Rapunzel woke up in a cold sweat, terrified. She kept having recurring nightmares about that night when the thief broke in. He could've killed her, or worse. Mother told her that men acted nice but deep inside they were sadistic, that they wanted to abuse women. Rapunzel shuddered at the thought.
The crown.
The crown was a family heirloom from her real parents before they passed away when she was 9. She hid it from her adoptive mother, a reminder of her life when she was actually happy. She spent most of her life with her new mother. Her adoptive mother was the only one she had left in her life, even though she tormented Rapunzel, telling her that she was ugly, weak, and unfit to function in the world. And somewhere inside her, Rapunzel took her words to heart. It could've been the misguided love she had for "mother", or her naivete of the world. But she always thought that mother might have been wrong. Now that she was an adult, she stayed optimistic, finding a job as an art teacher and providing for herself. Rapunzel thought she proved her wrong, until last night. Now she wasn't sure. She WAS weak, she couldn't protect herself and she couldn't protect her home.
The thief was holding the crown, his brown eyes staring into her own. He didn't look evil, the way mother told her that men were. His eyes held pain and desperation. Somehow, he reminded her of herself. But still, she was scared of him. Was this fear rational, or was it just another construct that mother had made up? What Rapunzel didn't understand was why he dropped the crown. When Rapunzel hit him with the frying pan, why didn't he hit her back like mother would've? He could've ran away with a fortune, he could've hurt her or abused her, but he didn't.
She sat in her dimly lit room, the back of her blue-laced pajamas soaking wet. The weather was hot but somehow she felt…. cold. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, cleansing her thoughts. Clearly, she woke up her chameleon, Pascal, who sat up on the nightstand and crawled over to Rapunzel. Pascal was the only comfort she had. He was a true friend. Still, she had human friends. Rapunzel went to high school, and she loved it there. Day-to-day she spoke with her small group of friends who loved her for who she were. Meanwhile, other kids would torment her for her black eye or marks, a by-product of fights with mother. But how she longed for each day away from home. She loved her classes, especially literature and art class, where she could escape to fantasy worlds where there was no abuse, only love. But as mother got sicker and sicker, Rapunzel had to take time off from school to care for her. Her grades fell and she barely graduated. She lost contact with her old friends, only to be thrown into a cycle of depression again.
She did make it into a small art college, which was all that she ever wanted. But the tuition was too high for her. Of course, she had asked mother for financial support, promising to pay her back once she gets a degree. But she got scolded, her mother guilt tripping her about whether the money should be used to care for her or college.
Rapunzel got up and walked over to the bathroom and stripped herself of her clothes. She turned on the water to let it warm. Meanwhile, she looked at her own reflection in the mirror. She was 18 but didn't feel like it. Her slender body and youthful face told her of her age, but what normal 18-year-old-girl has to worry about thieves and a sick mother who torments her?
The bathroom started to steam up, which told her that the shower was ready. She stepped underneath the shower head, letting the warm water cascade over her body. She closed her eyes and remembered the sound of the thief's voice, something that she had kept in the back of her mind. Was it weird to long to hear his voice again? The voice was deep and somber, not angry. When he apologized and dropped the crown, it felt, real. Not like the apologies that mother gave Rapunzel after beating her with a cane.
She shook her head as if this would disperse these thoughts.
She stepped outside the bathroom and dried herself off, wrapping the towel around her body. She dried her long blonde hair the best she could, letting it hang down. She couldn't blow-dry it without risking the wrath of her sleeping mother.
So, she grabbed a book to read and waited for her hair to dry, keeping the peculiar thief in the back of her mind.
