Chapter 21
Adriana felt naked without her crutches. Her leg ached and throbbed, crying for rest. She looked longingly at the booth seat across the room, just to sit. Sitting was so underrated. Nobody thought much of it until they weren’t allowed.
Hank had taken Cindy into another room. When he had grabbed her, she looked frightened and dropped her box. It rested on the floor beside that oh so comforting bean-bag.
Cindy’s mother was sitting in a chair reading a newspaper, her face smug. She had her legs crossed, the top one swaying up and down, seeming to mock Adriana for missing one. Mary let her left shoe slip halfway off her foot, dangling it as her leg worked. So relaxed, you could never tell she had done any wrong in her life.
Adriana’s eyes sank to the floor. The box was only a few feet from her.
Squiggles, cuts, and soft depressions decorated its surface. A small corner had been chipped off, exposing fresh wood.
She wondered why her friend guarded it so much. What was inside, and had Cindy ever seen? Why would she be afraid of it, yet keep it nearby all the time? Maybe it could save them.
To decrease the pressure on her leg, Adriana tried to lean against the wall more than she was already doing. A ledge stuck out about half an inch in which she put her fingers.
But it was useless. Nothing could replace crutches. With them she could walk blocks and not tire; she could stand and support her weight using her arms.
Nothing in this room resembled crutches. Dented cans of food lay sprawled on the counter in the kitchenette, dirty dishes overfilled the sink, clothing and newspapers littered the room, and the smell of stale breath and decaying food rode the air.
She could hear her foster sister’s sobbing and occasional screams next door. Something had to be done. But who could she turn to? All the responsible adults in her life were gone.
It was the story of her life.
More recently, it was because she was crippled. But having been abused by her father didn’t help her case any. She was not only a cripple, but a used and battered one. Who in their right mind would want such a damaged child? She could get over her father not loving her, but she couldn’t get over no one ever loving her. That was what really hurt, people continuing to abandon her.
She cried quietly for a few minutes, not wanting Mary to hear.
Mary set down the newspaper, retrieved a rope from the cabinet, took two steps to the corner by a pole that ran from the floor to the ceiling, and ordered, “Get over here, freak.” When Adriana reached the pole, Mary pulled Adriana’s wrists behind her back around the pole, then tied them tightly together. Then Mary left.
At least she could finally sit, and she plopped down. The floor was carpeted, which offered a little cushioning.
In front of her, only four feet away, lay the box. It was all alone on the dirty brown carpet, standing out in the unwholesome room. She thought she could smell the scent of freshly cut wood from it. She twisted to lay on her side and reached with her toes, but just missed the box.
From the other room, she heard a symphony of coughing, sneezing, and burping. She wondered what the adults were doing because her foster sister was silent.
After a minute, she heard footsteps and quickly straightened herself into a sitting position. The door opened and Mary entered, cradling her daughter in her arms. She gently sat the girl in the booth around the table. “There now, baby. Everything is gonna be fine. Mommy loves you.”
Adriana felt sick to her stomach hearing these words. They were so contradictory to everything she had seen about Mary. She wished with all her might that someone could bang sense into these idiots and make them really care.
Love was hard to come by. Adriana knew this firsthand. The highest love she ever felt was the love she had for herself. She wasn’t sure where this came from. Nobody had really taught her. But she knew she cared, not in a spoiled, self-centered way, just genuine caring. Although it was a lonely feeling, at least it was warm.
Cindy appeared half conscious, eyes glazed, barely able to support herself.
“Mommy is going to get you a drink.”
As the woman passed by, a rotting egg stench forced Adriana to exhale and tighten her nostrils and eyes closed. There was a clatter of plates and silverware being pushed aside. A hiss of water came from the kitchen faucet. Then it stopped and footfalls landed, forming a sound-trail back to Cindy.
Adriana opened her eyes to see Mary snarling at her daughter. Then without a word, she left.
Adriana whispered, “Untie me.”
Cindy just eyed the watery glare of the glass of water in front of her.
She whispered louder, “Snap out of it.”
Cindy continued staring at the glass as though its contents represented all the limited love her mother possessed, treasuring that liquid with her eyes, not wanting to look away, not wanting to drink it and forever be without evidence.
“Can you at least kick the box to me?”
With those words her head twitched.
“Yes,” Adriana said, excited, “the box.”
Her eyes shimmered in a flurry of blinks.
“Remember the box? It’s on the floor here.”
After several spasms, Cindy spun away from the water and dropped to the floor. She picked up the box, sat back down at the booth, and placed the box between her legs.
“Open it.”
Cindy looked at her friend. She spoke in a thin, frightened voice. “Don’t ever say that. It can’t be trusted.” She looked back to the water glass, eyes losing life. “It’s dangerous.”
She seemed to be changing in some awful way. Cindy hadn’t acted this odd in the foster home. “What did they do to you? What did they want?”
“They wanted to love me.” She leaned forward to the glass as she spoke. “They are loving me.”
This was maddening. If she could, Adriana would’ve clapped her hands together in front of the girl’s face to try to shock some sense into her. “What are you talking about? I heard you crying in there and screaming.”
She turned to Adriana. “Don’t be silly. They love me.” She looked back at the water, reached with a trembling hand, then pushed the glass away at the last second.
She smiled. “They care for me.”