I hate milk.
Maybe this was like milk but for juice.
The more I drank from it, the closer Uncle got to me. Soon enough, he was hugging me, setting me on his lap.
I didn’t know how it happened, but then, my cape was gone and my shirt was half-open and Uncle was feeling up my wiener.
Why would he want to do that? I always tugged on my wiener and even showed Mum. Dad told me not to do that in front of Mum and said my wiener is for me alone, said no one else should see it or touch it.
“What are you doing?” My voice was wonky, as if I were going to fall asleep.
“I’m not your uncle, my beautiful boy.” His voice was wrong, so wrong. I didn’t like his voice and I didn’t like that he was unbuttoning my Dracula trousers and touching my wiener.
“You’re Dad’s brother…my uncle.” I held on to the glass of sparkling blue with stiff hands, thinking if I didn’t, something bad would happen.
“Not a real one. That’s why he thinks I’m disposable.” He ran his tongue over my cheek, leaving a damp, disgusting trail.
“Eww. Stop it, Uncle.”
He gripped me hard by my wiener over my trousers and I screamed. His other hand wrapped around my mouth, muffling my voice. “Listen, my beautiful boy. You’ll let your uncle take care of you, massage you, and you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut. If you say a word about this to your father, Charlotte will get sick and die. Do you know what death means, brat? It means you’ll never see her again.”
No. Mum will never die.
I didn’t know if it was his words or the fact that I didn’t like the way he touched me or how he took away my cape and ruined my costume, but something made me snap.
I bit his hand and threw the glass and the blue juice at his face. His hold on me faltered and I fell to the floor.
“Mum will never die!” I still spoke strangely, but I managed to slide open the car’s door with shaking fingers.
“Jesus Christ,” Uncle cursed. “Stop the car.”
I didn’t wait for him to say the words — I jumped. I remember rolling once then hitting a pole. I remember his head peeking out then him muttering, “Fucking bastard. Enjoy the cold.”
And then he left me in the middle of a deserted street.
In the beginning, I couldn’t even stand. It was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the slight pain in my side from when I hit the pole.
It was a lot more than that, though.
It was fear — worse than Halloween, worse than the costumes.
I needed Mum and Dad, and I didn’t know how to find them.
They were at a party, and they’d sent me with Uncle Ed. I hated Uncle Ed. I was going to be happy when he went to Australia.
I remember holding on to a pole with stiff fingers and then walking slowly at first. I remember buttoning my Dracula shirt and trousers because Dad had said an Astor always had to look proper.
And then I ran. I ran fast and hard down the street, then I tripped and fell and then stood up again and ran. There were lots of trees on the side of that road, and they had faces, and their faces looked like the demons from Mum’s stories.
I called out for her then. “Mother! Where are you, Mother?”
When she didn’t ans
wer, I called, “Father? Come find me.”
He didn’t answer either. I didn’t stop limping and tripping and falling, but I couldn’t cry.
There wasn’t a single tear in my eyes.