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Lee
Hopelessly Addicted, Helplessly Attracted
Janet
She is fourteen again.
The room is dank, the smell of mildew and sweat hangs in the air, choking her. It is hot, swelteringly, sickeningly hot. The heat that breeds disease, the heat of poverty. Janet hears distant moans and shrieks and closes her ears to them, staring at the girl in the mirror. Soon it will be her that gives voice to those terrible cries. Soon it will be her that sells herself to faceless, nameless strangers.
The girl who stares back at her is wraithlike, fragile-seeming and thin. Wide, opaque gray eyes filled with secrets stare back. They stare with challenge in there depths, and something more. It is difficult to look into them for too long, the predatory maelstroms.
Pale hair cut choppily short falls around her face in a waifish manner. The eyes are long-lashed, enhanced with mascara and eyeliner. They are darkened in a milk-pale face. She looks almost childlike, save for the clinging, sheer clothes that reveal more than they hide. But no child would know the things she did, no child would survive the rape of her innocence.
Janet would survive it. She had already promised herself this. She would survive the ravages of her body. She would survive the bruises and the curses and the filthy, groping caresses of the scum of the gutter as they whispered dark things to her. She would survive it. She would rise above this pathetic existence.
She had to.
Her mother opens the door with a loud creaking of hinges. The stale air moves, dust stirring.
Janet looks over impassively. Her mother's eyes have crow's feet at the corners, she is prematurely aged, though she may try to hide it with a heavy layer of make-up. Her eyes are tired, dull. There is no energy to her movements. She has given up.
Janet feels a fresh surge of rage against the father who died and left them to live like this. How could he have claimed to love them if he abandoned them?
She hates him.
"Janet." her mother's voice is raspy with the smoke that fills her lungs, the blackness in them. The only thing she seems to live for anymore. That stirs her from this wretched house to the dreary world beyond. "It's time."
"I know." Janet replies scornfully, dismissively. She will survive this.
She is not weak. She will survive this.
Her mother leaves her with a stranger, a man whose face is pockmarked, the eyes and skin yellowed with the liquor that is slowly killing him. He smells of cheap alcohol and smoke. It stings her nose, though Janet does not show it. She feels nothing but distaste for him.
He doesn't seem to care. His eyes are not on her face. They roam her body, invading, baring the lean, thin frame. She feels her clothes fall away under that half-drunk gaze and bloodlust pounds through her. She wants to hurt him.
"Come over here." his voice is slurred. He reaches out a rough hand for her, her hands clench as it slides over her skin, leaving a trail of sweat and dirt on her pale skin. She feels contaminated by his very presence. Inside her, despite herself, there is a fear budding.
He jerks off the shoulder of her shirt, she is suddenly grateful for the poor lighting that makes it difficult to make out the broad, coarse features.
But it is not dark enough to mask what is in his murky eyes, dwelling in the very depths of the mire of them. Lust. Her stomach churns, she knows this is wrong. His rough hands seem to leave a mark on her, a stigma of sin, of perversity.
He crushes her to him suddenly, his voice indistinct, impaired by drink and other things. Her scorn begins to vanish under a mounting fear. She feels his nails scrape at her skin as he digs his fingers into her; she hears the hiss of cloth torn.
It vanishes into a sea of sensation. Pain, pain, Oh God, the pain. An agony that reaches to her entrails, an angry brand being forced against her skin. Her bones are being crushed beneath the weight, her lungs collapsing. He has a knife, no one told her he had a knife. He's cutting her, she sees the blood, so red against her white skin. So red, so red.
She hears a whimper faintly. He wears a predatory grin, the twisted face descends on her, the decay of his breath flooding hers. She chokes.
He's enjoying her fear. He holds the knife before her eyes, begins to stroke it almost lovingly over her cheekbone, leaving a hot, sticky trail. She feels the tears start, chokes them back. She won't cry. She can't cry. She has to be strong.
He holds the knife against her lips. The blood slides between them, she spits it back into his face in a last attempt at bravado.
He backhands her. She feels a tearing at her throat and realizes that she is trying to scream. She forces it back.
She won't scream.
His hands close around her neck, he watches as she gags and coughs helplessly, flailing under him. She can feel the bruises form, dark, purpling things. Spots and stripes dance across her vision, fireworks bursting behind her eyes. Her lungs burn. Air, she needs air.
"Help-" she chokes out. Her voice is thin. indistinct. "Someone-" The hands tighten, her eyes begin to roll up. She feels her muscles go lax, her mind slow and numb. The pain begins to recede before a fresh stab rocks her again.
She screams.
Suddenly, the weight is thrown off of her. A coat is wrapped around her naked body, she feels a protective warmth against her. There is a voice murmuring into her ear, an angelic voice that she wants to close her eyes and drown in. To her shame, she feels tears start at the corners of her tightly shut eyes. He holds her to him, arms firm and warm around her, he doesn't seem to care that he holds a leper, a pariah. "It's all right, it's all right. You're safe now."
She sobs against his shirt. And looks up to see hypnotizing blue eyes intent on hers, the color of the sky outside of her window. Dark hair falls into the strange, potent eyes. She is entranced for a moment. They are endless, farseeing, in his older face. She guesses him to be in his twenties.
Then she notices the strange white half-mask on the right side of his face. Oddly, she does not fear it. She clings still more tightly to him.
A shout from below makes her dig her fingers into his skin suddenly. He flinches, looks at the open doorway. The madame, a heavyset, muscular woman, fills the door frame. Janet shivers.
The woman takes in the situation, the man slumped on the floor, the stranger holding one of her girls. And only holding.
Her eyes, already thin, narrow.
"I'll pay for the time he had." The strange man offers. Janet does not shrink away as she would have. Somehow, there is the knowledge that he will not harm her. That he will grant her, however briefly, peace.
The madame's lips purse. His arm tightens around her. "Twice the amount."
"Three times.'" The woman snaps, arms crossed in a decisively authoritative manner. Her large frame swells as she glares at them imposingly.
"Done." he replies, melodic voice swift. She scans his face as though memorizing it, then sweeps away imperiously.
He shifts the body out of the room as she sits down. "Thank you." Her voice is small, high, thin. The voice of a child.
He looks back at her and his clear eyes are filled with pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be happening to you." He wipes away the make-up and blood gently, she closes her eyes against the soothing touch.
She sobs, letting the tears flow. He sits by her, she buries her head against his neck. He's safe. He won't harm her, and that's all she cares about at the moment. She feels his hand stroke her hair soothingly, a gesture she has not felt since...
She closes her eyes against the warm skin, listening to the pulse underneath her ear. "Why are you here?" she whispers.
"I was here to see my aunt. Before she passed away. She has- had- syphilis. I had to see her before she died."
Janet doesn't ask him her name. She feels him tense against her at the memories, wraps her arms around his waist and lays her head against his collarbone. "Thank you again."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She shudders, feels a gasping sob force its way up her throat. "No. I ca-can't. Please don't make me-"
"It's all right." he murmurs softly against her hair. "You're all right, I won't make you do anything you don't want to."
She hiccups, looks up at him. "Will you come back?" His eyes are bright on hers. His lips part to answer-
There is a loud crashing sound as the door slams open. Janet shrieks and huddles against him as the nameless man stormed in, weaving, but still dangerous. In his hand glinted the knife, still reddened with her blood, now crusting over on the metal.
He shoves her behind him. They struggle for a moment, than the white half-mask goes flying and shatters. He claps his hand to the side of his face, crying out. She rushed to his side. Briefly she catches a glimpse of heavy scarring, an angry red. The skin welted and lacerated, the eyelid drooping.
She doesn't care. She clutches at him as the stranger paces toward them with heavy, predatory steps, like a tiger. He seems unable to move, she shakes him.
The man tears them apart. Janet shrieks as he is thrown against the wall. She hears something crack. Her savior stares wild-eyed at him, seeming not altogether to realize what is happening.
The man throws him bodily into the hall, slams the dead bolt across the door.
He turns to Janet.
Janet woke with a gasp, heart pounding. She stared wildly into the darkness as if expecting him to appear. She realized her cheeks were tear-soaked, scrubbed at them angrily.
This was what she dreamed. This was what she relived, her most beautiful dream and most terrifying nightmare.
This was her childhood.
Janet shivered, reached out into the emptiness beside her. He wasn't there. Her angel wasn't there to comfort her as he had been that day. A despair and a darkness shadowed her as she turned her face to the moonlight that slanted over her bed. I've lived with you for so long. Ever since that day. I dream of you. I think of you upon waking. I hear your voice in my mind, I feel your eyes upon me in my sleep. And yet in the daylight you don't see me.
My savior, my angel, I need you here, beside me. I need you as I once did. It is weak of me- so weak, I know. But I need you. I love you. Ever since that day, I've loved you. I'll never love another. I love you.
I remember you. Why don't you remember me?
Erik
He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but it was so terribly familiar, like a long-forgotten secret.
He was at his aunt's home; he had just come from seeing her, deteriorating from syphilis and not long for this world.
He heard screams. He winced. In this place, it was only to be expected.
But it was not the cry of any woman or man. It was the scream of a child. God!- He rushed toward the sound as it climbed higher, thin and terrified.
Ramming the door with his shoulder, he rushed in. A man with a knife was over a girl-child, her face nearly mindless with fear, eyes wide and hypnotizing, bordering on madness.
The man didn't see him. Erik threw him to the side, his head collided with the wall with a sickening crunch. But he was far from dead. Only unconscious. He knelt by the girl, wrapping his coat around her shivering body.
Some semblance of sanity entered her eyes. He held her, trying to comfort her. "It's all right, it's all right. You're safe now." Her eyes were dangerous, a fathomless, liquid gray and filled with fear. She buried her head against his shoulder, he feels water sliding across his skin. Sobs rack the too-thin body.
Suddenly she looks up at him, tears still flowing. He freezes under the wide-eyed gaze, as though she's looking straight into him. The pale gray eyes are like unclouded water. Colorless and endless, shimmering.
A shriek broke the moment, their heads whipped as one to the door, where a large woman stood with an ominous, aggressive air. The girl's finger's tightened on his shoulders, gripping almost to the bone. Her fear was palpable.
The words were out of him before he realized what he was saying. "I'll pay for the time he had."
Her lips thinned shrewdly. He felt the girl shiver against him and spoke again. "Twice the amount." Her heart pounded against his like a frantic bird.
"Three times." the woman retorted, sensing his desperation. Eager to be rid of her, for the girl in his arms to have peace, he agreed swiftly.
"Done."
The woman looked over him, memorizing his face before disappearing. Some of the tension left him. He slid from the girl to toss the man out of the room inelegantly.
A voice behind him spoke, high, birdlike. "Thank you."
He looked back at the girl, staring at him, the fear of minutes ago still there in her eyes, but fading. Thank God. He felt a wave of pity for her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be happening to you." A child, an innocent child! Anger swept through him at the world that allowed a young girl to suffer such evil. He seated himself by her. Her breathing was still uneven, the pupils dilated. The scent of fear still clung to her. Tears still flowed, her mascara was in ruins, eyeliner and blood in dark smudged trails down her pale face. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, wiped the grime off of her face. She moved toward him, holding tightly to him, hands clenched against him. She laid her head against his neck, gasping sobs shaking her.
"Why are you here?"
It was a moment before he realized that she was asking why he had come to this place at all. He gave her a short explanation about his aunt, feeling himself tense. She, thankfully, didn't question him further.
Her arms wrapped around his waist with youthful, innocent trust. "Thank you again." her clear voice was hoarse with crying.
He hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Her eyes flew up to his, she shakes. "No. I ca-can't. Please don't make me-"
He was startled at the force with which her terror returned. He strokes her hair calmingly. "It's all right. You're all right. I won't make you do anything you don't want to."
A hiccup, then she calmed. Her eyes sought his, wistful, pleading. "Will you come back?" They are impossibly bright in the darkness. He began to answer-
-and was interrupted by a cracking noise. His eyes flew to the door as it jerked open. The girl cried out and clung to him as the man who had hurt her staggered in. Erik's heart leapt at the sight of the wickedly gleaming knife, darkened where her blood had dried.
He thrust the girl behind him, met the man as he crashed towards them. The knife flew out of his grip, skittering across the floor.
Then his mask was airborne. His head turned to follow it, heart plunging into his stomach as it hit the wall and shattered. He felt himself thrown back by the stockier, older man. His back hit the wall with a crack and a jolt of pain that he ignored. Automatically, his hand rose to cover the marred right side of his face.
The girl was across the room in an instant, clinging to him, shaking him. She caught sight of his face- and didn't flinch away. She held on more tightly. He had no time to realize this revelation.
The man advanced on them both, ripping her from him and heaving him out of the room. He struggled to his feet, lunged at the door. The man smiled grimly and slammed it shut. Erik heard the thud of a dead bolt.
It was followed by screams.
Erik woke. His heart pounded, blood racing through him, mind on fire. Why had he remembered that, tonight of all nights?
He looked beside him. Lit by moonlight, Christine slept peacefully, face serene and body relaxed. Erik sat up, rubbing his left temple.
Why had he remembered that?
Well. I hope that one came out of the left field.
Lee