The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects

Chapter Fourteen

Tuesday, May 22; (cont.)

Time (Still) Unknown

"My dad is a stationer," I whispered. "He sells pens and pencils; he even supplies my school."

Martin leaned back in his chair and regarded me intently. "We're running out of time, Terra, so why don't you go ahead and tell me about the things you see moving around your house?"

I felt my throat constrict. "I - I don't know what you're talking about," I croaked after a long moment.

Martin leaned forward, his eyes hardening. "Please don't insult my intelligence, little girl. For your sake."

More than anything, I was confused. I was used to being scared - that was nothing new - but now, I was puzzled. Just what was going on here?

"You see, I know all there is to know about you, Terra Martins," he said loftily, returning to his relaxed position. "I know how you pick the anchovies off your pizza. I know how much you enjoy Johnny Depp's movies. And I know that you often sleep in the bath tub, terrified of being on your lonesome."

My heart hammered against my chest and my mouth went dry. How...?

"What's the first thing you feel the instant you see the microwave twitch, hmmm? Is it always fear?" Martin picked up a pen and looked at me expectantly.

Tears pooled in my eyes, no matter how much I tried to keep them in check. "Why are you doing this?" I murmured, despising the silent plea in my voice.

"Timid," Martin said aloud, scrawling in his notebook. "That's good," he said thoughtfully. Looking up suddenly, he met my frightened gaze. "Talk to me, Terra. Pretend that I'm my mother."

"Where IS your mother?" I bit out, ignoring my tears and nervously kicking my feet against his desk.

"You're a bright girl. I'm sure you read the paper."

"I don't buy that."

His mouth quirked into a small, tight smile. "My, aren't we feisty all of a sudden! Docile one minute, and snappy the next." The smile abruptly left his face and was replaced with a scowl. "Don't get cute with me. I'm not opposed to slapping naughty little girls that don't know their place."

He was so different from his mother. At least she had seemed somewhat human. He, on the other hand, scared the hell out of me.

Where was Marco to protect me?

"S-sorry," I stammered pathetically. Martin had just told me that he could get violent. Logic told me not to try him.

"Apology accepted." He sighed heavily. "Now can we get this over with? I have another batch of kids, much like yourself, to speak to. You're wasting my time by being uncooperative, Terra."

"What do you mean, much like myself?"

"More unnecessary questions?" Martin snapped. "I'm asking. You're answering. Understand?"

I nodded quickly, afraid that I would drive him to lashing out at me.

"All right," he muttered. "Go ahead and answer me this: Would you call yourself an antisocial person?"

His conversational tone bothered me, but all the same, I had to reply. "I - I guess so. I'm not good at making friends. Your mother said - "

"How about we leave my mother out of this for at least two seconds?" Martin said sardonically.

I bit my bottom lip. "Sure."

"Does your inability to stabilise friendships have something to do with your - hmmm... let's call it - phobia."

I felt tears slowly slither down my cheeks. "Y-yes."

"Is it you, or is it people?"

"B-both."

"Ah. How does this make you feel?"

"I don't know."

"That's not an acceptable answer," Martin said sternly, tapping his pen on the desk.

"I don't care!" I snapped. I didn't care if he slapped me.

"You don't care about being a friendless loser? Or you don't care that 'I don't know' isn't good enough?"

His words, coupled with the maliciousness in his tone, made me gape in astonishment.

Martin let out a deep sigh. "I apologise. That was uncalled - "

A loud knock interrupted his apology, and the door was swung open.

"Hey, Uncle. I was - " a voice said from behind me.

A familiar voice.

A voice that had soothed me over the years.

I turned in my seat and met Marco's wide eyes, gazing at me in horror, one hand on the doorknob.

He looked away first.