Hunger

Rory: Choco

Seth has been home for a few days, and he's spent most of his time up in his room alone. When he does come out, he seems jumpy and agitated. The doctors told us to give him some space, let him get used to things on his own, and if memories resurface just treat him like normal. We can't push him too hard, force him to look at old pictures or quiz him about relatives every morning. The cops tried that. They questioned him at first about where he was all this time, and that ended with Seth in restraints.

The questions that Dad and I are most tempted to ask wouldn't matter anyway, because Seth hasn't shown any sign of progress. They didn't find a single thing wrong with his head during all those tests, so they figure it's the mania. I hate how selfish I am for thinking this, but I'm actually kind of relieved. If Seth doesn't remember the fair, he doesn't remember how whatever happened to him in the last few years is all my fault.

Or so I thought until this morning.

I'm awake super early icing my sore ankle from yesterday's grueling rehearsal. Beauty and the Beast. I'm Beauty. A piece of tulle came off my skirt during a spin and I tripped all over it, sending both myself and the Beast to the floor on our asses. My ankle is twice its usual size but not broken. That's the only thing that could take me out of rehearsal, and even then just because my instructor would force me. I'll put up with every other pain, no matter how excruciating, just to keep dancing.

Seth sneaks downstairs into the kitchen and doesn't see me sitting on the couch in the living room across from it. I hear him open the door to the laundry room, and just as I get up to check on him I hear him whisper, "Choco?"

My body goes cold as I drop the wet bag of ice on the tile floor in the kitchen. Seth whirls around and glares at me.

"What do you want?" he asks.

I'm frozen. I don't know what to say. Am I dreaming? Finally I stammer, "Ch-Choco died last, um, last January. And we buried him under the tree swing in the backyard."

"What?" Seth asks in a whisper.

"I'm really sorry. I know you loved him a lot," I say.

Seth looks shocked, his angry facade faltering for just a second, but then he says, "I don't know who the hell Choco is."

I roll my eyes. "Seth, I heard you. You were looking for that cat. No one has mentioned that name around you. You remembered him."

"So what if I did?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothing. I just want to know why you'd hide that from us. Dad and I are dying to have you back. All of you. Why did you lie?"

Seth looks into the corner where Choco's little bed used to be and sighs heavily. "Okay. You win. I remember who I am, you, Dad, Mom, Blanca, Choco, the dog. All the relatives. This house. But I don't remember anything about when I was gone so don't fucking ask."

"Why would you remember some things and not others?" I ask.

"How the hell should I know?"

"Do you remember..." I pause. I'm not sure I should reveal what the doctor told us. God my dad will kill me, but I have to know.

"What?" Seth asks, looking genuinely interested and a little frightened.

"They did a bunch of tests on you. One was for drugs. They found stuff," I say quietly.

"Drugs?" Seth whispers. His face is pale white now.

"Yeah. Like, hard drugs. Strong drugs. Fentanyl. Ketamine. Heroin."

"I don't know how those got in me! I don't even know what they are! Maybe those doctors are just idiots," Seth says.

He's trembling all over, and he bites his bottom lip like he wants to swallow himself and disappear.

I know I'm pushing. I know I should stop. I know it. The space between us pops, creaks and cracks with tension, like a rope snapping fiber by fiber, just before it comes apart and the heavy thing it was holding crashes down.

"The test they used could detect it up to 90 days ago, so it's a clue about where you were," I say, trying to sound excited like this is a good thing, like we're about to solve the mystery when we used to watch Scooby-Doo together on the living room floor. "Seth, I don't know, maybe someone gave you something or-"

"Rory, how many times do you want me to say it? I don't fucking remember. I don't know. I don't know ANYTHING!" he shouts.

"Well maybe those drugs made you forget," I say stupidly.

"OH MY GOD!" Seth opens a nearby drawer just to bang it shut again. I jump at the loud noise. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I suck in a breath. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked anything."

Seth looks at me for a long time, and I can see he's trying to calm down with his hands clenched into fists. Finally he says, "I'll tell Dad I remember him tonight. Don't ask me about what happened. Don't ask me ever again."

"But what if it helps?" I say, fighting tears.

"No. Don't. Never. I will make you regret it," Seth says in a cold whisper. "I will make you regret it in ways you can't imagine even in your nightmares, Rory. Do you understand? I will hurt you. Bad. I will hurt you, I promise."

A coldness has filled my whole body, and there's ice in my veins as I nod my head wordlessly.