Chapter Four
“There’s no place like home.”
The little girl swung her feet as she whispered those words, tapping her bare heels together, but it wasn’t working. Maybe she needed a pair of Ruby Slippers, like Dorothy. The house was big like a palace, so it might’ve been Oz, even though the road hadn’t been yellow bricks leading to it. No, they had been normal streets, with so many cars, and so many people, none of them Munchkins singing songs, not even a pretty pink witch in a bubble.
Just a bunch of flying monkeys.
They belonged to the Tin Man. He didn’t have the monkeys in the story, but he did in real life. Her mother called them that sometimes, which confused the little girl, since they didn’t have wings. But whatever they were, she didn’t like them. They were all loud, and they laughed like everything was so funny, but it was the kind of laughing that sounded mean. They said ugly words and called people bad names, and they didn’t like girls, although they claimed they did. They kissed them on the mouth, like the Tin Man had kissed her mother, but then they pushed them around like they meant nothing.
The little girl didn’t like it there, in that big palace, sitting on the stool at the bar in the kitchen, her legs so short they just dangled.
“There’s no place like home,” she whispered again, barely hearing herself over the loud chatter, knocking her feet together.
Still not working.
“What are you doing, kitten?”
The little girl raised her head, eyes lifting from her lap, meeting the Tin Man’s gaze across from her, the only other person sitting down. His eyes were like metal, cold and gray like clouds.
“I wanna go home,” she whispered.
He stared at her. “You are home.”
She shook her head.
“You are,” he said again. “This is your home, kitten. This is where you belong.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You will get used to it.”
“I want Mommy.”
“No.”
His voice was sharp as he barked that word, silencing everyone in the room. No one liked the sound of it, not even the flying monkeys, who didn’t think it was funny when the Tin Man got angry.
Tears stung the little girl’s eyes, her gaze on her lap again as her bottom lip trembled. “Please.”
She could feel so many eyes on her, everyone watching, waiting to see what would happen. A moment passed, where nobody reacted, before the Tin Man crooked his pointer finger beneath her chin, raising her head up with it to make her look at him.
“You do not need her,” he said, not a hint of emotion in his words. “I am all you need.”
“But—”
Before she could argue, his hand enclosed around her chin, palming her face, his strong, inked fingers digging into her cheeks, squishing them.
He gripped her tightly, leaning closer. “You will not speak of her to me again. Do I make myself clear?”
The little girl nodded, tears streaming from her eyes.
He shoved her face away, nearly knocking her from the stool.
“And stop crying,” he demanded, standing up to walk away. “She is worth your heartache no more than she was worth mine. We will both get over it.”
The little girl didn’t believe that. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She might face her fears and wipe her tears, like her mother had taught her, but she would never get over it.