I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
But this isn't about the freak show. This is a love story.
In the Absence of Light, Darkness Prevails
Unforeseen Repercussions
The apartment was empty and lonely when Elsa arrived, shaking and trembling.
She frantically stored away the precious food items and then huddled alone on his narrow bed.
When he returned, she was still there.
Which was nothing new.
She reclined there many times, both in sickness and in health.
And when she dreamt of dark things, he dwelt there as well, arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe.
Except for the week she had lived alone.
Alone and bereft of Massimo.
He had returned from a solitary outing and found her there waiting for him.
"Ah, cara mia," he had greeted her, looking quite pleased. "I have news."
She smiled, her face alighting with anticipation. She was always eager for whatever he had to say in those smooth, dulcet tones.
"I have found you your own residence."
Her smile faded slowly as she took in his words.
"What?"
He nodded.
"An apartment in this building has just become available. Its former lady resident is marrying and no longer has use for it."
She stood, still and stone faced, as he continued on.
"It is, uh, fully furnished and you may move in whenever you wish."
Her words dropped like lead stones around her wooden feet.
"And how shall I pay for such luxury?"
Massimo smiled benevolently.
"No matter. I will provide, cara mia. So that you may enjoy your own space."
She hated him. She loathed him. She despised him.
"How very magnanimous of you, Massimo. I shall begin packing immediately."
Turning, she seized a bag and began cramming things down into it, hardly paying them any mind.
Massimo, of course, noticed her reaction.
"Elsa, what is troubling you? I thought a private space of your own would make you happy."
She shrugged him off, gathering more of her meager affects, nearly in a rage.
"Oh, it does, Massimo. It certainly does. This apartment is much too . . ." she flailed momentarily for words until she dug them out of the quagmire of her mind.
". . . crowded and suffocating as of late."
A lie. A complete and utter lie.
She loved it here. She drew comfort and contentment from him and his things.
He, apparently, did not feel the same for her presence.
He wanted her gone.
And so she would go.
She brushed past him, not allowing him to touch her.
"Show me this divine apartment, Massimo. Now, please."
He was clearly surprised at her outburst, but her baleful glare shut his mouth and he nodded.
She stepped back, head high, jaw rigid, and allowed him to pass through the doorway first. She held back her small bag so that he would not attempt to take it, act the gentleman now that he'd so cruelly torn her beating heart out of her aching chest.
And followed him down a flight of stairs and to the left, the screaming silence between them cutting like knives.
He reached a doorway and stopped, unlocking it.
And stepped aside as she charged past him into it.
The walls were plain and the floor worn.
It was small, the same size as his, but seemed on first glance bigger for the lack of extra storage shelves and wood-working equipment.
A tiny table stood near the kitchen alcove.
On it was a vase of bright flowers.
The few windows were scrubbed and shiningly clean.
And there was a balcony, looking out onto a quiet street.
The space was very neat and clean.
And empty and drab and lifeless.
Because it was not his.
She turned and glared at him as he waited expectantly for her declaration.
"It's perfect," she lied.
And shut the door in his face.
She had avoided him for a week, staying carefully out of his paths of movements.
She went to the market. She went to the ladies' salon.
She sat on her very own balcony.
She pretended he did not exist.
She pretended she did not cry.
Then, one evening as she sat and wondered what she could possibly do with her life to escape this cheerless, miserable room, a quiet knock came at the door.
She knew it was him. Just by his knock.
Against her better judgment, she opened the door.
"Hello, Elsa."
He wore dark pants and shoes, a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sleeves rolled up to the elbows as was his custom when he was working.
His head was bare, the salt and pepper hair brushed neatly.
But his face looked terrible, as though he had recently not slept well.
And unbeknownst to her, there was a collection of emptied wine bottles awaiting disposal in his upstairs apartment.
Though now he was deathly sober and recently washed.
She backed away from him.
Because she had not smelled his natural musk in days.
And she had missed it so.
He took the opportunity to move a few steps into the room.
She pretended to be uninterested in his arrival.
"What can I do for you, Massimo?"
He looked around, hesitant and unsure for the first time that she had ever seen.
"I, uh, came to check on you."
She nodded, her arms wrapped around her protectively, as if his much missed presence would undo her if she didn't hold herself together.
"Oh, how very gracious of you," she replied dismissively, managing to wave a casual hand. "I am quite fine here, as you can see."
He nodded, uncharacteristically fidgeting with his own hands.
"Good. That is good. I had hoped you would like it here."
He cleared his throat self-consciously as though he did not know the words he would say next.
"Though I did not expect you to disappear so, uh, completely as you did."
She spoke, her tone vehement, her eyes ablaze.
"Oh, so you expected to send me away without any consideration but then expected me return daily to profess my undying gratitude for your clumsy carpentry skills?"
His eyes flinched at her caustic assault, but she pushed on, wanting him to hurt as badly as he had hurt her by forcing her to leave.
"You can have them back if you need attention so badly! I'd rather crawl than be subservient to a tyrant!"
Tears were in her eyes now and she despised them.
She did not want to appear weak and womanly.
She wanted to burn him alive with her pain. She wanted him to hurt because she hurt. He wanted him to suffer.
Because she had suffered without him and it was all his fault.
It was not his fault. You did not speak up and give him a reason to keep you. You expected him to guess at your machinations. You expected him to be magical. And he is only a man.
Yes, men. I hate men. I hate them all.
But she did not hate him.
She loved him.
And it was tearing her apart.
But she could not admit it.
"No, Elsa. That is not-"
She could bear his smooth, surrushing voice no longer.
Nor the sight of the man she had missed so.
"Go now, Massimo. I am busy."
His face was a mask of muted pain.
That she staunchly ignored.
"As you wish, cara mia," he responded quietly, after several unbearable moments. "I will leave you then, to your thoughts."
Elsa sat now, alone and fearful, awaiting Massimo's return.
But he would not return.
The man, the monster on the street had met up with him.
Offered a congenial smile.
And attacked him, taken him unprepared and unawares, away to some hidden cellar.
And cut off his legs. And then his head.
He was returning now, that chainsaw monster, perhaps on the street at this very moment.
He was coming for her.
He would dismember her, what was left of her. Piece by piece.
He would take days to do it.
And there would be no one to stop him.
No soldier boy to rescue her mutilated corpse.
No Massimo to revive her, bring her back to life with his enduring love and patience.
It was the end.
Elsa was sure of it.
And her body shook as the tears streamed down her face and tortured moans tore through her soul.
That's a full blown, out of control PTSD panic attack, I think.
A bit disjointed here, I know. But when Elsa's life flashes before her eyes, I'd imagine she does not see the love and successes. I believe she sees the heartache and the mistakes she can't take back.
But that's just me.
If you're all in a tizzy, don't worry, the next chapter will heal you. :)
Thanks to brigid1318, GG (and her clever little hints), and jessicalangefan for posting some great reviews.
Thanks also to the complimentary Mango Marrionette and YellowBrickQueen (who likes to throws plot bunnies at my head like popcorn at a movie screen) for speaking up in your pm's.