Algid (#TronnorAU)

Chapter 43: Into the birdcage

The next part of the story is just too sad. She doesn't like to remember it. Let's keep it that way.

She doesn't know how much time passed. She knows it was at least six nights. But at some point, she lost track of time. She could tell due to how many times she saw sunlight through the little crack on the door of the room where she was being kept. She dreaded every single time the door opened.

But then, one day, it didn't open. Not for the entire day. And on the next morning, it got busted open, and in came many people with flashlights, but by the time she realized they were policemen, she passed out.

She remembers being asked many questions. Many stupid questions she couldn't answer. Perhaps that's where she got her bad habit from. Like, for example, what had they done to you? Does it hurt anywhere? Holding up a doll in front of you, and asking you to point where they touched you. She didn't have that many fingers.

Finally, they let her see her family. The doctors walked up to them, shaking their heads. "She's not speaking", they told her mum and dad, "we think she's avoiding verbal speech as a form of coping with the trauma." Every single one of them cried. Her mum, her dad, Steele, Tyde. Troye didn't say anything, but he didn't stop crying for a second. They all hugged her, and slept with her in the hospital that night.

Tyde was too little to understand, and so was Troye, but he had made all the questions, and was more or less aware. At least as aware as a nine-year-old boy could be. He laid in the same bed as her that night, and holding her close, he made a promise to her. A promise to never let go, and to always protect her, no matter what.

That was the first time she ever let him see her cry.

And still, she wouldn't mutter a single word.

The next year wasn't easy. It took her a while to go back to school, but when she did, the word had already spread. Once again she had been news, only this time it went far more than just local newspaper. The girls whispered once again, and stood their distance away from her. "There she goes", they said, "that's the girl who got snatched", they said.

One day, they were in gym class, and they were being put into teams to play football. Like usual, she was being picked last, and went as far a sitting on the bleachers to avoid playing. Not liking what he saw, the gym teacher scolded the kids for keeping their classmate from playing. He went towards her and tried to encourage her to play.

His hand grazed her shoulder.

She fell on all fours to the ground, and screamed.

The doctors called it "post-traumatic stress disorder". They used many fancy words and confusing terms to explain that, in short, she was cuckoo in the head. She didn't need them telling her that, she knew it well. She wasn't stupid.

Soon that became news as well, and school simply became hell.

-"That's enough! That's far more than enough! She doesn't need this; we don't need this! We're taking her off that awful school!"

-"But what are we going to do!? We can't just take her off from school! Where will she go!? Nobody will take her in!"

-"Then I will teach her! I will be her teacher! I used to be, before I had the kids! I can get a license and everything!"

-"Laurelle, I don't know..."

-"Well, I do know! I want what's best for my baby girl, and if that means she's going to be homeschooled, then so be it...!"

She and Troye were listening to the whole discussion from the outside of their parent's bedroom. She cradled herself in his arms, whimpering. She was asking herself in her head, if perhaps it was her fault. If mum would have to leave work for her. Troye could tell what she was thinking. He rocked her back and forth, and told her that it was alright. That it wasn't her fault. That it wasn't her fault...