The Old Café: The Monster In Room 23

Chapter 11

Varian found himself five years old again, running up to his adoptive mom.  Even though abuse had gone on for about two years at this point, he was still to young to realize that he was abused.  They had told him that it was out of love, so he believed them.  Whenever he ran up and hugged them though, they'd always push him away it was hard to understand whether or not if they did.

"Mummy, look!  One day when I'm bigger, I'm gonna invent things!"

"No, dear.  They won't take in brats like you," she said.  "Best forget that dream, baby."

Varian looked down at his drawing.  "But I wanna make a robot so you don't have ta work so hard and you can be with me more…"

"I said stop this nonsense!" She snapped taking the paper out his hands, tearing it.  It was throne into the trash before he could protest.  He burst into tears at his adoptive mothers actions.  "Stop your crying!  It's week!"  She slapped him, making him stumble back.

"I'm sorry, mummy…" He desperately wiped away at his tears.

"Then stop your blubbering!  It's extremely annoying!  Go do something useful for once!"  She threw a glass at him and he was barely able to scramble away before it hit him.

Varian blinked his eyes open.  He could tell it was morning.  For a moment, he was confused how he got in his own bed.  Then he had the fuzzy memory of Quirin saying something like he did a good job and that he was proud?  No.  That had to be a fragment of his imagination.  It was too good to be true.  He also had a faint memory of Quirin carrying him home like a baby.  He groaned and pulled the covers over his face, feeling a rush of embarrassment.

Of course Quirin wasn't proud.  He had done nothing but throw fits and cuss at him, call him names, and cause problems.  It was just dreaming that he said it, knowing deep down that it was one of his wishes.  To do a good job and make someone proud, but he had no one to make proud.

He felt a familiar surge of bitterness enter his chest.  Why he was angry at Quirin because of his dream, he wasn't certain, nor was it logical.  It didn't stop the anger from coursing through his body though.  Frankly, he didn't really care who or what or where he directed his anger at.  Anger was just anger to him.  The one emotion that he let have a hold on him.

Rolling over, he squeezed his stuffed raccoon closer to him.  He made sure it was hidden underneath the blacket so that if an annoying person burst in his room to wake him up, they wouldn't see that snuggling with a stuffed animal.  It was the only thing he had left of his younger years.  It had been given to him back when his mummy and papa loved him, before they became board with him.  He wanted to hate them, but he had loved them and he couldn't bring himself to.  It left him with an empty hole in his heart.  There was no way he would ever let himself love again.  It wasn't worth the pain.

Sure enough, there was a knock on his door.  Of course it was Cassandra.  "Hey, kid.  You gotta get up.  You have work today."

Varian groaned.  He did not want to go through that again.  Ever.  What was with the guy anyway? He wouldn't budge or even bend to his will just to get him to shut up.  Why was the man torturing him so?  There was no possible way that this was for his own good.

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I am officially angry with Varian's adoptive parents.  How could they do that to a sweet, innocent child like Varian?