It's a Dark World in Here

“Two plus two is four, and four plus four is eight,” Josie says. “Simple.”

Her brown eyes glance down, smirking slightly. She takes the notepad and hands it to me.

“Two plus one?”

“Three?”

Josie smiles proudly and she smacks my palm against hers. I rest against her shoulder. I hear the scrapping of the bed and try to bury myself in her lap. It doesn't block out the sound of Rye's begging.

I roll onto my side, away from him. The thought briefly crosses my mind to run, like I did the first few times after Rye died, but I know I’d never make it. He kept the door open when he was in here, but he could close it with a snap of his fingers.

He liked to do stuff like that. Dangle freedom in our face but never allow us to snatch it.

I bury my head in my arms as he tugs on his clothes. I hear his footsteps recede, but they stop just in front of the door.

“Oh, Harry.”

I don’t look up, my back tensing. The words sound rotten in the air, his deep, dark, evil voice filling the empty, dim, stone room.

It's Monstrous.

“Happy eleventh birthday.”

The door falls shut. I wish it had slam.

“Guess what?” Josie tugs me down, beside the bed. Rye is looking down from side, eyebrow raised. Josie raises a paper.

“It was delivered while I was cleaning, and I managed to snag it. It’s July, the thirty first, actually. Turns out it’s dear old Harry’s birthday,” Josie teases, wiggling the paper.

“Ballsy to steal today, then,” Rye’s voice is pinched. “How old is he?”

“How old am I?”

The question is one we ask at the same time.

A look crosses Josie’s face and she glares at Rye, then turns to gently cups my face.

“You’re officially eight, today, Harry,” Josie speaks lowly. “He won’t hurt you yet.”

I want to ask when then, if not now. But the door creaks open and Josie shoves the paper away.

She stands, and Rye takes my hand to pull me to The Corner.

I have math to do.

I decided that my favorite color is green. Rye once told me that it was the color of my eyes, that, like them, I was unique.

He didn’t really trust color but sometimes, after He used him for a long time and we cuddled, he’d just want to stare at them.

I wish I had a mirror, maybe they’d help me, too.

“I can’t, Josie, I just can’t.”

Rye is yelling.

Rye never yells.

Why is he yelling?

My head lifts off the bed and my eyes widen in surprise.

Josie is clearly panicked, her eyes wide and hands in her hair, clutching at the curls.

“Rye, no! No! Stop, stop it. It’s a death wish!”

Rye is at the door. It’s partially open.

“It’s a trick! Rye, just, Merlin, quit it.”

I whine and sit up more.

“Rye, please.” I beg. I don’t know why, I just know Josie is right.

He would kill Rye.

Rye’s eyes fall to mine and he momentarily softens. Then his eyes and face and body harden, and he’s out the door.

Josie turns to me as the door slams, and her body quakes.

One, two, three, four—

A shrill scream pierces the air.

Then silence.

Josie falls to her knees and sobs.

The door opens and a malicious chuckle fills the room.

Red eyes meet mine as he grabs Josie from behind and yanks at her clothing.

One day, Josie brought a book.

“He gave it to me. Today’s my birthday,” Josie explains.

I miss her smile. She hasn’t been the same since Rye.

“How old are you?” I question.

“Seventeen,” Josie smiles softly. “Rye would’ve been fourteen tomorrow.”

I curl into myself and nod. Josie looks up at me.

“Do you know how to read?”

He slides me a book the day after my eleventh birthday.

I know from Josie that it would usually mean I’d be heading to Hogwarts or some other school, but that’s doubtful considering my position.

I pick up the book, though, and I sit in my corner.

Transfiguration for Beginners and Young Students

I get another the next day.

Potions: Beginning Your Drought

And another, and another, until I have ones about every subject.

He doesn't stop visiting, but I don't stop reading, either.