She woke on an old leather couch. She was stretched across it, her bare feet up on the sofa's arm, which was duct taped due to wear. She was covered in a white blanket with a matching pillow under her head, which surprised her. The last thing she remembered before this was that wretched bed surrounded by cameras and men in white suits. That, and… him. She suddenly realized- she wasn't dead!
She looked around cautiously, moving only her blue eyes. She saw no one. The room was nicer than the last one she was in, but it was still less than stellar. The pale wallpaper was peeling and the wooden floor could have used sweeping. There was a coffee table in front of the couch. On it was a glass of water and some toast with jelly.
After listening carefully for signs of someone else, she decided it was safe to sit up and eat. She shoveled the toast into her mouth, then gulped down the glass of water. After this, she burst into tears.
She couldn't help it. She had no idea what was going on or where she was, but she appeared safe for the time being. Her makeup started running more than it already had. She sniffled quietly and wiped her tears on her bare arms, as she was wearing nothing but a tank top and purple panties. Her clothing had not changed.
She took another look around the room, now noticing a few cliche paintings on the walls, like sailboats in Miami harbors and palm trees on the sand. She looked to her left. Beside the sofa was an end table. On it, a phone with a large voicemail machine.
It was quiet in the house or apartment or whatever it was. She stood, knees a bit weak, and tip-toed around. The place smelled of cigarettes and old pizza- the boxes of which were scattered throughout the home. She turned out of the mostly-barren room. She came to the foyer with the front door. She could escape. She glanced down at her attire- less than presentable. More pressing, however, was the idea that the men who had kidnapped her and used her were still out there. Was she safer here? Was he a better gamble? She stayed, for now.
Across from the exit was a bathroom. The door was open and the light was off, but some sun crept through the blinds in the living room where she had been sleeping. It was enough to light her path into the bathroom and check her face in the mirror. She shuttered. She was covered in blood, but not her own. She exited the bathroom and looked diagonally across the hall.
There was the kitchen, lit also by sunlight breaking through yellowed blinds. On the counter was a toaster. She tried to smile, but could only wince. Why would someone make her breakfast? She held back a second wave of tears.
She walked past the kitchen entrance and saw the final door in the home. The bedroom, she assumed. The door was cracked open. It was pitch-black inside. Silently, she snuck between the door and its jamb. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark room, her heart skipped a beat as she heard rustling.
There was a faint groan- a man's quiet voice. Then, the sound of him rolling over atop the sheets. He was sleeping, but he was in pain. When her eyes made sense of the darkness, she saw the figure of a man spread across his double bed on his stomach. He was fully clothed- bright blue jeans, white high tops, and a letterman jacket.
After a few minutes of listening to his hard breathing, she summed up the courage to approach him. She snuck forward, but stepped on something soft and rubbery. She glanced down. A rooster mask. She looked up and inhaled deeply, then marched forward beside the man's head, and what she saw surprised her.
He's beautiful, she thought. Even in the darkness, she could appreciate his fine features. Short blond hair, long straight nose, a soft jawline and thin lips, accompanied by slightly puffy eyes. Was that from a recent beating, was he just exhausted, or were they naturally sagged? Either way, she liked the look of them. Unique, she thought. She could not decipher his age. He could have been anywhere from his early twenties to late thirties.
Suddenly, across the apartment, the phone rang. The man shot up in bed. She let out a small yelp, then clapped her hand over her mouth. He stood from his resting place, then briskly walked past the girl into the hall, not giving her a single glance. Her knees quivered. She followed him, feet clammy and pattering against the wood floor. She peered into the living room where the man had picked up the phone. He did not give a greeting, but was taking notes on a pad as a distant voice relayed an address to him. He hung up the phone, then turned to exit the living room.
He walked past her, into his bedroom, and grabbed his mask from the floor. As he exited, he noticed her standing beside the front door. He raised his eyebrows very slightly. He looked at her from head to toe, then turned back into the bedroom. A moment later, he came out with a tee shirt. He silently placed it into the girl's hands, her eyes never leaving his. He waited for a moment, but when she would not move, he stretched his lips to one side, then gently nudged her out of the way.
She shivered at his touch. She did not appreciate a man's hand, and his fingertips were calloused, but they were warm and he moved her gently. He left the apartment and locked the door from the outside.
With the strange man gone, she was alone. She rushed into the bathroom to wash the blood from her body. She took a sink bath, cleaning herself with warm water from the corroding ceramic pedestal sink. She took off the green tank top and slipped into the tee she was given. It was large and sagged over one shoulder. The man had very broad shoulders and had stretched the shirt over time. The shirt covered the top of her thighs, and she felt very comfortable in the cotton attire.
She went back into the man's room. Two beds, she noticed. Did he have a roommate? She opened his dresser drawers and found nothing but ragged tees and jeans, among boxers and socks. Clothes were also messily strewn about the floor. An alarm clock flashed 12:00 on the nightstand between the two beds, beneath a palm tree-shaped lamp. She clicked this on, giving the room a little light. Opposite the bed was a small television and a gaming console, a VCR, and some stacked tapes.
She reached to open his closet, looking over her shoulder to assure her privacy. She slid the mirror door open on its track. Inside were no clothes, but a shelf lined with masks. A grasshopper, a horse, a pig, an owl… So many different animals. She wore a puzzled expression, but closed the closet door and went back to living room.
It was almost 2 in the morning when he walked in. She was watching the television in the living room, bored as ever. She did not notice him enter. He loomed in the room's doorway and she turned her head to see him. She gasped. He was soaked in bright blood and other bodily fluids. She bit her tongue as he approached her. When he came near, she closed her eyes.
He plopped down onto the couch beside her. She opened her eyes to see him looking forward at the television. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table, then slouched back deep into the sofa. He switched the channel to some crime series. Out of his peripherals, he noticed the girl staring at him, mouth agape. He rolled his head to meet her gaze.
His blue eyes pierced hers. She immediately looked towards the television. He rolled his head back and watched the 30-minute episode with her. After this, he went to pee, door almost closed, but the handle did not click. She sat motionless on the sofa, noticing some new blood left on the leather. After a minute, the bathroom door clicked shut, and she heard the sound of running water. He was showering.
She scurried into the kitchen and grabbed some paper towels. She cleaned the blood from the couch, then tossed the paper towels into the trash.
After what felt like the longest shower she'd ever heard, the man exited the bathroom in a fresh pair of jeans and a new tee. She watched him in the hallway as he slipped on his jacket, which was marked with the letter B on the left breast. Under it, she caught a glimpse of his arms. They were covered in deep gashes of missing skin that were raw and had yet to scab. His right bicep had a line of stitches. She understood why might wear the jacket- to cover any signs of weakness.
She closed her heavy eyes and drifted into sleep on the sofa. He walked into his bedroom and found a comb in the pocket of a pair of dirty jeans. He took it and walked into the living room, combing his hair. There, he found a sandwich on the coffee table, cut into halves. She had made it for him as he washed up. She was lying on the sofa, leaning on an arm, asleep. The phone rang and she stirred in her slumber.
The front door heavily fell shut, and she woke fully. He was gone again. On the coffee table was half of the sandwich and a new glass of milk he had left for her. It was nearly 4 a.m. Who had called? Why this time of night? She frowned, ate the sandwich half, drank her milk, then lay on the sofa with the blanket and slept.
She woke once more, but this time not to her sweaty skin sticking to the leather sofa. She was in a comfortable bed, under a light sheet. She was clinging to a down pillow. She yawned and released it breathily. After a moment of embracing the comfort, she had a terrible thought. She shot up in bed. No cameras, no ties, no gangsters in tacky suits. She relaxed. She was in his bedroom in the other double bed, and he was nowhere to be found.
As she stretched her legs, her feet bumped something at the foot of the bed. She sat up and reached for a box on the sheets. Upon opening it, she found a beautiful sundress. It was green with a white floral print. She smiled softly. It wasn't a barely-there set of lingerie or a costume- it was a modest sundress: a gift. There was also a set of underwear, but nothing scanty about them. In a drug store bag beside the dress box, there was a towel, a cheap bottle of women's shampoo, some ladies' deodorant, and shaving razors.
She showered for the first time in at least a week. She shaved and applied the deodorant. She found mouthwash in the cabinet and used it in place of brushing her teeth. She brushed her hair with one of his combs. She felt amazing. She opened the living room window and let a light breeze in, which helped dry her hair. When it had dried, she looked in the bathroom mirror. With her makeup gone and her purple panties in the garbage, she felt like a lady again.
As she left the bathroom, the front door's lock clicked and he stepped inside. She was surprised to see he wasn't caked in blood. He stared at her. She looked much better than she had the past few days. Her hair was no longer greasy and her smelled improved significantly- though he knew she could not help her situation. He reached out slowly, aware of her past with men, and touched the blonde lock of hair resting on her shoulder. It was soft and smooth. She did not resist. She wondered who this mysterious man was.
He let go of her hair and held up a bag. Burger King. It wasn't her favorite, but she would have taken anything. She smiled sadly. He walked expressionless into the kitchen where there was a table. They sat together.
"Thank you," she said as he unloaded the fast food onto the table. Without looking up, he nodded casually.
"No, I mean…" she placed a long-nailed hand on his. "Thank you for saving my life." He glanced at his hand with hers atop, then up at her. The faintest of smirks appeared at the corner of his thin lips. It didn't last long, however, and he unwrapped a burger and began to eat.
Days passed and the two said nary a word to one another. He would leave at all hours of the night and return home aching, sometimes puking, and of course riddled with blood and wounds. After a few days of this, she began helping treat his injuries and would help him to his bed. During the day, he was usually either watching television or playing games on the console. He welcomed her company as he did this. She had nothing better to do and was somehow comforted by his presence in the eerie apartment in the great big eerie world. When he was not engaged in media, he was out on the town during the daytime. She did not know what he was doing during this.
Sometimes the phone would ring when he was gone. She would never answer it, but the machine would record strange messages. They consisted of requests for a babysitter or an errand boy. This puzzled her.
One evening, he walked into the bedroom to find her playing a racing game on the console. He had little roughage from his night out, but she could tell he had been away on business. She jolted and apologized as she tossed the controller beside her on her bed. The man only shook his head, then walked to the foot of the bed and handed her the controller. She smiled gently. She continued her game and he walked beside her. As she played, he climbed onto her bed.
Her heart began racing, but she tried not to show it and kept her eyes on the game. He sat behind her, careful not to move too close. He allowed himself to move in enough, however, to rest his legs on either side of her. She sat cross-legged on the bed and his feet draped over the edge of it around her.
In the game, her car crashed into a median. She was extremely nervous, not only because a man had approached her in this way, but because this man did so. He wasn't pushing her or grabbing her. He was relaxing with her and a video game.
His palms touched her elbows and smoothed over her arms until he reached the controller in her hands. His arms around her, he took the controller and guided the car back onto the road. Her heart was pounding and she was sure she was a bright red. She was glad he could not see her face from where he sat. After her vehicle was secured in-game, he placed the remote back into her hands and she continued playing.
Then, gently, he placed his head on her shoulder. He closed his eyes and smelled her hair. He liked the scent, though he expected he would, given that he had purchased her shampoo. She thought she would explode, not from excitement, but of sheer surprise and nervousness. He had made contact with her, but wasn't harming her or going any farther than would make her uncomfortable. His action was sweet and not overly brazen.
When she completed the race, the man moved from behind her and rolled off the bed. He took some clothes from the dresser and went to shower. She clicked off the console and went to bed.
At 3 a.m., in the pitch black of the hot Miami night, there came a rustling at the front door. She glanced at his bed, but it was empty. She sat up and listened for the door. Someone was trying to open the lock. She leapt up and rushed into the kitchen. She grabbed a knife and ran to the front door. He burst into the foyer wearing the horse mask and slammed the door behind him. It's just him, she thought and sighed. She set the knife on a small table in the foyer.
But it wasn't just him. Behind him came a clattering at the door and a pounding. He had been followed. He sneered and grabbed her arm. He lead her into the closet, sat her down on the floor, then grabbed a tiger mask from the shelf. He rolled the closet door shut, hiding her away.
A man suddenly busted into the apartment and found him in the bedroom. The stranger fired a round from a pistol, hitting him in the shoulder where she had seen the stitches. He cried out in pain, and stumbled backwards. The stranger had also grabbed the knife from the foyer, and he threw it at the man. It grazed his arm. He grabbed at his sliced appendage and gritted his teeth. He breathed heavily and found the strength to remove the horse mask and put on the tiger head.
In a fit of rage, he made a dash for the stranger and headbutted him in the gut, grabbing his body and flipping it over his shoulders. He slammed the stranger into the wooden floor over his back, then rolled him over and sat atop the intruder. He grabbed the knife from the floor beside the fallen stranger.
From the closet, she could only hear what was going on, but it didn't sound pretty. The large intruder was being beaten mercilessly. After some grunting, she heard a loud splash against the closet door. The door rolled open on its track. He was standing there in the tiger mask, with a hand outstretched to her. He was coated in fresh blood. She took his wet hand and he lead her quickly away from the room. He held up a hand to have her wait in the foyer.
He closed the bedroom door. She heard rustling inside and then a zipper. He was placing the body in a bag and rolling it into the closet. After a few minutes, he came from the room holding a shopping bag. Inside were a few shirts and some of his smaller jeans, along with a few pairs of his boxers. Still breathing heavily, he removed his tiger mask and handed her the bag. She looked confused. "What's this?" she asked. He looked at her with sad eyes, more expression than she had ever seen him give. He silently opened the front door a crack. She peered out into the hallway- a decrepit stairwell lay beyond the door. He motioned for her to leave.
In that moment, she spoke more to him than she had over the past week. "I don't know what's out there," she shook her head. "I told you to kill me back then… I was ready to die because I was looking death in the face for so long. But now… I see hope. You make me feel like I'm not just a cheap hooker," she rolled her eyes and smiled nervously, then turned solemn. "I feel like a woman again- I feel safe, and that's something I haven't felt since way before you found me in that room."
He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. He glanced from her to the door and back. She didn't want to leave his repulsive apartment? She didn't want to walk away from a man who came home every few nights soaked in blood? He imagined she had no reason to stay. In the past, when he had girls over, kissing them in the foyer, they would leave immediately after seeing the condition of his apartment- the bloodstains, the bullet holes in the walls, the used bandages and hand wrappings, the holes and deep gashes all over his body when he removed his jacket. He and she had not been involved. Why would she stay? Could she-
She moved closer and shut the door behind him. Her arm was under his, pushing against the door. They were close now. Her expression was pained. She was afraid- not of him, but of the life he lead. She knew he was dangerous, but only towards those who had clearly done serious wrong. He would not hurt her, but he might become hurt. She often heard his heavy breathing at night across the room, and his quiet whimpering in his dreams.
"I'd like to stay," she whispered, looking from his daring blue eyes to his soft, thin lips. Without hesitation, he grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her into him. They inhaled sharply and closed their eyes tight as they kissed against the door. He moved his arm to her back and held her tightly against his body. He had never kissed someone so fervently and with so much true feeling. Her kiss too was heartfelt and meaningful. This was more than four lips meeting- it was a thank you from each of them. Thank you for saving my life and perhaps a thank you for staying in mine.