Beauty and the Beast, Part 1
The first day.
She stared at me from the bed, where she was handcuffed to the cheap bedpost. Her face was stained with tears, her eyes red and swollen from crying, and her lip cut from where she had fallen. She had stopped pleading, but still trembled and watched me with uneasiness, as if she expected me to bite.
I tried not to look at her.
The second day.
I unlocked the handcuffs once to let her go to the bathroom. She tried once to fight me to get to the door, but I told her I’d leave her handcuffed to the bed next time she had to go if she tried to run again. Sobbing, she went inside, and locked the door.
I sat down in front of the old TV and tried to find something interesting to watch. I had changed since the last time she saw me. My hair was straight, and natural-colored rather than pink and wild, like it was when she knew me. I had tattoos on my neck and arms. I dressed like a man, too, rather than like a powder puff.
I wasn’t even sure she remembered me, or just thought I was some psycho. We were never really that close in college. Did she know my name? It didn’t matter, I’d changed that too.
I heard the toilet flush.
I reached into the grocery bag that I’d brought in that morning, and drew out a bottle of gin and a pack of cigarettes. I poured a glass of gin into one of the cheap plastic motel cups, lit a cigarette, and sat back to watch TV. It was The Biggest Loser. I hated reality shows.
After a while, I heard the bath start running. I breathed in a drag, and slowly let it out.
Had she ever thought about me? How foolish to wonder. She was married to the man of her dreams. How would I be in her situation? Followed around by a lovesick puppy until I couldn’t stand her anymore, then finding someone I loved deeply and making a life with him. I would never even spare a passing thought.
Before I noticed it, the bath stopped running. I glanced up at the bathroom door, then at the long line of ash from my un-smoked cigarette. I flicked the ash into the ashtray on the wobbly table, set the cig in one of the notches, and then slowly got up.
I glanced at the bathroom door. On second thought, I took a drink of gin first. I walked over.
I knocked lightly on the bathroom door. No answer. “****?” I called. Still no answer. “When you get hungry, I got you some sandwiches and orange juice.” I paused at the door for another moment, thinking of something else to say. I sighed. Then I went back to the wobbly table, my gin and cigarette.
Later that day.
She came out eventually. The bath must have gotten cold by that time, but maybe cold bath water was better than a hotel room with me. I didn’t look at her as she came out, just sipped the last of my gin.
I had put the food on the bedside table farthest away from where I was sitting. She seemed content to eat it there.
For a long time, she sat with her back to me, hardly moving except to eat. After a while, I noticed her gaze on me. I poured another glass of gin, and continued to watch TV. I could almost hear her grinding her teeth, and in a moment of madness, I almost smiled because it seemed like a cute reaction.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked me.
I looked over at the table. She had eaten half a sandwich and a few sips of orange juice. “Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.
“I…” she sighed, exasperated. “I can’t exactly think about food right now. Please stop this.”
I took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then I reached for my pack of cigarettes, lighting another before I answered. “Are you asking if I’m worried about the consequences?”
“Well, yes, frankly.” She seemed to be getting more emotional as she spoke, as if she’d been holding all this in. “You kidnapped me. Why are you doing this? Are you going to…” she faltered, and covered her mouth, and I realized she was trembling.
My heart panged sharply. “****,” I said, softly.
Her eyes shot up to mine, holding an expression of exasperation and anger. I could hardly bear that expression.
I almost looked away, but first I managed to say, “I’m sorry. I’m…just very sorry. I’m not going to hurt you, I would never…could never harm you. It’s only for a little while, I promise.”
“You’ve already harmed me, in case you didn’t notice,” she accused, indicating her wrists. As if she just remembered it herself, she touched her cut lip and turned away from me again.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.” I took a drink of gin.
She stared at me in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?! Please let me go. If you want money-“
I laughed inadvertently. I only realized afterword, as I saw the look on her face, that doing that had only made things worse. I shook my head in apology, although I hadn’t missed the hidden message in her words: she didn’t know who I was. “I don’t need money anymore. It doesn’t hold any appeal to me.”
“Then why?” she pleaded.
I didn’t answer. I took a drag of my cigarette, and flicked the ash into the ashtray. I turned my gaze back to the television. I wanted to answer her. I really did, if only to assuage her worries. I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Maybe because I wasn’t sure myself what I was trying to do here.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said, finally. “I swear.” I held my arms up in innocence and smiled wryly at her. “I won’t even touch you, if that’s what you want. Here.” I took the knife out of my jacket pocket and placed it on the table, then pushed it away from me. I saw her follow it with her eyes. “You can kill me any time you want. Just…please don’t try to run. I promise I won’t keep you very long.” I took another drink.
“If you don’t want me to kill you,” she said, softly. “Should you really be drinking?”
I laughed a little. “I told you, you can kill me any time you want. It makes no difference to me if I day today or tomorrow. It’s just drawing it out.”
“You seem awfully convinced that you’re going to die.”
I smiled and shrugged. “I’m not immortal.”
She sighed and looked away. “I guess so.”
A few moments of silence passed, and I contentedly smoked and watched irritating TV.
Eventually, she said, “So if you’re not going to kill me, or…anything, why did you bring me here? Don’t you owe me at least that?”
I sighed. She was right. So I would have to tell her. But maybe not yet. “I just wanted…some company.”
“Company? Are you joking?”
I looked blankly at her. “I’m a very lonely person.”
She huffed in irritation at that. “Not a very good answer.”
“Well, I’m not a very good person. Even less good at answering questions.”
She grew quiet for a time. And then, “How do you know my name?”
I took a drag and smiled a little. “I don’t. **** is a very common name.”
“So you guessed?”
“Yep. How lucky is that, huh?” I smiled again, a gesture which was not returned.
She still looked scared, but now there was a look of determination on her face. The fact that I’d relinquished the knife probably made her feel braver as well. “Do I know you?”
I sighed again; she was bound to figure it out eventually. “I wonder. Is that something you should be worrying about?”
She looked down at the floor. Then she turned away; it seemed she’d had enough talking. She lay down on the bed, not even bothering to cover herself, and seemed to fall right to sleep.
I glanced at her after a while. I was amazed she could fall asleep so easily in this situation. But as I watched her, her breathing grew even, and some of the tension released from her muscles. She lay as peaceful as an angel. My heart ached, and I silently let a few tears fall. Calm down, I told myself. You have to stay calm so you don’t scare her anymore.
Blinking away the tears, I turned off the lights and the television, picked up the book I’d brought, and began to read by the streetlights.
The third day.
Today, the sky was overcast. Still bright, but gray and terrifyingly bland. I finished the book for at least the third time since I’d bought it, and after a time, just gazed out at the passing people. They all walked as if they had no sense of time. Did they even feel it passing, all around them? Didn’t they worry? Since I found out about my blood, I’d never been so aware of the passage of time.
Several times throughout the night, I had stopped reading to gaze at her. Even lying still, asleep, she was so breathtaking it was almost unbearable. So slender, like a deer. Even the way her feet crossed over one another, the curling of her fingers, the slope of her waist, everything was more beautiful than perfect. Perfection, after all, could get dull. She, with her strange, delicate beauty, could never be dull.
While she was still sleeping, I placed the book on the table and moved quietly over to her. Gently, I took one of her fragile wrists in my hand, and struggled against the pain in my heart at just this small touch.
I clicked the handcuff into place, leaving her enough room to move her arm, and slipped quietly out, I hoped, without having woken her.
Later.
When I returned, she was awake, and starring at me.
I avoided her gaze, slipped inside, closed and locked the door. “I brought you some…egg things. They’re still warm. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”
She didn’t answer, just looked at me as if I’d betrayed her. “Weren’t you done with this?” She held up the hand that was handcuffed to the bed.
I put the breakfast down on the table and went to release her. She drew her hand away and rubbed her wrist as soon as it was free. I stood for a moment near her, but she moved away and put her back to me.
I looked around for a moment, and then said, “I have some antibiotic and gauze.”
She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. Then she looked away. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry. It must hurt.” I returned to the table, and picked up a soda that I’d bought with all the rest of it. I took a drink, then turned on the TV.
Morning television was probably my least favorite kind. People seemed the least sincere on morning television, and it was no coincidence that that was when most of the kid shows were on as well. I took a drink and watched the sycophants in silence.
“Can I have one of those egg things?” she asked.
I blinked. “Of course, I bought them for you.”
Hesitantly, she got up. I saw that she was unsteady; she’d had a shock and also hadn’t eaten much in the past three days. I watched her come over, look inside the bag, glance at me, and then take it over to her corner of the room. She ate silently, but she didn’t seem afraid anymore. I sighed with unexpected relief. Despite my rash actions, I really didn’t want her to have any discomfort.
“Are you going to cuff me every time you go out?” she asked, after swallowing a bite.
I thought about it for a while, watching the carbonation rise slowly in the soda bottle. “I think so.”
“You didn’t really think this out much, did you?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“So it was a spur of the moment thing?”
I considered. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it means it was semi-impulsive, I suppose.”
She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, but either she didn’t want to press it or she was tired of talking to me. I’d been told by friends before that I used double-talk when I was uncomfortable. I wondered if that might be irritating.
“Do you want to watch anything?” I asked, holding out the remote.
She glanced at it, and then shook her head. She continued to eat without looking at me.
Yet later.
“I do know you, though, don’t I?” she asked. Now it was evening, and I had ordered a pizza, which sat on the bed in front of her as she sat cross-legged and watching me.
I had given up on the TV by this time and returned to my book. I drew my eyes away from it and put it in my lap to answer. “I don’t know. That’s something you would know, I think.”
“I have an idea,” she said, quietly, taking another slice of pizza. She chewed for a moment, and swallowed, then said, “Were we at school together? Or do we have a mutual friend?”
I chuckled, opening my book again. “I don’t know. If it matters that much to you, maybe we can play twenty questions.”
“That’s not very nice.”
I was a little surprised. “What’s not?” I asked, leaving my book once again.
“What you’re doing. First of all, you kidnapped me, you’re keeping me here away from my friends and family, who are probably worried about me by the way, and I think you owe me a complete explanation. Second, it’s obvious you want people to be concerned about you.”
I raised my eyebrows a little, but said nothing.
“Everybody does. If you’re evasive and vague it just makes people dislike you.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll work on it.”
“You’re doing it right now. Can’t you just tell me who you are? What are you afraid of?”
I tilted my head and smiled a little. “Rejection, I guess.”
She frowned. “I’m not very likely to accept you, am I?”
“Now you see why I’m being evasive.”
“If you know I’m going to reject you, why avoid it? There’s no reason to be afraid of the inevitable.”
That struck a chord with me, and I unconsciously bit at a hangnail for a moment before answering. “Yes,” I said, eventually. “That’s a very good point. On the other hand,” I smiled at her again. “If I tell you who I am, then I let go of the mystery of my existence, where you’re concerned. I must admit I enjoy being interesting. If I let go of that, who am I but your ordinary psychopath?”
She starred hard at me this time, and I could tell she was getting tired of my double-talk. And something in the way she was looking at me made me uncomfortable, so I looked away. “Fine. Don’t tell me who you are. Just tell me why I’m here. Be honest. Please.”
I faltered. Despite how things appeared, honesty was actually very important to me. If asked directly like this, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to refuse. So I looked at her. I looked hard at her, and tried to convey with my eyes what was so difficult to say in my heart.
“I love you,” I said. “I’ve been in love with you for over ten years. I decided to trap you here in one final attempt to gain your love before leaving you forever.”
And suddenly, she was a deer in the headlights. Her whole, fragile body became like a block of wood, her eyes wide and her breath almost completely stopped.
“Kidding!” I said, quickly.
She let out a huge breath and then looked at me angrily. “That’s just cruel.” She sighed loudly and then lay back down on the bed, apparently done with the pizza. “This is unbearable.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, again, but returned to my book once again.
She stared at me from the bed, where she was handcuffed to the cheap bedpost. Her face was stained with tears, her eyes red and swollen from crying, and her lip cut from where she had fallen. She had stopped pleading, but still trembled and watched me with uneasiness, as if she expected me to bite.
I tried not to look at her.
The second day.
I unlocked the handcuffs once to let her go to the bathroom. She tried once to fight me to get to the door, but I told her I’d leave her handcuffed to the bed next time she had to go if she tried to run again. Sobbing, she went inside, and locked the door.
I sat down in front of the old TV and tried to find something interesting to watch. I had changed since the last time she saw me. My hair was straight, and natural-colored rather than pink and wild, like it was when she knew me. I had tattoos on my neck and arms. I dressed like a man, too, rather than like a powder puff.
I wasn’t even sure she remembered me, or just thought I was some psycho. We were never really that close in college. Did she know my name? It didn’t matter, I’d changed that too.
I heard the toilet flush.
I reached into the grocery bag that I’d brought in that morning, and drew out a bottle of gin and a pack of cigarettes. I poured a glass of gin into one of the cheap plastic motel cups, lit a cigarette, and sat back to watch TV. It was The Biggest Loser. I hated reality shows.
After a while, I heard the bath start running. I breathed in a drag, and slowly let it out.
Had she ever thought about me? How foolish to wonder. She was married to the man of her dreams. How would I be in her situation? Followed around by a lovesick puppy until I couldn’t stand her anymore, then finding someone I loved deeply and making a life with him. I would never even spare a passing thought.
Before I noticed it, the bath stopped running. I glanced up at the bathroom door, then at the long line of ash from my un-smoked cigarette. I flicked the ash into the ashtray on the wobbly table, set the cig in one of the notches, and then slowly got up.
I glanced at the bathroom door. On second thought, I took a drink of gin first. I walked over.
I knocked lightly on the bathroom door. No answer. “****?” I called. Still no answer. “When you get hungry, I got you some sandwiches and orange juice.” I paused at the door for another moment, thinking of something else to say. I sighed. Then I went back to the wobbly table, my gin and cigarette.
Later that day.
She came out eventually. The bath must have gotten cold by that time, but maybe cold bath water was better than a hotel room with me. I didn’t look at her as she came out, just sipped the last of my gin.
I had put the food on the bedside table farthest away from where I was sitting. She seemed content to eat it there.
For a long time, she sat with her back to me, hardly moving except to eat. After a while, I noticed her gaze on me. I poured another glass of gin, and continued to watch TV. I could almost hear her grinding her teeth, and in a moment of madness, I almost smiled because it seemed like a cute reaction.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked me.
I looked over at the table. She had eaten half a sandwich and a few sips of orange juice. “Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.
“I…” she sighed, exasperated. “I can’t exactly think about food right now. Please stop this.”
I took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Then I reached for my pack of cigarettes, lighting another before I answered. “Are you asking if I’m worried about the consequences?”
“Well, yes, frankly.” She seemed to be getting more emotional as she spoke, as if she’d been holding all this in. “You kidnapped me. Why are you doing this? Are you going to…” she faltered, and covered her mouth, and I realized she was trembling.
My heart panged sharply. “****,” I said, softly.
Her eyes shot up to mine, holding an expression of exasperation and anger. I could hardly bear that expression.
I almost looked away, but first I managed to say, “I’m sorry. I’m…just very sorry. I’m not going to hurt you, I would never…could never harm you. It’s only for a little while, I promise.”
“You’ve already harmed me, in case you didn’t notice,” she accused, indicating her wrists. As if she just remembered it herself, she touched her cut lip and turned away from me again.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.” I took a drink of gin.
She stared at me in disbelief. “Why are you doing this?! Please let me go. If you want money-“
I laughed inadvertently. I only realized afterword, as I saw the look on her face, that doing that had only made things worse. I shook my head in apology, although I hadn’t missed the hidden message in her words: she didn’t know who I was. “I don’t need money anymore. It doesn’t hold any appeal to me.”
“Then why?” she pleaded.
I didn’t answer. I took a drag of my cigarette, and flicked the ash into the ashtray. I turned my gaze back to the television. I wanted to answer her. I really did, if only to assuage her worries. I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Maybe because I wasn’t sure myself what I was trying to do here.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said, finally. “I swear.” I held my arms up in innocence and smiled wryly at her. “I won’t even touch you, if that’s what you want. Here.” I took the knife out of my jacket pocket and placed it on the table, then pushed it away from me. I saw her follow it with her eyes. “You can kill me any time you want. Just…please don’t try to run. I promise I won’t keep you very long.” I took another drink.
“If you don’t want me to kill you,” she said, softly. “Should you really be drinking?”
I laughed a little. “I told you, you can kill me any time you want. It makes no difference to me if I day today or tomorrow. It’s just drawing it out.”
“You seem awfully convinced that you’re going to die.”
I smiled and shrugged. “I’m not immortal.”
She sighed and looked away. “I guess so.”
A few moments of silence passed, and I contentedly smoked and watched irritating TV.
Eventually, she said, “So if you’re not going to kill me, or…anything, why did you bring me here? Don’t you owe me at least that?”
I sighed. She was right. So I would have to tell her. But maybe not yet. “I just wanted…some company.”
“Company? Are you joking?”
I looked blankly at her. “I’m a very lonely person.”
She huffed in irritation at that. “Not a very good answer.”
“Well, I’m not a very good person. Even less good at answering questions.”
She grew quiet for a time. And then, “How do you know my name?”
I took a drag and smiled a little. “I don’t. **** is a very common name.”
“So you guessed?”
“Yep. How lucky is that, huh?” I smiled again, a gesture which was not returned.
She still looked scared, but now there was a look of determination on her face. The fact that I’d relinquished the knife probably made her feel braver as well. “Do I know you?”
I sighed again; she was bound to figure it out eventually. “I wonder. Is that something you should be worrying about?”
She looked down at the floor. Then she turned away; it seemed she’d had enough talking. She lay down on the bed, not even bothering to cover herself, and seemed to fall right to sleep.
I glanced at her after a while. I was amazed she could fall asleep so easily in this situation. But as I watched her, her breathing grew even, and some of the tension released from her muscles. She lay as peaceful as an angel. My heart ached, and I silently let a few tears fall. Calm down, I told myself. You have to stay calm so you don’t scare her anymore.
Blinking away the tears, I turned off the lights and the television, picked up the book I’d brought, and began to read by the streetlights.
The third day.
Today, the sky was overcast. Still bright, but gray and terrifyingly bland. I finished the book for at least the third time since I’d bought it, and after a time, just gazed out at the passing people. They all walked as if they had no sense of time. Did they even feel it passing, all around them? Didn’t they worry? Since I found out about my blood, I’d never been so aware of the passage of time.
Several times throughout the night, I had stopped reading to gaze at her. Even lying still, asleep, she was so breathtaking it was almost unbearable. So slender, like a deer. Even the way her feet crossed over one another, the curling of her fingers, the slope of her waist, everything was more beautiful than perfect. Perfection, after all, could get dull. She, with her strange, delicate beauty, could never be dull.
While she was still sleeping, I placed the book on the table and moved quietly over to her. Gently, I took one of her fragile wrists in my hand, and struggled against the pain in my heart at just this small touch.
I clicked the handcuff into place, leaving her enough room to move her arm, and slipped quietly out, I hoped, without having woken her.
Later.
When I returned, she was awake, and starring at me.
I avoided her gaze, slipped inside, closed and locked the door. “I brought you some…egg things. They’re still warm. If you’re hungry, you should eat.”
She didn’t answer, just looked at me as if I’d betrayed her. “Weren’t you done with this?” She held up the hand that was handcuffed to the bed.
I put the breakfast down on the table and went to release her. She drew her hand away and rubbed her wrist as soon as it was free. I stood for a moment near her, but she moved away and put her back to me.
I looked around for a moment, and then said, “I have some antibiotic and gauze.”
She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. Then she looked away. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry. It must hurt.” I returned to the table, and picked up a soda that I’d bought with all the rest of it. I took a drink, then turned on the TV.
Morning television was probably my least favorite kind. People seemed the least sincere on morning television, and it was no coincidence that that was when most of the kid shows were on as well. I took a drink and watched the sycophants in silence.
“Can I have one of those egg things?” she asked.
I blinked. “Of course, I bought them for you.”
Hesitantly, she got up. I saw that she was unsteady; she’d had a shock and also hadn’t eaten much in the past three days. I watched her come over, look inside the bag, glance at me, and then take it over to her corner of the room. She ate silently, but she didn’t seem afraid anymore. I sighed with unexpected relief. Despite my rash actions, I really didn’t want her to have any discomfort.
“Are you going to cuff me every time you go out?” she asked, after swallowing a bite.
I thought about it for a while, watching the carbonation rise slowly in the soda bottle. “I think so.”
“You didn’t really think this out much, did you?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“So it was a spur of the moment thing?”
I considered. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it means it was semi-impulsive, I suppose.”
She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, but either she didn’t want to press it or she was tired of talking to me. I’d been told by friends before that I used double-talk when I was uncomfortable. I wondered if that might be irritating.
“Do you want to watch anything?” I asked, holding out the remote.
She glanced at it, and then shook her head. She continued to eat without looking at me.
Yet later.
“I do know you, though, don’t I?” she asked. Now it was evening, and I had ordered a pizza, which sat on the bed in front of her as she sat cross-legged and watching me.
I had given up on the TV by this time and returned to my book. I drew my eyes away from it and put it in my lap to answer. “I don’t know. That’s something you would know, I think.”
“I have an idea,” she said, quietly, taking another slice of pizza. She chewed for a moment, and swallowed, then said, “Were we at school together? Or do we have a mutual friend?”
I chuckled, opening my book again. “I don’t know. If it matters that much to you, maybe we can play twenty questions.”
“That’s not very nice.”
I was a little surprised. “What’s not?” I asked, leaving my book once again.
“What you’re doing. First of all, you kidnapped me, you’re keeping me here away from my friends and family, who are probably worried about me by the way, and I think you owe me a complete explanation. Second, it’s obvious you want people to be concerned about you.”
I raised my eyebrows a little, but said nothing.
“Everybody does. If you’re evasive and vague it just makes people dislike you.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll work on it.”
“You’re doing it right now. Can’t you just tell me who you are? What are you afraid of?”
I tilted my head and smiled a little. “Rejection, I guess.”
She frowned. “I’m not very likely to accept you, am I?”
“Now you see why I’m being evasive.”
“If you know I’m going to reject you, why avoid it? There’s no reason to be afraid of the inevitable.”
That struck a chord with me, and I unconsciously bit at a hangnail for a moment before answering. “Yes,” I said, eventually. “That’s a very good point. On the other hand,” I smiled at her again. “If I tell you who I am, then I let go of the mystery of my existence, where you’re concerned. I must admit I enjoy being interesting. If I let go of that, who am I but your ordinary psychopath?”
She starred hard at me this time, and I could tell she was getting tired of my double-talk. And something in the way she was looking at me made me uncomfortable, so I looked away. “Fine. Don’t tell me who you are. Just tell me why I’m here. Be honest. Please.”
I faltered. Despite how things appeared, honesty was actually very important to me. If asked directly like this, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to refuse. So I looked at her. I looked hard at her, and tried to convey with my eyes what was so difficult to say in my heart.
“I love you,” I said. “I’ve been in love with you for over ten years. I decided to trap you here in one final attempt to gain your love before leaving you forever.”
And suddenly, she was a deer in the headlights. Her whole, fragile body became like a block of wood, her eyes wide and her breath almost completely stopped.
“Kidding!” I said, quickly.
She let out a huge breath and then looked at me angrily. “That’s just cruel.” She sighed loudly and then lay back down on the bed, apparently done with the pizza. “This is unbearable.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, again, but returned to my book once again.