Ari's POV
The first time I realized that I was different was on my seventh birthday, the day that changed everything in the worst way possible, and the day I found myself hating more than any other. It was supposed to be a good day. I remember that clearly, because I had woken up early, too excited to sleep, and I had spent most of the morning following my mother around the house while she prepared everything.
The smell of the cake filled the kitchen, sweet and warm, and for a while, I believed that nothing could go wrong.
My mother, Anne, was standing by the table, carefully lighting the candles on my cake. She looked at me once or twice, smiling gently, telling me to be patient. I remember how safe I felt in that moment, how easy it was to believe that everything would stay that way. My father was there too, but he wasn't really with us. He stood a little distance away, his attention fixed on his phone, a smile on his face that I didn't understand at the time. It wasn't the kind of smile he gave me. It was something else, something distant.
I watched him for a while, waiting for him to look up, to notice me, to remember that he had promised to spend the whole day with me. When he didn't, I started to feel a little confused, though I didn't think much of it. Not until I heard it.
It didn't sound like a voice coming from outside. It wasn't like someone speaking in the room. It was clearer than that, like the words were placed directly into my head without needing to pass through my ears.
'I can't wait to see Mari again.'
I blinked, staring at my father. His lips hadn't moved, and he was still looking at his phone, still smiling in that same way. For a moment, I thought I had imagined it, but then the voice came again, just as clear, just as real.
'Today will be perfect.'
I didn't understand what was happening. I didn't think it was strange. I was too young to question it properly, too unaware to realize that what I was experiencing wasn't normal. So I did the only thing that made sense to me at that moment.
"Dad," I said, walking a little closer to him, "why are you so excited to meet Mari again?"
The change was immediate.
I didn't understand it at first, but I felt it. The air in the room shifted, becoming heavy in a way that made my chest tighten. My father looked up at me, the smile on his face gone so quickly it was like it had never been there at all.
"What did you just say?" he asked.
I hesitated, confused by the way he was looking at me. "Mari," I repeated. "You said you can't wait to see her again, but… you said you'd stay with me today."
For a second, he just stared at me, like he was trying to figure something out that didn't make sense. Then my mother spoke, her voice breaking through the silence.
"What is he talking about?"
She hadn't turned fully yet, but I could see the way her posture had changed, the way her attention had shifted completely. My father didn't answer her right away. Instead, he kept his eyes on me.
"Ari," he said slowly, "where did you hear that name?"
I didn't understand why he was asking me that. To me, the answer was simple.
"You just said it," I replied.
"I didn't say anything," he said quickly.
I frowned. "Yes, you did."
Before he could respond, the voice came again, louder this time, and filled with something that made my stomach twist.
'Shut up.'
I froze.
'Stop talking, you stupid kid. Just shut up.'
The words felt harsh, like they were being forced into my head, and I didn't understand why he was angry. My father's mouth still hadn't moved. He hadn't said anything out loud, and yet I could hear him clearly.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted out suddenly, my voice breaking as tears filled my eyes. "I'm sorry, I won't say it again!"
Both of them went still.
"What are you talking about?" my father asked, his voice tight.
"You're yelling at me," I cried. "You keep telling me to shut up…"
"I didn't say that," he said.
"Yes, you did!" I insisted, my whole body shaking now. "You said it again!"
The look they gave each other then was something I didn't understand at the time, but I would come to recognize later. It was fear, and then, for the first time, I heard my mother's voice too. not out loud, but in my head.
'What is wrong with him?'
I turned to her slowly, my breath catching. She was staring at me, her expression no longer soft or warm. There was something else there now, something colder.
"I didn't say anything," I whispered, even though I hadn't spoken.
My father stepped back slightly, his face pale. In my mind, his voice came again, angry and startled.
'He's a freak.'
The word echoed inside me, loud and cruel in a way I didn't fully understand but still felt. After that, everything fell apart quickly.
My mother demanded to see his phone, her voice no longer calm, and this time, my father couldn't stop her. I stood there, crying quietly, as she read through his messages, watching the way her expression changed with every second that passed. The truth came out in pieces, but it didn't take long to understand what it meant. Mari wasn't just a name, she was real and someone my father had been seeing behind my mother's back.
The argument that followed felt loud and distant at the same time. Their voices rose, loud and angry, words overlapping in ways I couldn't keep up with. I remember certain parts, though.
"How long?" my mother asked.
"It's not what you think," my father replied, but his voice lacked any real conviction.
"Then what is it?" she pressed.
He didn't answer properly, and that was enough.
My mother didn't stay.
I remember following her to the door, my small hands grabbing her arm as I cried, begging her not to leave. I didn't understand why she was going, why she wasn't taking me with her. I thought if I held onto her tightly enough, she would stay.
"Mom, please," I said, my voice shaking. "Don't go."
She stopped, but when she looked at me, something inside me broke in a way that never fully healed.
"Don't touch me," she said.
I froze, my grip loosening immediately. "Mom…?"
Her eyes were filled with something I couldn't name back then, something that felt worse than anger.
"Don't touch me again," she repeated, pulling her arm away.
I didn't try to stop her after that. I just stood there and watched her leave, and that was the last time I ever saw her.
After that day, my life never returned to what it had been before. The house felt empty, even when my father was there, and when he looked at me, he didn't see his son anymore. He saw something else.
"You ruined everything," he told me once, his voice cold and bitter.
I didn't argue. I didn't defend myself. I had already started to understand that nothing I said would make things better. The words didn't stop there.
"Freak."
"Monster."
They became normal, something I heard almost every day, both out loud and in the quiet, cruel space inside his mind, and it didn't stop with words. His anger showed itself in other ways too, ways that left marks I learned to hide. There were days when he didn't feed me, days when he left me alone in the house without saying when he would return, days when I sat in silence, too afraid to make noise, and through all of it, the voices stayed.
I kept hearing things I wasn't supposed to hear. Thoughts that didn't belong to me, slipping into my mind without warning. At first, I didn't know how to handle it. It scared me, and it confused me, but slowly, I learned.
I learned to stay quiet, and I learned to pretend because I had already seen what happened when I didn't.
If I spoke, things broke. If I revealed what I could do, people looked at me like I wasn't human. So I made a promise to myself at that point, even without fully understanding it, that no one would ever know, because the moment they did, they would leave me too.
Just like she did.