Page 82 of The Toymaker
Trig tried pleading through the door around lunchtime, and Riju had ignored him. Like he’d take an apology and live in fear of the next time Trig “accidentally snapped.”
He’d listened in case Kit screamed from the basement or if he heard anything odd. Kit knew to scream for him if he felt he was in danger, and if he had to, Riju would go down there. Trigseemed to have spent all day in the shop. He’d caught snatches of conversation from customers and the faint tinkles from the bell.
Which meant Kit was locked in the basement. Unharmed but kept like an animal. Riju almost wanted to take his dagger, go down right then, get him, and try to escape with them both. He forced himself to keep sewing because it’d be a lot easier if he waited, and avoiding a fight was safer for them both. If he went down there and attempted it, Trig would most likely get physical again, and he might hurt Kit too.
As long as Trig didn’t do anything to harm Kit, they could go later tonight when it was safer. Acting too fast could fuck it up.
Noises came from the kitchen. Trig must have been making dinner for himself. Riju’s growing, improvised pack was made from cloth intended to be cut into doll clothes. It didn’t need to be fancy or particularly sturdy since he only needed to use it to get him and Kit out. He wasn’t sure if they’d be able to come back later, so he’d planned ahead.
He ran over what he intended to do in his head. The door handle suddenly rattled.
Trig barged in, and Riju barely got his project shoved under the bed as he realized Trig had used a key. He wasn’t supposed to ever come in without Riju’s permission. Another broken promise.
“Get out!” He pushed himself against his nightstand and grabbed the dagger he’d left by his leg.
With the bed blocking a large part of Riju’s body, Trig couldn’t see it. “I don’t care if you eat in your room and pout all day. Tomorrow morning, you’re coming out, and you’re going to forget this shi-”
Riju couldn’t stop the two words as they tumbled out. “Fuck you.”
Trig took a deep breath. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, and we’ll have a little talk about a few rules I think we need for a while.”
“Where’s Kit?”
“Don’t worry about Kit.”
“You locked him in the basement, didn’t you?”
“I’m doing what I can to keep things calm-”
“You’re a monster.”
Trig looked up at the ceiling for a long moment. “For fuck’s sake. I still have a business to run, and you’re both acting up. We need rules and separation for a bit so we can all calm down.”
“Get the fuck out!” Riju shouted. If he had to hear more of Trig’s bullshit, he’d be climbing the walls in a minute. If the bastard got near him again, Riju would cut him if he had to and risk getting Kit outnow.
“Eat your damn stew and grow up.” Trig set the bowl on the floor and went to the hall. He must have put down a glass of water so he could use the key. He set it by the bowl and slammed the door.
Riju listened to his footsteps head toward the kitchen. Trig had promised to never come in without knocking, and if that promise had been broken now, Riju would never have a moment of peace either. This was his private space, and he hadn’t felt so unsafe in years.
He hurried over to lock the door since it would at least give him a couple of seconds if Trig decided to come in again. He ignored the stew and grabbed the glass of water. He had to piss since he’d been in his bedroom all day, and his mouth was dry. He sipped the water slowly, and when he went back to his spot on the floor, he continued sewing and listened.
Trig didn’t head for the basement stairs, so he wasn’t going to feed Kit dinner either. He’d been down there all day with no food or water. Bastard. Riju thought about going to the hall privy sohe could relieve himself, but he thought about Trig trying to get him to stay out so they could talk. Or more like, Trig would be telling him what to do.
No. Fuck it. He sewed as fast as he could, even though he’d have to wait to sneak out with Kit.
Trig’s footsteps headed for the sitting room, and after a couple of hours, they went to his office. Riju had finished his pack and given it two straps. He hid it under the bed and finally went to investigate the stew. It was cold and didn’t look appetizing. He’d eaten far worse from the trash during his homeless years.
After sitting at his desk, he took a bite and nearly gagged when his teeth crunched an onion, and he caught the familiar taste. Onions were the one thing he literally couldn’t force himself to eat no matter how hungry he was, and he spit it back out with a faint, revolted sound.
The dickhead still tried to force him to eat onions years later even though heknewRiju couldn’t stand them. If he could stomach trash but not onions, he figured it was pretty clear to leave them out of his food.
Apparently not because Trig might as well control what Riju ate, right?
He left the bowl on his desk even though he could pick them out. He wasn’t hungry anyway. Earlier kept replaying in his head, and he couldn’t even talk to his dolls. Dory was tucked in his coat, and she couldn’t make him feel better either.
He was hugging his knees, huddled on the bed under his weighted blanket, and trying to ignore the desperate urge for the privy when he finally heard Trig go to his room. He couldn’t go just yet even though every fiber of his being wanted to take Kit and haul ass.
Trig probably didn’t imagine Riju had the guts to escape at night.
