Don't Leave Me

Chapter Twenty

I was racking through my brain for the survival techniques that Daryl taught me.

'If you're ever kidnapped, follow what they say.'

Does this count as kidnapping? Drugging me and carrying me through the halls?

I don't know how long I had been here. The darkness in the closet muddled the days together.

"Daddy's gotta work." The Governor announces as he pulls open the closet door. "Do you think you can be a good boy and behave for a babysitter?"

I nod feverishly, the thought of freedom overwhelming.

The Governor beams, scooping me into his arms as he leaves the room.

"I'm going to leave you with a friend named Tara. How's that sound?" He questioned, giddy as we walk to a house.

The Governor pauses before he knocks to fix my shirt and smooth my hair down.

A short woman answers the door, confusion on her face.

"I need you to do a favour and watch my son." The Governor tells her, gesturing to me.

"I- I didn't know you had a son." Tara stutters.

"He's shy." The Governor grins as he sets me on my feet, holding me upright. "Be a good boy for Tara, I don't want to hear that you did anything naughty."

I nod and The Governor lets me go and I fall back into Tara.

She catches me, eyes wide as The Governor turns and leaves.

"Hey, buddy." She pulls me into the house, setting me on the stairs. "What's your name?"

My muscles are too tired to work and I can't seem to form any words.

"Duck." Was the only word I could seem to say.

"Duck? Your name is Duck?" She questioned.

I let out a tired nod.

"Is that a nickname?" She looked uncomfortable.

I let out another nod.

"Would you like to play a game? We could bake something?" Tara doesn't seem to know what to say. "Duck?"

My arm hurts from the recent injection, my mind focused on that.

"Hurts," I mumble.

"What hurts?" Tara questioned. "Duck, what hurts?"

"Arm." I manage to slur out.

Tara reached out to grab my arm.

She then grabs my other one and I flinch away from the best I could with screaming muscles.

"Lemme sees, Duck," Tara tells me, grabbing my sweater sleeve.

It was a blue knitted sweater with an image of a tractor knitted on the front.

I found it to be childish but I didn't get a say in what I wore.

Tara pulls the sweater over my head, discarding it to the side.

She grabs my arm, inspecting the crook of my elbow.

"Are these... needle marks?" Tara's fingers trace over the tiny dots that pattern my arm.

I let out a sob, begging to cry.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. It sounded more like 'I saw.'

"Duck, what happened?" Tara asks, bewildered.

"No more closet." I sob.

Tara pulls me into a hug and we sit there to silence and my sniffling.