I
sit, chained to this chair, my head spinning. The room seems as if I
drank too much last night and I still need to sleep it off. It keeps
spinning around in the drab brown color. Wait, there is a bed,
covered in gold. An armior a bright, less brown. It's so hard to tell
colors with the room spinning. I smell something familiar: Nag
Champa. Is it known or did I tell? Did I get too drunk and let my
favorite scent be known? It reminds me of the times I spent secluded
in a basement, as my ultimate wish. The times I used to chose to
spend time alone in my basement. But of course, with the ultimate
wish comes the ultimate sacrifice. I was alone... more alone than I
imagined I would be. Left to video games and music... art of artists
past. I shut myself in and down.
But,
alas, this was not the same. I was here now against my will. One or
some would say as a consiquence, others, less knowledgable, would say
against. I sit here on trial... with my hands duct taped to a chair
behind my back. My eyes, looking for something not brown and failing.
My ears listening for a sound other than a creak, listening for a
voice; listening for something of substance so I can understand where
I am. I fail and live in a world of circles and confusion until
finally, I hear footsteps coming down stairs. God blessed footsteps.
Footsteps of salvation! A sound other than creaking and thus a human
being. Someone who was making their way somewhere to do something. A
sound with purpose.
"Do
you have some thing to say?"
"I'm
sorry."
"Fuck
your 'I'm sorry.' I've heard THAT before and this time I won't accept
it. You're so EASY to overcome and I refuse to believe I can do so
this quickly. SO, do you have something to say?"
*
I
walk into a room and see him. He was looking around at the people
there with disgust on his face. We're at a party and he looks like he
doesn't want to be there. Then he sees me. As I noticed his head
moving towards my direction, I pretended not to notice. I pretended
to be focused on something else, intently. But I noticed. The look on
his face when he first saw me; like he was seeing a unicorn,
something impossible. I took my time introducing myself to everyone
there, purposely leaving him for last. Before, I make it to him, I
need a refill on my beer. I look at him straight on for the first
time since he walked through the door, smile at him as if to say
'catch me if you can,' and leave the room to fetch the beer.
I open the fridge and select my poison, I hear him enter the
kitchen. I stand up straight, and turn around to greet him. He's
about half a foot taller than me, brown hair, brown eyes, beard, and
smells heavily of body spray.
“Coors
Light, huh?” he scoffed.
“Judge
all you want; it keeps me from getting too drunk no matter how much
of it I drink, plus I've never gotten a hangover from it. Being here
around people I've never met before, like yourself, a girl can't be
too careful.” I raise an eye brow at him, asking him to counter my
logic.
“Not
knowing where you are when you wake up is half the fun.”
*
"You're
a piece of shit and beneath me. I only liked you because of the
attention."
"Now,
now. I already knew you thought that. SO, it seems we shall keep this
going until you can properly explain yourself."
"I've
JUST told you how I feel! How can you tell me I'm not properly
explaining myself?!"
"Simple,
you're either lying or telling me what you think I want to hear.
Either way, I am not satisfied and I will see you tomorrow."
He
walked up the stairs, the only sounds I heard that were human in...
hours... days? The darkness and hysteria were making it difficult to
make out how much time I've missed. Were the windows blackened? Was I
actually drugged? I black out thinking about who I told Nag Champa
was my favorite scent to.
*
The
scent of cooked meat catches my attention and wakes me up. I feel
like I haven't eaten in months... The smell dancing between my
nostrils and curling itself into my brain. My mouth watering and my
lungs sucking in the sweet scent of food. My stomach aches with the
rememberance of it's fill. My eyes flitter open at the hope that this
isn't a dream. I see him holding a plate. Oh my god, a plate full of
hotdogs on buns with ketchup.
"Here
is something you haven't smelled in a while.... meat," he says,
slyly.
"No,
I haven't," I reply, weakly.
"Would
you like some?"
"If
I could have one of those hot dogs, I would last as your slave for who
knows how much longer? You could keep me down here as long as you
like on one hot dog a week. I expend no energy sitting here so..."
"YOU
ARE NOT MY SLAVE."
"Sure
feels like it."
"Which
goes to show how much you understand. I will let you eat A hot dog so
perhaps you can gain back your senses and really understand your
place here."
He
fed me a hot dog hastily, and retreated upstairs. So that I was once
again left alone. Left alone with my thoughts as to why I was down
here compared to my job and dreams or lack of. Was that it? I lacked
dreams and so made do with whatever poor boy who didn't like his
mother and I made a promise of more?
I
wake with the room spinning once more. This time I wonder if it is
simply me or the music playing. Something that sounds classical but
speaks more to my horror... so much more modern? It is a violin that
sounds comforting and yet terrifying? The rise and fall of something
sweet and unGodly sinful. As soon as I feel comforted by the calm of
the violin, it strikes up again as though there is an unknown
protagonist willing to end me. It pervades my senses. Makes me really
question why I am in this chair... duct taped to it?
"Do
you feel it?"
"I
feel all of it."
"No,
you don't."
"Yes!
Do I feel it... was the question."
"NO!
Do you feel ALL of it? The ascension, the climax, and the decension?"
"Yes,
I feel the whole tale."
"Stop
lying to me. I've been watching you, girl. You only feel the climax.
You only see what you want to see."
"Then
take the rest from me! If that is all I have!"
"No,
you must feel it all! The rise and the decensions. You must feel the
whole story. Yes you feel your part, but do you feel mine? Do you
feel the vibrations in your chair? Do you feel the vibrations of the
world? The PAIN of the world? No! You only feel the ebb and flow of
your own pain. You claim understanding. Which is what drove me to
you. but you don't... You fucking liar-"
"I
may be a slut but I am not a liar."
"Say
that again, girl."
"I
MAY BE A SLUT BUT I AM NOT A LIAR."
"If
you weren't, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you. You are a
spinner of stories instead of fabric... you would have done better
with old housewives tales as you were sewing dresses for queens in
the middle ages. You do lie. Maybe not to those around you but to
yourself. STOP LYING TO YOURSELF. What do you want?"
"I
DON'T KNOW. I don't know," I finish with a whimper. "I
don't know."
"Then
how can you claim undying love for another? You clearly don't love
yourself."
The
familiar steps of a person ascending a staircase reach my ears once
more. Crying, I lower my head again. It hasn't even begun and I know
this. A kitten, with it's nose rubbed in it's own shit is what I am.
And at last, someone's done it. Someone has finally put me in my
place. I watch the last sliver of light disappears as a door closes.
*
"Why
are you here?"
"Because
I failed."
"Failed
to do what?"
"It's
not what I failed to do... but what I fail to be..."
"And
what did you fail to be?"
"Anything
I said I would. Strong and intelligent. Faithful, and loving. I sit
here before you as the skeleton of what I promised, and I can't even
promise you that anymore... I have failed myself as well as you so I
can't imagine why you would take the effort to go through this..."
"You
have no idea what you posses." He started un-duct taping my hands
from behind the chair. My skin felt itchy where the tape had been. As
I sit in the chair, confused and rubbing my wrists, he pulls out a
knife. "Go over to the bed."
"Is
this the part where you rape me?"
He
laughs and points to the bed with the knife. I walk over and lay
down, staring at the ceiling. More brown. I close my eyes and feel
him lays beside me.
"What
you want is a release. You want something to take the pain away... to
keep you numb. So do it."
"Do
what?"
"Cum."
"What?"
"You
heard me: cum."
I
furrow my brow. Just like that? He's ordering me to orgasm? I feel
the knife at my throat and he whispers "cum" into my ear.
His breath hits my ear canal and vibrates delicately into my brain;
sending a slight jolt down my sciatic nerve. Involuntarily, I exhale
and then inhale through gritted teeth. The knife pressed harder
against the naked flesh of my neck, and I slowly pull down my
leggings and my underwear. He breathes on my collarbone, and the
goosepimples rise. My right middle finger finds my clitoris and moves
in slow, small circles. The knife scrapes up from my neck under my
chin. I push my head back into the pillow with my mouth open. It all
builds and builds until finally I orgasm.
As
I'm laying there, he asks me "What's different?"
"About
what?" I smile lazily at him.
"About
everything. What's different about you or your surroundings or me?"
I
looked around me. Brown. The same fucking brown; and nothing about
him had changed. He was exactly the same. When I turned the inner
eye, I realized that I was as well. The only thing that had changed
was the moistness between my legs, and that the bed now had a wet
spot. It. was. all. the. same.
He
laughed then because he saw in my eyes that I was coming to this
conclusion, and losing my grasp on whatever reality I had created.
Hope was draining from me. There is no escape from pain. Only
momentary reprieves which are almost worse than the pain itself.
"PROGRESS!"
He seemed so pleased with himself. He grabbed my hand and pulled me
up off the bed; leading me to the chair where I was bound once again.
He walked up and out, laughing, while leaving me to the crushing
darkness and crumbling reality.
*
I
think of the first time we met now, but I see for the first time how
selective I was in feeling his emotions. How I'm always selective
about what I feel. My cycles of self torment and narcissism. He was
right, I don't feel it all because I choose not too.
The
door opens and he approaches me, with his knife out again. This time
he cuts through the tape instead of unbinding me. He gives me a ham
and cheese hot pocket to eat. I enjoy it. Once I finish, I sit on the
edge of the bed and look at him. Really look. I realize then that he
must have been taking care of me. I watch his knife more carefully as
he walks over and stands in front of me.
I
have been thinking about this since the last time he came down and
taught me that nothing changes.
I
stand up, and kiss him. He spits in my face, pushing me back to sit
on the bed. I lean forward with my face on his stomach. Then I grab
his hand with the knife and push my chest onto it. I've given a lot
of thought on where I want my death wound to be and my heart seems
most appropriate.
The
pain is blinding, more black. My clothes soak quickly and he pushes
me to lay on the bed; off of him and off his knife.
"You
stupid bitch! Why would you do that?"
"Because
I've felt the beginning and middle. It is now time to... feel...
the..."
