There is a coldness in the air that I don’t like.

I feel it every time I set foot in this house. Sure, at times love fills it, but the love is always overpowered by the cold.

Cold that I feel down to my bones.

Even when I feel the ice against my skin, I act as if I’m happy to be here. I act as if what happens in other parts of this house doesn’t terrify me.

As long as I act like everything is okay and I’m here, playing, everything will be.

Right?

No, but I will keep telling myself that until I believe it.

I hear my mom’s voice in the other room as she talks to my grandma and my aunt. She had sent my dad to the store, so he will be back soon. The sooner he comes back, the closer we are to driving home.

The closer I am to no longer being in this cold house. Feeling the coldness against me.

I continue to move the cars against the cement floor. Even if I’m ten years old, the cars are the only thing grabbing my attention right now.

Anything is better than sitting around and just waiting for the terrifying parts to come out.

Even with the sound of my mother’s laughter and the little car’s wheels sliding against the floor, I hear the footsteps.

Footsteps that sound light. Footsteps that should sound heavy, especially with all the weight that comes with it.

I don’t look up. I just keep my eyes on the movements of the car. Then the footsteps come closer and stop a few inches away from where my leg sits. When I see the boots, the car rolling on the floor no longer has my attention, even if I wanted it to. No, my eyes may be on the car, but my attention is fully on the pair of boots that have arrived.

Swallowing down the urge to cry out for my mother, I look up and see a pair of brown eyes. A pair of eyes that weren’t the same ones that terrified me, but they still looked the same.

Does this set of brown eyes know what the other pair does?

By the way the owner of the pair of boots crouches down to my eye level and the way the smile on his face forms, I know the answer.

He knows.

But is he going to stop it?

“I have a new video game upstairs. Do you want to see it? Play with it if you want?”

I like video games.

My sister has one at her house and whenever I spend the night, she lets me play.

But he said upstairs.

That’s not where the bad stuff happens, but it’s still a place I don’t spend a whole lot of time in when I’m here. My dad always said to stay on the main floor since the room we always slept in was down here.

I should listen to him.

I should stay down here.

But I don’t want to continue playing with the little car and besides the video game could be fun.

So I nod. I nod and push myself off the floor and follow him upstairs.

I walk behind him, the stairs creaking along the way.

The whole house creaks and the sound just adds to the coldness of it. It’s so unwelcoming, I hate it.

But I still walk through the house like I love every single second of it.

As we reach the second floor and he guides me to the closed door at the end of the hall, I hear my mother’s voice. My grandmother’s.

The closer I get to the door, the more their voices grow distant.

It’s the creaking of the door opening that takes my attention away from the voices and back to why I’m up here in the first place.

The video game.

He gives me a smile when he opens the door and waves me in.

I give him a small one back as I walk into the room, feeling uncomfortable the second that I do.

He walks in behind me, closing the door.

My eyes wander around the room, seeing the mess that it is. There are clothes everywhere, boxes on top of more boxes. The room looks like it should belong on that show I see on TV all the time about people that don’t throw away their trash.

I stay standing by the door as he walks deeper into the room and goes to stand by the bed.

He waves for me to come closer, and I do.

As I walk over to him, I see that there isn’t a TV in here. Nothing to play the video game on.

“Do you want to sit?”

No, but I sit anyway.

He stays standing, coming closer to me, making me want to be downstairs with my mom.

“He told me what he did to you.”

I look up at him when he says those words, but still, I don’t say anything.

I saw on his face earlier that he knew, but is he going to stop it? Is that why he brought me up here?

“He told me you liked it, so I thought I would see how true that was.”

No, he isn’t going to stop it. I should have known that. I shouldn’t have believed him when he told me that there was a video game.

I want to cry.

I want to scream.

I want my dad to come back so that we can leave.

“Lie back. Unbutton your pants.”

As much as I don’t want to listen, I do exactly what he says.

He watches my movements and once I’m lying on my back with the button on my jeans popped, he comes even closer.

My eyes stay on his hands and follow all his motions. I watch as he takes off my pants and then when he moves to lower his.

I watch as he reaches into his underwear and takes out the thing that all boys have.

I watch until he leans forward, and I feel his skin against mine. When he touches me, that’s when I close my eyes.

I close my eyes and do not move.

Maybe if I don’t move, he will stop.

Maybe if I don’t scream out for my mom, I won’t get in trouble for coming upstairs.

Maybe if I think about the daisy I saw on the wall before I closed my eyes, all the fear I have will go away.

So that’s what I do.

I continue to stay still, with my eyes closed and not say a word. Not even when it’s over.

I hate this house and all the terrifying things that come with it.