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thevickb

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He stood still for a moment, not moving an inch; his body postured like a statue. His hands at his sides, curled into fists. He seemed like he was angry at something. And I think that person was probably me. He did not like me very much; actually, he couldn’t stand me. This didn’t matter very much to me, as my feelings were mutual. But although these feelings were wedged hard into my heart, I still had to like him. Well, pretend to like him. My father worshipped the feet he stood on. He obeyed his every word as if he were a God. So, in a way I had to keep my feelings hidden, because his word was law. Nothing else mattered except his words. And if you didn’t listen to them then they’d be a war. For me anyway. Disobeying and breaking of his rules wouldn’t be great on my account.

His hair was short and shaggy, the colour of it now becoming white, the bronze colour slowly fading. Wrinkles were worn into his forehead, his face creased with age. He was a serious man, his face gaunt and withered. Giving away no feelings. He glowered his stone, black eyes at me. I met his gaze, unable to help it. They were too powerful, too sharp and intense. It was hard to look away. He wore a pair of black rimmed glasses that were lowered below the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t very handsome, I can tell you that. But his figure was something else; he did have the perfect body. He was broad and fit and masculine.

One of the first things I noticed about him was that he wasn’t wearing a suit like he usually did, which was strange. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, showing off the muscle of his arms. Red, crisscross gashes ran along each of his arms, though they were slowly fading to scars. I cowered back on the bed, touching the stonewall behind me. I was sure that he was wearing this for my purpose, to show me what I’d done to him, what I was capable of. Did I do that? I hadn’t realised I’d been so strong. I could barely remember what happened now. Only after. When I woke up. That was more than a week ago now, maybe even longer. I hadn’t seen the doctor since.

He drew close to me, his arms outstretched. “Ollie darling!” He said mockingly in the tone of my father. “How are you?” he asked, slightly touching my shoulder. I flinched back away from him, hating the feel of his touch. I looked over his shoulders, at the door. Expecting my father to be there. He never let me out of my sight whenever the doctor was near. Maybe he didn’t know he was here yet.

“Daddykins isn’t here yet. He’s downstairs.” I nodded my head at him, wishing for my father to hurry up. I didn’t feel safe being alone with the doctor.

“I see he’s allowing you to roam free again. Silly man.” he said his eyes bring into me. I looked at him, confused. My father always locked it when the doctor was around.

“No.” I said, almost in a whisper. I wanted to tell him that my father wasn’t silly, that the only silly one around here was him. But I kept quiet, keeping my thoughts to myself. Saying something at this time wasn’t going to do me any good.

“Liar. Didn’t it go down to breakfast this morning? If he thinks unlocking its door is going to keep me from finding it, then he’s a fool. After last week, he should keep it on a leash. Monster.” He spat, saliva rolling own his chin. It. The word rang through my mind. That was all I was to him. He didn’t like calling me by my real name, though I didn’t know why. I was less than human to him.

“It?” I asked

“You. It, you. Same thing. I’m still expecting something from you as well.” he said, lightly touching his arms, “You’re your fathers son, I can tell you that. Brought you up well didn’t he?” I didn’t understand what he meant by this. My father wasn’t violent. Yes, he had a temper but he’d never been violent towards me. He was more the opposite, he wouldn’t harm a hair on my head.

“Well?” he asked me. I stayed quiet. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t apologize. I’d rather have him examine me repeatedly than have to apologize to this man. I knew it was wrong; I shouldn’t have attacked him like that. But I had to stand up to him somehow. I hated the way he treated me, the way he looked at me, the way he acted towards me. Like I wasn’t human, as if my life wasn’t worth anything to him. But I suppose all doctors were like this. Everyone had a doctor until they were eighteen. Mine was just hard to work with. I wondered if other people’s doctors were like this, or maybe they were worse. Maybe I was lucky. I only had two more years left of this Two more years of examinations and operations that made me feel weak and groggy. That was all. Then I’d be free of him.

“I’m waiting.”