Those that are silent... by Naomi M-B (different e readers TXT) 📕

“I can hear you!” Dean snapped from the other end of the room.

“Sames,” Satra said, wincing as the Nurse poked his arms. “If you’re that desperate to discuss us, please do it somewhere else or at least keep your voices down. Ow!” Pain flickered across his face as she touched his hand.

Alarm lit up in Dean’s face. It was quickly suppressed when he caught sight of Terone and Kamitra looking at him.

“Sprained wrist,” the Nurse announced. “Go and get some ice on that.” Beyond grateful, Satra all but fled the room. Turning toward Kamitra, she pointed at him. “You next. Please move Mister Davison.” With an ever gracious smile, he complied. A few moments later, Kamitra was sent off to fetch an icepack as well.

They were kept in a freezer outside the staff room that anyone could access. A lot of kids used it to store drinks during Summer or ingredients for Food Tech. Once someone stored snowballs in a plastic box till June. They’d terrorised other students attempting to enjoy the thick heat. Since then the freezer was regularly checked and any undesirable items were binned.

Satra was leaning against the wall beside the freezer when Kamitra arrived. Glancing up, he quickly dug another icepack out and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Kamitra murmured. It felt amazing against his head. “For earlier too.”

“It’s nothing,” Satra replied. “I don’t really care how he acts but I had at least presumed he was above bullying little kids.”

Sitting down beside him, Kamitra pressed the icepack harder against his skin, desperate for that shock of relief again. After several moments, he asked, “Why?”

Apparently, Satra’s thoughts had wandered off in those few seconds as he just stared bemusedly at him. “Why what?”

“Why is Dean above it?”

Expression clearing, Satra turned his gaze away again. “Oh…” He shrugged. “I guess I expected better of him.”

Another pause.

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” Satra snapped, temper flaring. “Because I thought he was like me? I mean, I thought I understood him! I thought he only acted like this because we’ve got the same problems. But then he goes and does the most ridiculous things and suddenly-” Voice cutting off with a slight squeak, he froze, eyes locked on Dean. The younger boy was also immobilised, mid-step, shock written across his face. “Shit,” Satra whispered. “Shit, shit.” Still swearing, he whirled around and raced up the corridor.

“Satra, wait!” Dean yelled after him, giving chase. Their footsteps quickly fade and they were gone.

*

Kamitra’s father picked him up from outside the school an hour later. As expected, the Deputy had called to alert him of the incident. In addition to being excluded for the rest of the day, Kamitra was not to return to school till next Monday. Only Terone had gotten off lighter than him, though. A flutter of eyelashes and sweet smile had seen to it that Terone would return the day after next. Satra and Dean were both off for two weeks and Ren was banished for the rest of the half-term. None of them seemed too bothered with their punishments.

It was only Kamitra who was at all concerned. Despite himself, he’d begun to panic as he waited for his father’s car.

“Calm down,” Terone had said, spotting his shaking hands. “It’s only a few days. Besides it’s your first incident so they won’t put it on your record.” At that moment, Kamitra had spotted the old red fiesta trundling up the road and he stopped listening.

Face completely blank, Kamitra’s father climbed out the car. He walked around, eyes fixed on his son. “Are you hurt?” he asked briskly. Automatically, Kamitra mutely denied it.

“His got a nasty knock on the back of his head,” Terone corrected him. He frowned when he saw the way Kamitra froze. “Satra got thrown into him.”

“I threw him,” Dean admitted, glancing at Satra who was very quiet for once.

Eyes flicking over them, Kamitra’s father nodded slowly. “I see. Get in the car, boy.” Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Kamitra bolted in. A moment later, his father joined him and they were driving home.

Silence reigned the entire time. Huddled up with his bag, Kamitra stared out of the window, eyes snagging the little details they passed. Teenagers lounging in alleys, an old woman with a bag stuffed trolley, a toddler holding a cat, a woman with blue beads in her hair. Little things, little details.

The house was cold and grey when they entered. Tall buildings all around blocked out a lot of the sun, preventing its rays from brightening the rooms all that much. Dull light glinted off pots and pans stacked up on the kitchen shelves. The spice rack rattled slightly as Kamitra’s bag was slung onto the hook beneath it.

“You lied to me,” Kamitra’s father said stiffly, the first words in ten minutes. “You said you weren’t hurt. Hit to the head could’ve left you with brain damage. You ought to be grateful that boy told the truth.” Disgust morphed his face. “I thought I taught you better. Fighting. I told you, never fight. You’re too weak and pathetic to stand a chance. A maggot like you has no place standing your ground.” A pause. “What do you say?”

Breath catching thickly in his throat, Kamitra whispered, “I- I- I’m sorry.”

Hand smacking down on the sideboard, Kamitra’s father leaned in close. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” Kamitra squeaked.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, boy. And look at me when I talk to you. I said look at me, you stinking brat.” Slowly, Kamitra raised his eyes. “Now was that so difficult? No, it wasn’t. So why did I need to ask you twice, hm? Are you deaf or just stupid?” No reply earned a sharp, “Well?”

“St-stupid,” Kamitra whispered.

Even this didn’t satisfy him. “So you’re smart enough to admit you're stupid but too dumb to stay out of fights. Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought, maybe you’re insolent too. An insolent little shit who doesn’t do what he’s told. I know what’s best, not you. I make the rules, not you. You do what you’re told. You obey. Got it?” A nod from Kamitra was all he needed this time. “So how to punish you… Because you do need to be punished, it’s the only way you’ll learn. Hm.” He stepped back, looking Kamitra up and down. “You’re getting fat. You’d do well to skip a few meals.”

Slowly, Kamitra nodded. “I… I’ll miss dinner.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” Kamitra’s father snapped. “And stand up straight. You’ve got something like a spine, use it.” Instantly, Kamitra sprang to attention. “I’ve been spoiling you, that’s it. You take all this for granted. Kids would kill to have a life like yours. Sheltered, protected. Do you understand how ungrateful you are? Maybe I need to teach you.” He considered the possibility for a long moment. “Take off your shoes and socks. Now. I said now.”

Fingers shaking so badly, Kamitra couldn’t even gain on a grip on the laces long enough to untie them. When his father gave a warning glare, he tore them from his feet, flinging them away from him.

“Good. Now follow me.”

*

Cold.

So cold.

So very cold.

Dark too.

Thin shoulders hunched over, Kamitra looked up to where he knew the window was. A large square of chipboard had been nailed over it, blocking out any hint of the sun.

Some kids don’t have light.

How long had it been?

How long had it been since his father had torn apart his room? Sent him inside? Closed the door and left?

How long since those last words had echoed through the empty space? Stay in there. Don’t even think about leaving ‘til I say so.

“Won’t leave.” Leaving would be ungrateful.

Learn to be grateful.

“I’m grateful,” Kamitra whispered, lowering his head again.

It didn’t matter that he was hungry. It didn’t matter that he was cold. At least he was safe. At least he was loved. At least he wasn’t alone.

“Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much.”

*

It might have been days or maybe weeks later. His hazy mind could not tell, it had been shifting in and out of consciousness for a while now. Sounds were echoing from somewhere below him. Footsteps, voices, the creaking of floorboards.

“All clear, sir.” Footsteps. Walking. People walking. “No one down here.” More sound, more steps. Babbling, talking.

“You two, upstairs. You, outside with me.” Stairs squeaking. Heavy steps, light steps. People walking up the hall.

“Hey, this door’s unlocked.”

Light. The door was open. That was wrong. That was wrong, it should be closed. His father had told him not to open it. His father would be angry. Close it. Close it.

Despite his weakened limbs, he scrambled away from the opening. “Close it. Close it. Close it.” The words rattled out from his parched throat, little more than a whisper.

“He’s up here!” shouting, someone shouting. Warm hands touched his cold filthy skin. He flinched away. “Someone call an ambulance!” Hands again, this time on his back and his legs. Arms, cradling. A sense of weightlessness. Eyes flickering open he caught glimpse of blurred colours. Blue vests and a flash of amber beads. “Got him… I’ve got him.”

No, he had to stay. Had to… stay… but the sounds were already beginning to fade as his mind slipped under once more.

“I spent a month in hospital,” Kami reported, stretched out on the sofa, eyes distant, “I was very… uh… malnourished, yeah, that’s the word… Turns out Dad had just… gone. I’d been in there for days and sometime during that, Dad had just got up and left.” There was a pause. “When I was discharged, they sent me to the local Children’s Home. The same one that Satra lived in. They found my Aunt after that.” His eyes became more focussed. “She's lovely my Aunt. Better than any mum I could ever have asked for.” He grinned. “But… it’s strange. I mean, I understand that I’m happy and I’m not ungrateful for that but… at the same time… I don’t really feel anything at all. I know I like my Aunt and my friends. I know I adore them. But it’s more a piece of knowledge, the same way you know that the sun makes your skin brown. It’s not the same as feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin and watching it tan.” He paused and looked down at his hands. The smile was still in place, just as sunny and as bright as ever. To the untrained eye it looked entirely genuine. To a fellow actor, it looked extremely well-rehearsed. “It’s like there’s this huge glass wall between me and everything else. I’m looking in but I’m not really there. Do you understand?” He glanced up hopefully.

There was a very long silence. Nothing happened, no one moved. Then, slowly, oh so slowly, she nodded.

His eyes widened in unexpected delight. “Really?”

Another nod.

“I’m glad. I’ve never really explained it to anyone. I tried with Satra once but he didn’t really get it. I don’t think any of them really would. I mean, how could they? Their lives were ruled and ruined by feelings. Satra felt too much, Ren too strongly, Terone only enough to hurt. Sometimes it doesn’t matter but sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m all alone.” He was snapped out of his reverie by a thump.

While he had zoned out, Uta had been leaning towards her desk, reaching for the sketch pad. It now lay on the floor, the pencil rolling toward him.

Slipping off the sofa and onto the floor, he caught it and held it out to her. Instead of taking it, she clasped his hand. Her grip was weak, unable to do much more than guide him in the direction she wished him to go.

Curious, he allowed her to lead him to the sketch pad. She knelt on the floor beside him, dark hair falling like a veil between them. It masked her face and the look of intense concentration that moulded its features.

“You want me to draw?”