Callum
My feet don’t stop moving as I slam my bedroom door shut behind me. Pacing the length of the room, up and down, back and forth.
Stop. Just stop.
Those words were deafening. A wake-up call and a slap in the face at the same time. What the hell am I doing? I need to get some control over myself before I completely lose my mind and hurt us both in the process.
I should go downstairs, relieve some stress and clear my head.
No.
I’m done with that. I made a promise to myself that it would end the minute she came to the island.
Sweat gathers at my hairline, even though it’s only sixty degrees in this room. Always sixty degrees. Never more, never less.
“Fuck,” I bellow, gripping the sides of my head and tugging at my hair. My fingers dig deeper, nails scraping my scalp as memories of the past flood my mind.
“My name is Callum,” I shout loudly at the crazy bitch standing in front of me.
“No, honey. You’re just confused.” She brushes my hair back with warm fingers. Her eyes are lit up like she really believes I’m her dead son standing in front of her. “Now, go eat your breakfast, so Peter can bring you to school.”
My voice rises as I do everything Vincent forbids me to do. “I don’t go to school. Wanna know why? Because you crazy people don’t let me. You keep me locked in this house, pretending I’m someone I’m not, just so you don’t have to face the truth.”
Her hand presses flat against my forehead. “Are you sick, Caden?” Her eyes dart to my open bedroom door and she hollers, “Vincent. Come in here, please.”
Vincent is my adoptive dad, and standing in front of me is my adoptive mother, who is three crayons short of a full box. I know exactly what the rules are. I also know what’s coming from breaking them, but I hate this. Pretending to be someone I’m not, just so this lady can keep living in a fantasy world.
For the most part, I do as I’m told, but every now and then, I get fed up and this is one of those moments.
My heart rate excels as Vincent’s footsteps come closer down the hall.
“Daddy will take you to the doctor and we’ll make you all better, Caden.”
Slapping her hand away from me, I scream, “I’m not Caden!”
That’s all it takes for me to be gripped by the back of my shirt and anchored off the ground. Delilah continues to ramble nonsense to Vincent about how she thinks I’m sick and have a fever, but neither of us pay any attention as I’m being carried out of the room.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Shut your damn mouth,” Vincent growls, taking me down the hall. The collar of my shirt digs into the skin of my neck and I can feel my throat restricting. He stops outside my bedroom door and messes with the thermostat.
“No. Please. Not that. I’ll do anything. I’ll tell her I’m Caden. I’ll let her read me a story. Just please, don’t do that.”
Vincent kicks the door open and tosses me inside. My body comes to a rolling stop in front of my bed and I sit up quickly as I watch his shiny black boots coming toward me. “I’m sorry,” I cry out, “it was a mistake.”
I keep scooting, trying to bide as much time as I can, although my punishment is inevitable. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out as the back of Vincent’s hand pierces my cheek. The sting lingers, but it’s quickly replaced by the pain in my stomach as the point of his shoe meets my side.
“If you wanna be Callum, you can go back to that shack of orphans you came from. In this house, you will be Caden.”
“Stop. Just stop,” I beg of him.
The kicks continue, targeting every part of my body as the air in the room thickens to the point of suffocation.
Once I’m unable to move, or speak, Vincent finally leaves.
The door closes and each lock on the outside echoes through my body.
An hour or more passes and I’m finally able to push myself off the floor and strip out of my clothes. The temperature continues to rise until I’m vomiting on my own legs. It’s at least one hundred and twenty degrees at this point, and I’m barely able to keep my eyes open.
So I shut them, drifting away to another lifetime. One I created just for myself. A castle on a private island where no one can touch me. Maybe she’ll join me. Maybe I’ll make her.
Delilah took her life the night before my eighteenth birthday. I think part of her knew I wasn’t Caden. It was just easier to pretend I was. After all, that’s the only reason Vincent adopted me—because I was a loser with nothing but a name, and the spitting image of his offspring. The next day, when I turned eighteen, everything changed.
I never knew Caden, but I knew everything about him. I lived his life, took over his room, and was given his name—not legally, though. Apparently, he died only months before the Ellises took me in. Delilah was always crazy, but the death of her son pushed her over the edge. She refused to accept he was gone, and Vincent refused to let her. So I played the part of the dutiful son, just biding my time until I could make Vincent pay.
And pay he did.
