Thirty
Zoe
The apartment was cold and dark. It was never really home. I’d taken the time to hang up paintings and buy little knick-knacks, but it didn’t have that lived-in feel. It was like a show home that real estate agents used to make a bad property look appealing. The furniture was too clean, the sink was dry and spotless. The counters were bare, and the carpet felt like it’d just been rolled out.
Archer’s house felt lived in. He stomped up and down the stairs, leaving a trail on the carpet, and the boy’s room was cutely decorated. Even the kitchen had character, and he rarely used it.
He gave my world substance and color. Every day was another adventure, another chance to feel my stomach flutter. I woke up excited, ready to work just so I could get to the end of the day and feel the goosebumps rise up my arms while I waited for his driver to pick me up.
I remembered sitting on my couch for hours, mindlessly flipping from channel to channel while I tried to keep myself from running over to the bakery to make sure that Chloe didn’t burn it down. My life was hell. I hated it. But that was over.
I pulled a duffel bag out of the closet and shuffled through my clothes. They were old, mostly things that I’d bought to cover up my body or collected over the years. I dressed for comfort, not style. I didn’t see any point in looking good. I wasn’t looking for a man. Now, I felt like spending a day at the spa and grinding my pores just to make sure that I was good enough for somebody as amazing as him. It wasn’t about hating myself, exposing my flaws, or easing my insecurities. I was happy with myself. I just wanted to make sure that he saw me at my best because that’s what he deserved.
My phone started vibrating when I was stuffing socks into the bag. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. “Hello?”
“How are you, Zoe?” Chloe sounded exhausted.
“I’m all right. How is the bakery? Anything interesting happen?”
“No, I’ve just been mixing batch after batch of cherry chocolate chip cookies.” I heard her take a puff of a cigarette.
“How was the morning rush?”
“Busy. The Sans crowd ordered half the store. I guess they’re having some sort of party for the launch of this new thing they’re selling.”
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. It had a weird name. Paladin or—I don’t know. I wish you could come in and help me with some of these cookies. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stand up any longer.”
“No, I’ve decided that you’re on your own today. It’ll be good for you. Are you getting blisters yet?”
“You’re just paying me back for convincing you that Archer was wrong for you.”
“How did you even know I got back with him?”
“Because you would’ve been here by now.”
“I’m happy. Please be happy for me.”
“No,” she pouted. “I don’t trust it.”
“We’ve been through all of the reasons over and over. Why won’t you give it up?”
“Because he lost control when he was with Mr. Beetle.”
“In time, you’ll understand.” I laid down on the bed. “He’s giving and loving, and he’s got this way of sparking me up. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“There’s one word that is on your mind right now, and it makes me want to puke.”
“What word?”
“It rhymes with dove.”
“I really do like him, Chloe. I want to be with him. I don’t know what this is, but I’m happy.” Something crashed in the kitchen. I jumped up to run out and see what it was. Nothing seemed out of place.
“Zoe?” she asked, her voice worried.
“I’m here.”
“What was that noise?”
“I don’t know. I’m checking it out.” I opened the cupboards, but everything was in order. I checked around the table. Nothing had fallen onto the floor.
“You’re starting to scare me,” Chloe said.
“I’m just checking to see what it was.”
“Well, I’m not hanging up until you find out.”
“It’s fine.” I opened the freezer. A block of ice had fallen out of the icemaker into the bucket below. The cubes were fused together.
“What was it?”
“Just my icemaker. Please stop worrying about me.”
“That’s not easy.”
I walked back into my room to lie down again. “Can’t I just enjoy myself for a little while?”
“I suppose you’re right I—”
“Mr. Beetle.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
I rolled over to duck down around the far side of the bed. He walked right inside, and he was looking around in the kitchen. “He’s here. In my apartment.”
I edged forward toward the closet. I could hide in there. It would buy me some time. I lifted my arm to open the door. Something crashed into my head, and I crumpled to the floor. Something dripped down my forehead. It was hot and gooey. I reached up to touch it and felt a rush roll over me, pulling me under until I lost consciousness.
My head throbbed. Something rough and scaly had dried onto my cheek and nose. When I moved my mouth, it broke apart. The smell of festering urine and cheap tobacco was everywhere. I opened my eyes. Mr. Beetle was less than an inch away from my face, squinting at me through his thick glasses.
“Help!” I screamed. “Help!” I reached up to punch him, but my hand wouldn’t move. Something rough grated against my wrist, grinding into my skin. I was tied to one of my dining room chairs, sitting in the middle of the living room.
I thrashed around, whipping my head back and forth, desperate to catch my breath. “Help! Help!”
Mr. Beetle’s expression remained neutral. He sat down on the couch across from me, then reached into his pocket to pull out a bag of loose tobacco and a miniature Bible. He ripped a page out, folded it, and shoved the black mess inside. Then he sealed it up with a wad of mucus. He lit the freshly rolled cigarette. The smell of sulfur and burning ash filled the air.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
He didn’t even look at me.
I jerked against my restraints. The chair wobbled off balance, and I crashed sideways onto the carpet. “Please,” I sobbed, certain that he’d have some sympathy for me. He was obsessed with me, wasn’t he? I heard him take a puff of his cigarette, but that’s all he did.
I erupted in a roar of frantic screams, never once letting up, even when my throat was so dry it felt like it was going to collapse into a pile of dust. My vocal chords were just grating together now, making a harsh raspy sound, but I wasn’t going to stop. My animal instincts had taken over. This wasn’t about getting away any longer. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I was like a dog scratching on a cage that they knew they weren’t going to get out of, acting out of pure desperation.
I clawed at the carpet, ignoring the way the orange rope cut into my skin, even when I felt blood slick my wrists. It didn’t matter. There was no stopping. My fingernails were chipping, now raw and bloody, and my voice was completely gone.
I was sobbing, but no tears came. Instead, I was stuck in that infuriating place when you know you need to cry and scream, but it just won’t work, and there was nothing I could do to make it work. I didn’t even get that much relief.
Beetle was running his finger down my neck. I felt a sickening rush at his touch. His finger caught on the collar of my shirt. He held it there for a moment, and then he pulled the chair upright so I could see him.
“Why are you doing this?” I rasped.
“You hurt me.” He sat down to roll another cigarette and scrunched his face up in a comical expression.
“Hurt…you?” I struggled to get the words out, but I could already feel my voice starting to come back.
“Yes!” He stood up, rushed over to me, and got in my face. “I love you, Zoe. I never once did anything to hurt you. I guarded your store from those men who were trying to take you from me, and I came in every day to buy your food. But all you ever did was make fun of me.” He stepped back. “Did you really think I was going to let you get away with that?” He clicked his tongue, wagged his finger, and said, “No. No, I’m a smart man. I know how to do things.”
He pulled a knife out of his pocket.
“N-n-no! No! Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be with you. We can be together. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please.”
“You never even asked me what my name was.”
“You’re right. So tell me now. Tell me everything about yourself, and I’ll listen.”
“I’m not telling you anything.” He walked back into the kitchen and lit the flame on the stove.
“No! No! Noooo!”
He ignored my pleas. He pressed the knife to the flame and held it there.
“You can’t stop me, Zoe. It’s like I told the mean man. He can’t always be with you.” Beetle turned around and held up his knife. The tip was glowing red. “Now you’re all mine.”