“All cruelty springs from weakness.” -Seneca
Jay
Friday, August 16th, 2013. 11:07 a.m.
Coal and crimson. His eyes are the ashen ground after a war, the blood on his hands staining his soul. Memories fade in and out of my head. They mottle my mind. He’s always watching me. In the dark he stalks toward me. Ever vigilant. Ever surrounding me. He’s always there, molding me into his desired form; a wretched being, capable of destroying everything she loves.
He wants me. An equal. Someone to loathe this world with.
He ruins me. He is my affliction. My drug.
The one who saved me from eternal agony. The one who now burns for my mistakes.
I’m a sinner.
I don’t know him, and yet he believes I do. With each passing minute I convert myself to his truth. Memories from a long-forgotten past sweep through my mind, clouding my judgment. Days spent with the devil. A boy with hair dark as a raven and eyes to match. Laughing. Drinking. Dancing.
And more …
Unfortunate events. Discovery and inevitable shame. Pain as punishment. Regret for not choosing right. Anguish for disappointing and abandoning everyone. Betrayal. Letting go of everything.
These eyes … they haunt me. I know them. I’ve known them all along. And now they’ve come to claim me and take me back to hell.
***
My eyes burst open, and I’m blinded by the light of the lamp. They hurt, salt burning at the edges. Rubbing them clean, I blink a few times. It’s still morning, but I’m surprised to find myself in this hotel room. This bed. I’m not even under the covers, but apparently I fell asleep here. The pillow is wet from my tears. I must have cried myself to sleep. I was so tired. I don’t even remember what I did. I don’t even know what time it is, or even how I got here. Heck, I’ve even forgotten about the dream I just had.
As I sit up and stare ahead, I find the same odd framed painting I noticed before. A countryside with a couple of horses and a lady sitting in the middle is depicted is it. The lady is cutting something up, although I can’t spot what it is from this far away. However, the red smudges catch my eye. They make me want to get closer and look at it again. I can’t remember what it was and why I’ve looked at this painting before.
Letting go of the pillow, I slip off the bed and let my feet glide onto the soft, warm carpet. It’s not a large room, but an expensive one—that I can tell. With huge windows and sophisticated wooden furniture, I can only imagine what it must cost to stay here each night. The chamber smells like sandalwood and ammonia, an odd combination, which makes me a little queasy. The closer I step to the painting, the more curious I get to find out what I saw. I don’t know why. I just need to see.
The red turns into little dots and then I find out they are living beings. Humans. Bodies. Chopped-up limbs. A woman cutting them up with a butcher’s knife.
A tiny shriek escapes my mouth as I gasp for air. My hand moves to my face as I keep the sounds from escaping. The horror this painting shows isn’t what made me frightened. Everything comes back to me in a flash. Billy. His death. The man with the scar holding me captive. The killing spree. Blood. Death.
I’m surrounded by it.
In panic I turn around and gaze at the bed, the window, the doors. Everything is locked, and all of the sudden I feel like I’m going crazy. It’s true. It really happened.
My body is shaking vigorously as I hold myself and cling to the wall at the same time. I’m a bird caged by a beast, and there’s no way out of this one. He owns me now. What do I do? I feel so powerless.
Feeling the sudden urge to throw up, I run to the bathroom and let it all out. My body is giving up the fight. I’ve been strong for too long, and now the realization hits me like a brick to the face. I’m a prisoner and I’ve lost control over my life. How much worse can this get?
Wiping my face and mouth on a piece of paper, I flush the toilet and throw the paper in, then get up on my feet. I could use a drink to get rid of the rankness in my throat. When I turn around, I pause. There’s black tape all over the mirror. From left to right, not a single piece of reflection is available. What the fuck?
I step closer and peel away one of the tapes. My brown hair peeks out as I spot myself in the mirror. A frenzy to rid this mirror of its cover overcomes me. I need to see myself. I need to know if I’m hurt. I need to look myself in the eye as I tell myself it’s all going to be okay. One by one I tear them down, each one faster than the last, throwing them into the bin as I go.
As the mirror becomes visible I finally get to see myself again. I check my face, my body, my hair, anything I can see, anything that’s visible to me. Nothing seems off, nothing’s out of place. For a moment I almost thought he might have scarred me like he is scarred himself.
It’s a ridiculous idea, because I would’ve felt it if he had. It’s just fear taking over control of my rationality. Luckily, I seem fine. Well, as far as fine goes. I look like shit. I have dark rings around my eyes, spots on my cheeks, and my body is covered in bruises, and I have no makeup to cover it all. Watching myself in the mirror like this really puts a dent in my confidence. With my hands on the sink I look myself in the eye and feel the tears filling my eyes again. Being here in this room scares me, because I’m alone, and nothing feels worse to me than being alone. Not just alone in the physical meaning, but in all its meanings. Because in the back of my mind I know there’s nobody who cares that I’m here. Nobody who will think about me and wonder where I am. Nobody who’ll even notice I’m gone. No one who’ll come looking for me. No one to rescue me.
It’s just me. Me and him.
Turning my head, I look at the clock hanging from the wall. It’s been a couple of hours since he left, so he’ll probably be back soon. I can’t afford to look weak when he comes back. It’ll be my undoing. So I wipe away the tear that rolls down my cheek and wash my face with some cold water. Feeling sad for myself won’t help a bit. I need to take control of my feelings, my surroundings, my situation, and do everything in my power to get out. Even if nobody else cares, I care. I should rescue me. I want myself to survive, get out, and be free again.
And fuck it, when I get out I’m going to buy a condo in Hawaii and live my life in peace. No men. No drugs. No dancing. Maybe just the alcohol. Yeah, I’m going to start a bar right along the beach and spend my days getting tanned under the sun. That’s what I’m going to do.
Suddenly there’s a knock on the door.
A cold shiver runs through my body as I walk out of the bathroom and stare at the door. There’s another knock.
“Housekeeping.”
With furrowed brows I step closer. Why is there housekeeping? And why doesn’t she just come in?
The lock rattles. A key goes inside. Some more rattling and then the noise stops.
She unlocked it.
A single thought crosses my mind right at that moment.
Should I try to escape?
With trembling fingers I open the door a few inches. I peek into the shadows. A woman with dark hair turns around after fiddling with a tray behind her. “Ah, excuse me. I’m here to clean the room.”
For a moment, escaping crosses my mind. I could push her aside, run her over, and flee. I could. But for some reason X’s warning resonates through my head. If I leave, I will die. I don’t know if I can trust him; probably not, but what other choice do I have? Those men who were out there when we left my motel were out to kill us both. I’m not sure how many more there are. What if I get gunned down the moment I leave this room? Then it’s all been in vain. I don’t want to die.
Even if he’s a murderer, a monster, I can still only believe him.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say. For some reason the first thing I think of is that I’m still in this hooker outfit, and her eyes confirm that thought. As I look down, my cheeks turn hot.
She smiles and blinks a couple of times. Then she opens the door further, pushing past me, and steps inside, closing it behind her immediately. She locks it again.
“Uh …” I stammer as I turn around to watch her scurry into the room.
“Oh, no need to tell me anything, miss. I already know.” Her voice is eerie. Dark. It makes my skin crawl.
“You know …?”
“Yes,” she says, glancing back at me before hurrying her trolley to the bed. She starts taking off all the sheets and putting on new ones, while I stare at her, unsure of what to do. Unsure if I should try to pry the key from her hands and make a run for it, or grab something sharp to stab her with.
I don’t know why I’m getting this sudden urge to attack a woman I don’t even know. Maybe it’s because of this room. Maybe it’s because I don’t trust her. Or maybe it’s because X told me everyone knows and nobody cares. Maybe he paid her to shut up. Maybe she’s in on it. She knows everything.
I grasp for the bedpost, as wonky as I am on my feet. My life feels like a thin thread that could be severed at any moment by anyone. Everyone’s my enemy. No one is safe. X is always one step ahead of me.
Except, when the cleaning lady takes her trolley to the bathroom, she forgets one thing. Her phone.
It’s on the trolley with all the other items, but she herself has disappeared into the bathroom with a pile of fresh towels. An idea sprouts in my head, growing in my brain as I realize it’s my only shot at freedom. Reaching someone from the outside world, out of X’s grasp, is the only solution.
Sliding across the room as quietly as I can, I slip closer to the bathroom. I hear her scrubbing something, and when I turn my head around the corner I spot her cleaning the toilet. She’s faced away from the trolley. A perfect opportunity. One chance I can’t blow.
I reach for the phone and snag it away as fast as I can, tucking it deep into my ass crack. Yeah, that’s the only hiding place I have, unfortunately.
She gets up, and I spring back, pretending to look at the painting. With squinted eyes she gazes at me, waiting. I break out in a sweat. It’s like she knows.
Then she grabs the trolley and pushes it past me, going straight for the door. She hasn’t even noticed her phone has gone missing. All she’s doing is looking for her key, prying open the door, walking out, and closing it again after glancing at me one last time.
When it’s quiet, I get the urge to freak out.
But I don’t. I have to calm down. Keep my cool. Take a breath. The phone is in my possession, and it’s my only way out.
I pull it out from my panties and clean it with a towel before attempting to dial numbers. My fingers are trembling as I retype the numbers after pressing the wrong one from all the stress. It’s the first and the only number I memorized, because it’s the only thing that mattered to me before … this.
When I’m done, I hold the phone to my ear. Tears spring into my eyes as I hear her voice. “Hello?”
“Hannah?” My voice is croaky and broken.
“Jay? Oh my God, Jay! Where are you? Why haven’t you called? We’ve been worried sick about you! Well … I have, at least. You know how Don is.”
“I … I …” I run to the window.
I suck in a deep breath and begin my sentence.
“I need your help. I’m in a hotel. It’s near some street called … um … I don’t know! I can’t tell, but I recognize the Interstate thirty-five. There’s a Shell gas station right next to us. From the looks of it I’m in Austin … maybe the Sheraton.”
But before I can blow out my breath, the door slams open. The sound of his shoes is enough to make my heart beat like thunder roaring in the skies.
