. The strongest pain came in explosive blasts within his skull, making his temples throb like drills were working into them.

When he forced the reluctant muscles of his eyelids to function, the first thing his bleary vision was ambushed with was the same blackness, except for one new element: a dizzying swirl of gold squeezed in.

  For a second, he felt so disoriented he didn't even realize his face was half buried in the pillow beneath his head. And when he did, he lifted it away from the fabric, propping his elbow beneath him to maintain the position. But then his elbow slipped, and he dropped back face first against the pillow with a tired grunt.

Something felt off. Aaron couldn't quite remember what had last happened—his brain was fully functional and the memories were there, but the painful pounding in his head made it difficult to focus properly.

  The first recollection of the loose threads in his brain slotted back in place; the hazy sequence of events cleared, and he remembered exactly what had happened. He'd been in the middle of escaping, he'd made it beyond the fence, and he'd been running away.

Until the captors had found him.

  The realization set his nerves on fire. Aaron quickly pulled himself from the mattress he was on, grunting as he felt a couple of joints in him pop. The lights in the room were turned on, a soft yellow glow, and it was enough for him to realize he'd never been there. There were two single beds, one on which he was settled. It wasn't Mommy and Daddy's room. Neither Lou's. And certainly not the nursery. He'd never been in this specific place before.

Where was he?

  Aaron scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his legs down, and in doing so his stomach contracted. The movement pained him. One look down his front made him realize he was wearing a black turtleneck, certainly not what he remembered he'd been last wearing—he'd had on a jacket.

He gripped the hem and pulled it up, revealing along the small red spot there, and his mind quickly supplied him with memories of when Daddy had pressed his knee right there to keep him motionless.

  He winced when a burn flared along his neck. It lasted only a second. Aaron reached up, pulling the fabric constricting his neck down for a peek. His fingers grazed along the skin, but then they went over a soft bump—a small piece of gauze plastered onto the wound he'd torn into his own skin.

  The lack of acknowledgment of the place ignited a small flickering hope in his heart; a tiny part of him allowed himself the precariousness of rejoicing upon the prospect of having been saved. Perhaps police had come in a sudden ambush after he'd been drugged, or maybe a random stranger even. But Leo. Where was Leo?

  But then, the joy began dying when Aaron noticed a pacifier sitting beside the vase on the nightstand. When he tugged at the knob but the door never opened. When he raced to the window only to look through familiar metallic bars at the iron fence that towered high like a constriction around his life. That was when he realized that none of the fantasies he'd allowed himself to believe was true—he was still there, still trapped between three psychopaths.

Everything he'd done; all the planning, all the acting, all the work...

It all went to waste.

"No way," Aaron whispered to himself as he stumbled back a step. His back hit the hard surface of the closet. He let himself rest against it for a second, hand reaching up to scratch down his neck frantically, right beneath his jawline, pulling the fabric of the turtleneck down as he did.