Disclaimer: I don't own the amazing book or movie "Flowers in the Attic".
(A.N: I imagine this taking place before Chris and Cathy have sex, but after they have been in the attic for quite some time. I just kind of wanted to show what I imagine Chris thinking about to keep him hopeful through everything. If this gets good feedback, then I would love to continue it. It's my first Flowers in the Attic fic, so I'm sorry if it isn't the best. Enjoy!)
I am going to Hell.
It's not fair that the only light in my life is off limits. This dark, evil cage that I live in gets smaller every day and the one who stops me from suffocating is going to be the reason I'm eternally damned. And I could care less.
Everything about my life is sad and lonely and vile. The Grandmother is cruel and sharp, and the control she has over me and my little family is demeaning. Demeaning and inescapable.
Her whip hurts but it is her words that truly humiliate us. The only reason I haven't completely lost it and ended up doing something terrible to her is because her whip hasn't hurt my twins. I'd sooner kill her than let her hurt them that way. And I doubt even God would blame me.
My Mother isn't even a mother anymore. She let's her own children rot away as if we are her dirty little secret, as if we are something she regrets.
Even our attic is depressing. Dust is thick in the air and sunlight is something we don't get anymore. Honestly, the worst part of this place is the thought that Cathy, Carrie and Cory all have to suffer here too. If it was just me, if I could get them free the it would maybe be bearable. But I'm the only one around to care and protect them, and I'm not even doing it right!
Then, there's Cathy. My Cathy, my wife, my girl.
My sister.
I'm going to Hell.
I love Cathy more than I love my own life. She's everything light and pure. Her hair, even cut in the front is blonde and soft. Her skin is unblemished and even if it's pale from lack of sunshine it absolutely glows. Her eyes are a clear blue that reminds me that there are oceans and birds and beautiful things outside of these dark walls that smell like rodents and age. Her figure is everything that makes my blood boil, and her soft lady-like manner makes me want to be her man, her protector.
The twins might as well be my own children, I love them as if they were my own. If Cathy and I never have children, it won't matter because we have them. They are pure as well, and innocent in the way they live. They deserve to be out playing and learning and experiencing things. They deserve the world. And all they get is this place because of or greedy Mother and that terrible old woman who controls us.
They can't control everything about us, though. They can't control the way I make the twins and Cathy laugh by imitating the crazy old woman. They can't control the way Cathy and I share whispered conversations, and sweet yet passionate kisses and touches late at night. They can't control us enough to break us.
Right now, my family lay sleeping in their tiny beds, and I want to get them out of here and show them luxury. In the dead of night, I like to watch my beautiful family as they sleep and imagine how our lives could be out of this attic. First, my eyes fix between the two twins and I picture giving them every child's dream life.
I could give them a luxurious room, with a comfy bunk bed. I can even picture them discussing who get's the top one. They would have every kind of toy and game, and they would get to choose what foods they ate every night, as long as they were reasonably healthy. They would be clean and healthy and happy, with chubby sunkissed cheeks and glowing skin. They would go to school, and the other kids would love them.
Then, my eyes drift to my heart. She's sleeping beside Carrie, just like every night, and she's curled up under the blanket. I know what kind of life we could have, and I picture this life all the time, probably more often than I read.
Obviously Cathy would be my wife, and she would wear pretty dresses that showed her beautiful form perfectly. She would practice dancing, might even teach a ballet class. She would have sunkissed skin, too, and her loving nature would become even sweeter because the attic wouldn't be surrounding her and making her hard and bitter. She would still keep a feisty, Cathy-like way about her though. I would come home after work, and I would kiss her in greeting every night. We would tuck the twins in and read them stories, and then we would retire to our room for the night.
What happens next is something I only let myself think about briefly, and it's impure and wrong but it seems so beautiful. I would lay her down and show her my love, my absolute worship of her. She would fall apart and I would piece her back together. I would claim her the way she has already claimed me. We would be one and I wouldn't ever know anything else to be so glorious. Afterwards, after we had calmed and her soft skin was pressed against my side, we would hold each other and sleep.
I know it's wrong but why shouldn't Cathy and I be happy? We aren't hurting anybody, and we love each other utterly and completely.
These images, all of them, are what keeps me from falling off the deep end. This tunnel might seem dark and cold, and most of all long but with a light that bright and warm at the end of it, I could make it. I can still be the positive, hopeful Chris because that's who they need. They need someone with hope, and as long as I can imagine how good we will have it once we are out of here, then we will be okay. The light will stay in my twins' eyes, and Cathy will hold herself together long enough to escape.
We will be fine, and life will be so good.
Hell will be worth it. Because we are in it, and we are surviving.