Ava
He doesn’t come for me that night. It’s the first time, in a long time, that I have a stretch of time like that to myself. There’s a beautiful house I can roam—a house that was built for me—a room of books that was built for me. But here I am, curled up in my corner, rocking back and forth, naked, because I couldn’t keep his shirt on me. Because it was choking me. Hurting me. So much guilt I couldn’t breathe. So much pain I couldn’t move. I still can’t move. Still can’t get his words out of my ears. They’re loud. So loud I have to cover my ears. The beast is cruel. Cruel to do those things, say those things.
A time appears, floating through my mind. A time when I was bound and naked, lying on a cowhide rug with a fresh brand on my hip. He’d crouched down over me and run his fingers over the marks I’d gotten from giving myself to another man first, and breaking my word to him. The beast said he would’ve taken care of me, that he would’ve made it good for me, but I wonder if that’s a trick. So hard, though. So hard to know.
The pain is so strong inside me, I clench my teeth and push him from my thoughts. Instead, I think of green eyes, only they’re not as clear as they used to be. The details not as sharp. But that’s what time does. It takes things from you.
But I close my eyes and take myself there, to that night. That first moment on the freeway, that moment when he came back for me, the playing in the pool, the running through the woods…all of it. It’s there now, I can see it, but it’s blurry, like looking through wax paper. Even the horses, and Ben, and my old house. So many little details that seem to have disappeared. And that’s how I fall asleep. Searching for those details.
I wake to the sound of the door opening. I’m thrown off for a second, because I didn’t hear the turn of the lock, but I remember now, I’m not locked in.
Not where I’m supposed to be.
Not where I’m supposed to be.
I scramble to my feet when I hear him say, “Kitchen.” Then he’s gone.
My pulse beats heavy in my ears, but slowly starts to settle. As much as it can anyway. This is all so new. So new. I knew the routine before. There was safety in that. I knew what to expect. But I don’t know this. I don’t know what’s coming.
I use the bathroom quick, grateful my knees are better today, then slip on the shirt and quickly make my way down the hall, past the living room and into the kitchen.
I stop when I turn the corner and see him, standing at the big window, hands in his pockets, staring out at the mountains.
I move quietly to the island and wait.
By the way his head moves ever so slightly, I know he’s aware of me. He stands there, his hair down today. My eyes linger on it, on the way it hides his face, but I look away as soon as he talks.
“You’ll make a grocery list,” he says, still staring out the window. “I’m sure you did all the cooking back home, so assume you know how to cook. If you need a cookbook, you’ll find a few in one of these cabinets. You can make what you want, but no fish and I’m allergic to peanuts. Not deathly allergic, so don’t get any ideas. All it’ll do is scratch up my throat a bit and make me uglier than I already am.”
He sounds more man than beast again, and I feel that strange feeling running through me, stronger than ever. It’s a feeling that makes me hurt, a feeling that has me wanting to go to him. To comfort him, like one might want to comfort a wounded wolf, even though you know he’d just as soon kill you as let you help him.
So I stay where I am, listening to him talk, the somber tone of his voice slicing through me like a knife.
“You don’t need to put things like soap, shampoo, those sort of things,” he goes on. “I order those in bulk online. Same with paper towels, toilet paper, all that.”
So weird, hearing him talk about things like this. About real life things. Day to day things. Things that a normal married couple might talk about.
But we’re not normal.
Not even close.
“I’ll be in my office,” he says, turning to leave. “Bring me the list when you’re done and I’ll send Red off.”
I’m left there, looking after him, looking at the way his shoulders hang heavy, the way his head hangs down. That strange feeling’s taking over. I should hate him. I should hate him with every part of me. And some of me does. But there’s a part of me that’s feeling weird things. Painful things. Things I don’t know how to make sense of. Not after all he’s done to me.
I stare around at the empty kitchen.
The kitchen he built for me.
It takes some searching but I find a drawer with a pen and a notepad—a notepad that’s never been used. So strange. It’s like he thought of everything. There are dishes, serving platters, silverware, cooking pans, and those cookbooks he mentioned. Anything and everything one might need in a kitchen. Everything but the food. There’s nothing but bread.
It takes me a good part of the morning, but I sit down at the dining table and make a list. A long list. Because I like to cook. That was something I got from Helen. She loved cooking, and it spread to me. Part of me wanted to just put down a couple of things, like frozen pizza and corn dogs, and call it good—my own little way of saying ‘fuck you’, I guess. But I know that won’t help things. If I’m going to survive, I need to be smart. I need to find ways to get by—ways to make my own little bits of light in the darkness he’s got me locked up in. And cooking will get me by. Especially after living on bread and water for so long. I decide then that maybe reading some of those books in that glass room might not be so bad either. But I know I can’t get too attached. I can’t get to liking it too much, because in the blink of an eye, he could take it all away.
But for now, I’ll take what I can get.
I look at my list, going over everything I’ve got down, all the things I’m thinking I’ll make. But it’s not for him, I tell myself. It’s for me. I’m not making these things for him, even though he’s been living off bread and water, same as me. It’s not for him. It’s not.
When I’m certain I’ve got it all, I walk down the hall and stand next to the open door and wait. For some reason, when I see him there at his desk, working quietly, his name comes to mind. Shayne. I haven’t thought it or spoken it in so long. In the room, I always just see the beast, but out here, now, I see the man, Shayne. I decide then I’ll try to use his name more, at least in my mind, to help make him more human to me. Another way I’ll survive.
Shayne sees me now. “Bring it here,” he says.
I walk over the cowhide rug I’ve been on before, and hand him the list. He looks over it while I stand there, eyes down, waiting for him to let me go.
“Alright,” he says finally, an odd tinge in his voice. I wonder if he wasn’t expecting me to go all out. I wonder if he was thinking frozen pizza and corn dogs too.
When I leave, I feel his eyes watch me go, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Out by the living room I stop and look around. I can actually choose what I want to do, for now, anyway. And my body had the night off, so I’m able to move. My knees still hurt, but not too bad. It’s the pain on the inside that’s strong, especially with that strange feeling gnawing at me so hard. It makes me feel the pull of the dark corner, that place where I curl up so tight. I even walk to the door with the deadbolt and stand there, feeling that tug to something I know. I understand now, those mistreated dogs that crave their crates, even when they get a new home and a big yard to run around in. I hate thinking that’s how I am now. And so I make myself keep walking, down the hall and into the glass room, where so many worlds wait.
The sun shines in, the light strange until I notice the glass is tinted—to protect the books, I imagine, and maybe to help keep the heat out on those warm days. The fountain’s running, the roses are blooming. I run my fingertips over a rose petal. A memory of another rose appears. A rose that ran slowly back and forth along my lips. A rose I woke to.
Another time.
Another place.
It hurts to linger there, so I walk to a shelf and gaze at the titles. So many books. So many books it would take a lifetime to read them all. I wonder if he’s read any of them. I don’t know why I wonder that.
A beige spine with gold lettering catches my eye. A book I love so much. A book I left lying on a coffee table in a house I used to own.
I take it in my hands and open the cover. Jane Eyre. Fate’s playing with me again. Thousands of books in here, and this is the one I come across. A story of a young woman and a beast of a man. I go to put it back, knowing full well our stories won’t end the same, but then I stop. She survived her beast, and I’ll survive mine.
I curl up tight on the leather sofa and turn to page one.
It’s later in the day, when I’m far gone in Thornfield Hall, that I hear the beast call my name.
“Ava!”
I set the book down and scurry through the hall and hear sounds coming from the kitchen. When I turn the corner, I stagger back. I was expecting Shayne, but that’s not who I see. It’s Red, and he’s placing grocery bags on the counter. I’m about to tear out of there, when he turns and sees me. I freeze, like a wild animal caught in headlights. I can’t seem to move my feet. I just stand there while he stares at me, blinking those brown eyes of his. Shock starts to spread across his boyish face, followed by something else. Something that looks like pity. I dash around the corner and hide, not liking that look. Not liking it one bit.
“What are you doing?” Shayne asks, standing at the door to his office, his eyes dark. The kind of dark that has me trembling. “Go on. You got groceries to put away.”
I want to shake my head. Shake my head so bad, but I walk slowly into the kitchen. Red’s placing a few more bags on the counter, and I know he’s stealing glances at me, but I don’t look at him. Just start on the first bag. That’s when Red leaves, only to come back with more. He sets the bags on the counter, one of them filled with a six pack of beer and a bottle of Jim Beam that I know I didn’t put on the list. Shayne must’ve done that.
I feel Red’s eyes on me again.
“Ava?” he whispers. “You alright?”
I nod quickly and keep at what I’m doing.
“She’s great,” Shayne says, walking in.
He grabs a bottle of beer, twists a cap off and leans against one of the counters. By the way I can feel his black eyes roaming while he takes a swig, I know he’s feeling a need to keep watch on us.
“What are you making tonight, Ava?” he asks, my skin prickling at the tone of his voice. I know this voice. It’s his cruel, playful voice. I don’t know what brought it on, but I know to be careful when he’s like this. So careful. And now there’s drink involved. Never a good thing when there’s drink. Have to be extra careful.
I swallow hard and push the words out. “Roast chicken and rosemary potatoes.”
“Alright, sounds good! Hey, Red, why don’t you come up for dinner tonight? It’s Saturday, after all. Let’s have some fun. It’s been a while since we done that. What do you say?”
My stomach drops, like I’ve swallowed an anchor. I don’t want to cook anymore. I don’t want anything but my dark little corner. So stupid, I am. So stupid.
I hear Red shuffling his feet. “Uh, sorry, Shayne I, uh…I can’t. I got—”
“Oh, come on. Ava’s cooking tonight. First time. Kind of a big deal, you know? Figured you’d want to be here, you having it bad for her all these years too. But hey, if you can’t, no big deal. I know Rex and Pete will come up. We’ll have ourselves a good time, won’t we, Ava?”
I nod while my lungs go tight. All I want to do is cry, but I don’t. I just keep putting things away.
“Fine,” Red says. “What time?”
“What do you say, Ava, seven? That’ll give you a couple hours to get everything ready. Will that work?”
I nod again.
“Seven it is!” Shayne says, slapping his hand on the counter and making me flinch. “Going to have ourselves a get together.”
“See you then,” Red mutters, and leaves.
“Be sure to dress up!” Shayne calls out, then the door to the garage slams shut.
I’m trembling so hard a bag of pasta falls out of my hand and lands on the floor. Shayne moves in and grabs it quick. “Here, wifey, let me get that for you.”
I take it from him carefully and set it on the counter. He’s standing close. So close, I know to stand quietly for him. He pulls my hair back with his finger, then strokes my cheek, the beer on his breathe making my stomach turn. “Good thing I kept those clothes I got for you,” he says. “I’ll find you something real pretty. How does that sound?”
I nod.
“I want you to look nice tonight, Ava,” he whispers. “I want you to be perfect. But for me, this time. Me. Not him. Can you do that?”
I nod again, a tear slipping down my cheek. This is bad. This is all so bad.
“Good little wife,” he says. “See you at seven.” He places a kiss on my cheek, gives me a pat on the head, then grabs the six pack of beer and walks out. “And don’t forget dessert!”