Chapter 8: The things he buried
659 Words
Silas didn’t go outside the next morning.
Not because he was avoiding Eli.
That would imply intention.
Silas called it something else.
Maintenance of distance.
A necessary correction.
He stayed inside longer than usual, sitting in the same chair he always ignored, staring at nothing in particular while the house pretended to be calm.
But it wasn’t calm anymore.
It had started to remember things.
Things Silas had spent years forcing it to forget.
The air felt heavier in the corners.
The silence felt… aware.
Silas stood up suddenly.
Walked to the window.
Across the street, Eli’s house was already active.
Too active.
Movement, voices, routine forming in a space Silas had no control over.
He hated that.
He told himself he hated it.
At exactly 7:03, Silas still stepped outside.
Habit was stronger than avoidance.
But Eli wasn’t waiting.
That should have felt normal.
It didn’t.
Silas walked to the shop alone.
The owner greeted him as usual.
Silas nodded.
Bought bread.
Left.
Everything correct.
Everything stable.
Everything wrong.
He noticed the change on the way back.
A sound from across the street.
Not laughter.
Not noise.
A raised voice.
Silas slowed.
Then stopped.
Eli’s mother was outside, speaking sharply into her phone again, her free hand gripping the edge of the gate tightly.
Eli stood nearby.
Still.
Not playful today.
Not curious.
Just still.
Silas watched for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he saw it.
Eli flinched.
Not dramatically.
Just slightly.
Like someone had said something too heavy for his size.
Silas’s grip tightened around the bread without him noticing.
He told himself to keep walking.
He didn’t.
Instead, he crossed the street.
“Is everything alright?” Silas asked.
The woman looked up quickly.
Surprised.
Then forced a polite expression.
“Yes,” she said. “Just family matters.”
Silas nodded slowly.
But his eyes stayed on Eli.
Eli didn’t look at him immediately.
When he finally did, there was something missing.
Not energy.
Not curiosity.
Something deeper.
Silas recognized it too late.
The same kind of quiet he had once lived in.
Not peaceful quiet.
Hollow quiet.
Silas felt something tighten in his chest.
Uncomfortable.
Unwanted.
Real.
He turned to leave.
But Eli spoke first.
“Silas.”
Silas stopped.
Didn’t turn fully.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then Eli said:
“Do you ever get tired of being alone?”
Silas froze.
Completely.
The question didn’t belong to a child.
It didn’t belong to this moment.
It belonged somewhere deeper.
Somewhere Silas had sealed off.
Carefully.
Long ago.
He should have said no.
He should have walked away.
He should have ended it.
But instead, after a long silence, he said:
“No.”
Eli didn’t respond immediately.
Then quietly:
“I think you do.”
Silas turned sharply.
“Eli.”
His voice was firmer now.
A warning.
Eli didn’t move back.
Just looked at him.
Not afraid.
Just honest.
And that was worse.
Silas looked away first.
As always.
That evening, Silas did something he hadn’t done in years.
He opened the old drawer in his room.
The one he never opened.
The one the house seemed to avoid as well.
Inside were things he never touched.
A folded document.
A photograph.
A small object wrapped in cloth.
Silas stared at it for a long time.
His hand hovered.
Then pulled back.
His breathing was steady.
But something inside him wasn’t.
A memory pressed at the edges of his mind.
Uninvited.
Unwelcome.
A voice he didn’t want to hear again.
He shut the drawer quickly.
Locked it.
As if that could undo what he had almost remembered.
But the damage was already done.
Silas sat on the edge of his bed.
Still.
Eyes fixed ahead.
And for the first time in a long time—
he didn’t trust his own silence.
Because silence, he realized, was not the same as peace.
Sometimes it was just where pain went to hide.
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