Page 349 of Phobia

This time around, I feed him myself. I don’t force it though. I only increase his portion slightly. He chews carefully, growing slower with every consecutive spoonful. It hurts to watch him self-sabotage his health this way.

I haven’t said a single word. As long as he’s trying, I’m not going to push for more. Today.

We finish an entire bowl of soup. Three hundred milliliters of liquid and less than a hundred grams of solids. I could have drank that in one go. It takes Anthony forty-five minutes to power through it.

He looks at the empty bowl. Even that in itself seems to be bring him closer to a panic attack.

I scoop him into my lap, where he tucks himself closer to my chest, listening to my heart, idly threading his fingers through my locs. I rub circles over his back and I let him be.

His breathing evens out and we spend a long while just existing.

“Once up on time,” Anthony mutters and I can feel his soft lips moving against the hollow of my neck, “There was a beautiful French girl, building wells for the poor communities in Tahiti. She had gone there with her uncle, who was leading a group of parishioners. There she met an American boy. They fell in love and she went back home with him. They had nothing but each other. The boy was barely making ends meet, but they loved each other so much, neither of them cared they often had no food or that bills were overdue. They made it work.

“Then the girl found out she was pregnant and instead of getting rid of the baby that would create even more financial woes, they were happier than ever. The boy worked twice as hard so they could afford all the medical bills to come. In his eagerness to provide he had failed to account that he could push his body only so much before exhaustion took over.

“He fell asleep behind the wheel and caused an accident. He was severely injured and had to be put in a medically induced coma. In the hospital, the girl met his family for the first time. She had been told by the boy that he was an orphan.

“There was no time to dwell on any of it, as he died in the middle of the night, leaving her…leaving my mother seven months pregnant with me, alone in a foreign country, with no relatives of her own, no money and nowhere to go.

“Naturally, as his family, they offer to help cover the cost of the funeral and the mountain of medical bills. They invite her to stay with them until she can get back on her feet. My grief-stricken mother had no choice but to accept. At first, they are truly kind and very generous.

“As her pregnancy progressed, she grew tired and more fatigued. She could hardly get out of bed, so they fed her. She slept most of the time, sometimes only waking up briefly and finding out, that she’d been bathed, or redressed, or laid in a different bed.

“Once I was born, they took me away from her, so she could recover in peace, but my mother refused to accept it. She stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. Instead, she started remembering.”

Anthony takes a ragged sob, and I cup the back of his head, kissing his forehead.

Dear Lord, I don’t want to guess where this is going.

“As I grew older, when they came for me, taking me away from her night after night, they would drug me to keep quiet. Beatings and threats never subdued me enough. They put the sedatives in the water, in my food. If I refused it, they’d force it through my clenched teeth. They’d shove it down my throat. They’d inject it in my veins as they pinned me down.

“I remember my mother screaming, begging, until…she gave up. She began to give it to me herself. ‘All I can give you is darkness. All I can do is pray for it to be over fast and you remember none of it.’

“When I was eight, she tried to save me, but in her haste, she shot my uncle and injured my grandmother instead. When the cops came for her, she tried to tell them why, but nobody cared to listen. ‘A poor innocent,’the man I believed was my grandfather would tell the detectives, ‘Took her from the streets to care for her, but the devil was strong in her heart and my wife caught her trying to corrupt our son.’

“Of course, they believed him. He was the priest after all. A pillar of the community. Turns out, we were never related. They simply chanced up on the tragedy of my parents. A gossipy nurse told them my mother had no one and this boy she was crying over was about to die. ‘Lord knows how she gonna pay all those bills.’

“I remember the defeat in her eyes. The relief. The surrender. My mama was taken away from me and all that was ever left was darkness. Even so…I remember everything.”

His trembling body smells of nervous sweat and fear. His teeth chatter even if we are right near the big fireplace, and heat is rolling over us. I hold him close, seething with rage.

“There were days when I would refuse food, and they would inject me with something when I’d faint from hunger and exhaustion. I’d wake up in the hospital, being told I’d been through a series of seizures. I’d get locked up for psychological evaluation if I dared ask for help or if I tried to tell my story.

“If myfamilylost patience with me, there would be beatings and torture too. One of the attacks was so severe, I lost my sight for days.

“I woke up one night…as it was happening. So weak I was, such a coward, all I did was pretend I was still asleep until it was over. When he left me there alone, I crawled out of his bed and dragged myself, still half-drugged through the house, until I made it to the backyard. I ran into the woods behind the house until I reached an abandoned ranger’s station. I grabbed whatever old, tattered clothing I could find and kept going until I was certain I was far enough.

“They looked for me. They fucking went on national TV and had the audacity to ugly cry into the cameras and plead for my safe return, stating that my fragile mental health and schizophrenic diagnoses made me dangerous to myself and others. They spoke of my violent nature and urged the public to report my whereabouts but not to approach me.

“I couldn’t ask for help. I had nowhere to go. I had to hide. For years. Until you finally found me and took me home. Where I belong.”

I damn well know I shouldn’t ruin this, but my jealousy has a mind of its own.

“What about John?” I ask him bitterly.

“He found me when I broke into his warehouse, looking for a safe place to sleep. I was tired and cold. He said he’d call the cops, and I begged him not to. He asked for something in return. I gave it to him, under one condition. I didn’t want to remember anything. For the most part, he kept his end of the deal. But I…I wasn’t good. I couldn’t do what he really wanted. And I…I didn’t try harder to please him, as I hoped he would do what I couldn’t and finally end me.”

I shake with rage. I’m pissed…at myself. I watched that monster destroy him. I stood there idly, allowing him to ruin Anthony night after night, because I was too stupid to realize, this was my soulmate suffering the cruelty of mere mortals. This was the love of my life, barely surviving at the vicious hands of monsters.