Chapter 7

                                    

                                          
He stood there, in the doorway of the apartment. Arms folded over his chest, an unimpressed scowl taking over his features. Making Peter shrink back, one of his converse sneakers squeaking across the floor within the movement. Causing the man in front of him more irritation, one eye twitching as to show how much the noise aggravated him.


                          
"Hello, Peter." Madon greeted. Smiling coyly. Stepping aside to have the young lad step through.


                          
Peter didn't say a word, with his head bowed down. Hands gripping his backpack straps, he made his way in. Flinching as the door is slammed shut, not like sudden loud noises. Or loud noises in general.


                          
"Your Aunt went to work early. She won't be back till probably, later tonight. You should be asleep by then, little boy" Mason mocked. Chuckling as he went to the kitchen. 


                          
This is why he hated being alone with Mason. The teasing and emotionally hurtful words hitting him like a tsunami. Dragging him under, making him feel like he's drowning with no way to breathe.


                          
Physically, he can breathe. But emotionally, it made him feel like he's suffocating. 


                          
"I'm cooking tonight. And you better eat it all, I don't cook for it to go to waste. Understand?"


                          
It's not because Peter liked to waste food. In fact, its solemnly because Mason simply can't cook. Sure the man can make eggs and warm up foods in the microwave. But that's as far as it usually goes. Not unless the man tries to be adventurous and cook something like a lasagne or a bolognese. The only thing Mason could cook, that is to do with pasta. Is either, pasta in tomato sauce, or tuna pasta. 


                          
It's easy, it's simple and efficient.


                          
Peter's only response is to nod. Attempting to make his way to his room, however, got stopped by a stern hand on his shoulder.


                          
"Bag in your room, then come straight back. We're gonna watch some TV together, it will be fun,"


                          
Although, Peter didn't believe it would be fun. It never is fun with Mason around. And he is right so to believe it wouldn't be fun. For as soon as he came back, he saw Mason sat on the sofa. A smirk playing on his lips as a kids programme played on the TV screen, it being a show easily recognised as Fireman Sam. 


                          
The hero next door.


                          
Even if he was the hero next door, he never came to save him from Mason. Yet, Sam is a fictional character. 


                          
When he was younger he remembers watching this, even asking his next-door neighbour if he was a fireman. Only for the guy to be a boring teacher.


                          
Now, now he really shouldn't care about fireman sam. But something inside of him wanted him to bounce and clamp as the theme song played. Signifying another episode starting up.


                          
"Come, sit down," Mason ordered, patting the empty seat next to him. The pasta boiling in a pan for dinner.


                          
This is bait, it's mockery and abuse.


                          
Peter shouldn't accept the order. All it took is one stern look from Mason, and he found himself sat next to the man. Huddled in the corner, knees are drawn to his chest as the episode began to play.


                          
Peter is soon absorbed in the show about the fireman. So much so, he didn't notice his surroundings. Not even refusing the water given to him, nor noticing the cup it is placed in.


                          
Although, it isn't till a few episodes had passed. Mason called Peter for dinner, did the boy come to terms with what he held in his hands. A sippy cup. The frown on his face is caught by Mason, not quick enough to change his facial expression.