Little Lila

three | warm feelings

A man appears at the door. He gasps when he sees me. "My princess," He whispers, stepping towards me. "I'm your father. I'm so, so, so glad you're home." 

I sit up, and back away. My back touches the headboard. My father stops. He frowns. My mother goes to him. 

"Do you want anything, my dear? It's nearly lunchtime... and you haven't eaten for a full day. Yes, I'll get you something," My mother rushes out nervously. 

Is she pretending? 

Is she lying to my face? 

Is she even my mother? Is he my father? Are they assassins from the Center? Nurses from the asylum? 

But they look like me. I can see myself in both of them.  

My parents. 

Questions swarm my mind. I suddenly feel sick. 

My mother leaves. My father stays. He stays a good distance away. Is it to make me feel safe? Or is he disgusted by me?

"I know you're frightened, Lila. I understand fear. I just want you to know that your mother, brothers and I love you so much. We've been broken since you were kidnapped. We only just found you." 

I've been waiting for this moment my entire life. 

Hoping. 

Praying. 

Waiting. 

Wishing. 

But I don't feel excited. I don't feel happy. 

I feel paranoid. Stressed. 

How can I accept these people? These people who left me? These people who claim that they love me wholeheartedly? 

Why can't I be happy when this is everything I wanted? 

I stare at the man. My father. 

My father

Father

Father

I never thought I'd be able to call anyone that. 

No one 

Ever thought 

That I'd be 

L o v e d 

It's a strange feeling. I feel warm. Bubbly. Fuzzy. Excited. 

Happy. 

Such an odd word, isn't it? Happy. Ha-ppy. It's silly. A silly sound if I think about it. Most words sound odd if you say them enough. 

Someone clears their throat. I blink once and my vision clears. I'm back in the nice bedroom, sitting on the soft bed, staring at the gentle man. 

My father. 

He smiles at me. 

I find myself smiling back. 

He looks nothing like Sir. Sir had gelled red hair and sharp green eyes gleaming with malice. 

My father has my soft blue eyes, just like his wife, but he also has brown hair. I took the blonde hair from my mother. 

He looks so so so nice. 

I like nice people. 

28 and 67 were nice to me. They took care of me and made sure I wasn't killed. They treated me like a sister. 

Sara was my first friend. 

Where are they now? 

I haven't allowed myself to think of Sara. I try to block out the once sweet, innocent young girl. My bestest of friends. 

She changed after I was picked for the first time. 

She grew cold and desolate. She screamed and cried. The nurses dragged her away and she came back bleeding and bruised. 

I tried to comfort her. But my words weren't enough. 

She became crazy. 

Just like the rest of us. 

I hate it when nice people are turned into shells. Shells of the people they were. Shells that can easily crumble. 

I wouldn't say I'm outwardly nice. 

But I'm not cruel. 

I only killed because I was forced to. I had to. Not killing just wasn't an option. 

It wasn't it wasn't it wasn't

Sir's voice wraps itself into my mind. 

They'll kill you, you know, my 102. 

They don't want you. 

When they see you're a monster, they'll kill you. 

I would never hurt you, 102. 

Come back

 Back

I shake my head. My father frowns. The door opens and my mother walks back inside, holding a tray with a porcelain white bowl on it. 

She sets it down on top of my lap. The food is brown. Textured. Small, blue circles are sprinkled in it. 

I narrow my eyes at it. I've never eaten food like this. It's much nicer than the food I've eaten before— slushy vomit-colored mush. Clear broth. Stale bread. 

"It's oatmeal, blueberries and honey. It's quite good, darling. Do you want to try it? Or perhaps we can all go downstairs and find something?" My mother asks softly, reassuringly. 

I immediately shake my head, pick up the spoon, and take a bite of the oat-meal. Oatmeal. What a nice name. It sounds like home. 

Flavor floods my mouth. It's so sweet and warm. "It's good," I whisper, a sudden wave of shyness taking over me. My parents beam. 

"Oh, wonderful! Eat as much as you can," My mother says. My father smiles at me once more before leaving the bedroom.  

"Where is he going?" I ask, taking another small bite. This bite has a blueberry. Blue. Berry. It bursts in my mouth. It's sweet, pleasant. 

"He's going to get your brothers. They'll be waiting in the foyer. They're dying to see you after a decade, Lila. They love you, so, so much. Just like me. Just like your father." 

My mouth goes dry.

I suddenly feel queasy. My mother frowns. She slides closer to me, placing a hand on my arm. She smiles at me. 

"They love you, Lila. We all love you. I'm determined to make you the most spoiled, loved little girl ever." 

I love hearing those words. 

My heart flutters in my chest. 

But my mind beats down my heart. My brain screams at me, "Don't listen! Don't! They'll turn their backs on you once they see the monster you really are." 

I smile back at the woman. 

For now, I can play my part. I can become a sweet girl for them. Shy. Sweet. Worthy of love. I won't be damaged or deranged or crazy. 

I will become lovable.