iv.
The Box.
How many days had it been? Three? Four? Seven? She couldn't remember. Trapped in the blackness of the box, Reese slept most times, only to be hounded by nightmares, only to have the thoughts of things being okay torn away –
There were days that it made her
physically ill, sick to the point that she's cry and howl until she retched.
And then he'd scream at her more, make her withstand even more torture…
She apparently wasn't grateful.
She hadn't worn much in the past
few days, her clothes torn, shredded off by hands that seethed poison,
hands that should touch nothing living –
Not…
It was getting harder to block out the nightmare.
Harder to say that maybe, out of
luck, someone would hear her, somehow. Someone would wonder why there
were pieces of denim, lace stuffed into the bottom of a trash can, where
strands of dark blonde hair had come from…
He tugged on her hair a lot, said
it made him feel like a man to do this to her.
He said it was because she deserved
this.
He said because…
Her brother worried too much.
Her boyfriend – well, he couldn't think about something like girls.
About her. He had better things.
Tears fell down her cheeks again,
and she wondered exactly how much more time she had to cry.
How much time before he came back.
How much – how many tears she had
left.
How much time…
She wanted…someone. She wanted
her brother, her best friend….
Reese needed someone to tell her
it was going to be okay, because part of her was dying.
-*-
I think of our times together…
Is it fading, or am I dreaming…
She'd looked up at him, that day,
a few days after the initial 'could you move' conversation, and asked him
exactly who he thought he was.
He ran around all day, sneering,
saying that he was the greatest thing in the world, that he'd been the
first undisputed champion…
But he'd lost it, she'd been fast to point out.
Oh, the colours he'd turned when
she'd said that – she was sure he was going to wring her neck or do something
else just as unpleasant, but…he'd said something that caught her off guard.
"As much as I don't like you, I
don't think I could maim a girl with a voice like yours…"
He'd been listening, she'd realized.
Listening to her impromptu songs, her late nights in the hallways, after
she thought everyone had gone to sleep….
He'd been listening.
It was then the conversation had
turned course, and they'd actually started talking about old rock bands,
different eras, and just…
He wasn't as bad as he let on, not
after you found the right thing to talk about.
Or maybe it was just her lucky day.
-*-
It wasn't luck.
With a sigh, Reese slumped against the door of 'the box,' dark eyes closing, a tired whimper escaping from pale lips.
She wanted held.
Reese wanted it…to be all okay.
I cherish our memory...
I wanna kiss your tears away
tonight...
