Tangled Rose

by Abby Weeks

  “You must be starving,” he said.

  She nodded as he handed her the box. Inside were six donuts, all different shapes and flavors. She grabbed a bear claw, it was the biggest thing in the box, and took a bite out of it.

  “This is so good,” she said.

  Patrice smiled. “I thought I should probably get you something healthier, girls are always trying to eat healthy things, and you’ve been through so much,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “This is perfect. Fuck healthy.”

  She took another bite out of the bear claw and Patrice smiled. She sipped the coffee. It had cream in it and was sweetened. That was perfect too.

  “Two creams, two sugars,” he said. “We call that a double double up here.”

  “We call it that in the city too.”

  She smiled. Patrice smiled. It felt so good for someone to finally be treating her like an actual person. She could feel the sugar, the nourishment going into her blood and bringing her body back to life.

  She knew that things were terrible, they could hardly have been worse, but it felt good to have a friend.

  She looked up at Patrice. “Thank you,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  “No,” she said. “Really. Thank you. I don’t know how I would get through this without you.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “You’re a survivor, Rose. Like me. I can tell that much about you.”

  She thought about that. She hoped it was true. She really would need to be a survivor if she was going to get through this new period in her life.

  Patrice was chewing his donut, dipping it in his coffee.

  “What do you mean, you’re a survivor too?” she said.

  “Oh, you don’t want to hear my whole story. I’ll tell you some other time. Right now I want to show you what I got you.”

  Rose couldn’t help feeling affection for Patrice. He was younger than her but he was still confident. He was obviously tough. He’d been through a few things in his life, she could see that much. And she liked that he’d recognized her as a survivor. She felt validated, encouraged even. She felt that if he could see that she was a survivor, then she really might be strong enough to survive this situation, at least until she had the strength to escape.

  Patrice unpacked the bags on the bed and she sat up and watched. There was a pack of disposable razors, some toothbrushes and toothpaste, deodorant, body lotion, even a compact with foundation, blush, and a couple of colors of eyeshadow.

  “You really didn’t have to buy all this,” she said.

  “Trust me,” he said, “where they’re taking you, you’ll need it.”

  In the other bag there was some socks and underwear, some plain cotton t-shirts, sweat pants, soap, shampoo, conditioner, nail clippers, a scissors, and some cream to put on her cuts. She was genuinely touched that he’d bought so many things for her. He obviously cared about her. He was trying to set her up with all the things she would need.

  “I really appreciate this, Patrice,” she said.

  He nodded. He seemed a little embarrassed. “If you like I can turn on the TV for you.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I’m going to go into the washroom and use all these nice things you bought. But you go ahead.”

  As she closed the door to the washroom she heard him turning on the TV behind her. Why did her life have to be like this? Why couldn’t she have found such a nice, caring guy back in Montreal? Why did she have to meet him here, under these circumstances, now that her freedom had been taken away from her?

  VIII

  ROSE AND PATRICE SAT NEXT to each other on the bed and watched mindless television shows all afternoon. She must have eaten three or four donuts and he also ordered some pizza which she devoured. She really had been starving but slowly she felt her strength coming back to her. She never forgot just how awful her situation was, but having a friend like Patrice almost made it all bearable.

  After finishing the pizza, Patrice looked at his watch. “I better go wait outside,” he said. “Someone else is coming to watch you at seven. I don’t want them to see us cozying up like this. Serge won’t let me guard you anymore if he realizes I like you.”

  Rose almost dropped the soda can she was holding.

  “What?”

  Patrice looked at her and she couldn’t believe it. He was actually blushing.

  “You like me?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “I mean, you’re a nice person. I wish this wasn’t all happening to you.”

  “But if it wasn’t happening, we’d never have met,” she said.

  Patrice blushed even harder. Rose was surprised at herself. She was flirting with him. She was smiling. She was smiling because she was actually happy. How could that even be possible? She’d just found out that her life was being taken from her, that everything she’d been living for back in the city was gone forever, and here she was, sitting on a bed next to this prospect for the DRMC, the club that had killed her father, and she was smiling.

  “Anyway, what I’m saying is, it’s better if no one knows that we’re friends. I know Serge wouldn’t like it. He might even get jealous.”

  “Well I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I better clear up the food and everything.”

  “What about the stuff you bought me?” Rose looked down at the t-shirt and sweatpants she was wearing. She really didn’t want to have to get back into the racing suit.

  “They’re fine,” Patrice said. “Serge told me to get you those. He doesn’t want you to die or anything. He told me to feed you too.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  She watched him clear up the pizza box and soda cans and the coffee and donuts from earlier. He put everything in a garbage bag and then brought it down to a trash can in the parking lot. Rose got up and went to the door. She went out to the landing. It was an open walkway with the doors to the various motel rooms on one side and a view down to the parking lot on the other. She leaned on the rail and watched Patrice walk across the lot.

  She wondered if she’d be able to forge a life for herself in this place. Maybe it would be possible to create something here, something with Patrice. She knew she was being silly, unrealistic. She was allowing herself to dream, to get attached to Patrice, and that was the one thing she shouldn’t have been doing.

  Hope could be a dangerous thing if you let it creep into a world in which it didn’t belong. She’d learned that when she was very young. After her father and the rest of the Sioux Rangers had been wiped out, she’d been taken into the care of the City of Montreal. She’d spent some time in institutions, some time with foster families. She’d gone through some pretty tough times before finally being placed with a couple who were able to give her the care and support she’d needed.

  *

  WHILE PATRICE WAS CROSSING THE parking lot another bike pulled in. Rose couldn’t see who was riding it in the dimming light of the evening. She watched Patrice walk over and talk to the driver. This was it. This would be the end of his guard shift. Who was the other biker, she wondered.

  Patrice and the biker talked for a minute. The biker took off his helmet but Rose still couldn’t make out who it was because of the dark. She watched them. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but it looked pretty casual.

  When they were finished talking, Patrice looked up toward the room. He saw her standing there on the walkway. He paused for a moment and then went over to his bike and revved the engine. A moment later and he was gone. Rose was certain he would have waved goodbye if the other biker hadn’t been right there.

  She watched the other rider pull up his bike by the motel office. Her heart dropped when she saw him step off the bike. The man was huge. It had to be Fat Boy. She’d recognize that body anywhere. He walked like a hunchback and swung his arms as he went. His head swayed from side to side. There was no mistaking it. That was Fat Boy. The one person she’d been praying it wo
uldn’t be.

  IX

  EVERYTHING THAT HAD BEEN GOING through Rose’s mind, all her hopes of building some sort of tolerable life in that awful place, disappeared. All she could think of now was Fat Boy and what he’d done to her on her first night. He hadn’t been back since that night and she’d been beginning to hope that he wouldn’t be back at all, but now, here he was.

  She watched him go into the motel office and speak to the manager. She didn’t know what they would be talking about but she didn’t care. The insane thought went through her mind that maybe she should make a run for it. No one was there. No one was watching her. What was stopping her?

  But she couldn’t do it. She was too frightened. There was so little hope of her making it. Val-d’Or was a small town, people would notice her on the streets. Within the hour the DRMC would have picked her up. And there was literally no chance of her getting out of the town without some sort of transportation. Even if she had a car, it was hours in every direction to the next big town and they’d run her down on the highway long before she made it. If only she still had her bike, her father’s 1982 Harley FXR. She wondered what had happened to it. She hadn’t seen it since she’d pulled into town the night she’d been taken.

  If she was going to have any chance of ever getting out of this place, it would have to be on that bike. She knew it.

  She went into the room and shut the door behind her. She locked it but she knew it was pointless. Fat Boy would have a key. She went through to the washroom and locked that door too. She sat down on the side of the bathtub and waited. She realized that she was shaking. She was terrified of Fat Boy. For as long as she lived she’d remember what he’d done to her that first night.

  *

  FIRST, ROSE HEARD A KNOCKING on the door. That was him, Fat Boy. He was back. She actually climbed into the bathtub and pulled the curtain.

  “Hey,” Fat Boy called from out on the landing. “Open this door, bitch.”

  She stayed where she was. She didn’t move other than to put her hands over her ears. She shut her eyes. She didn’t want to hear his voice, she didn’t want to see his face, but most of all she didn’t want to feel the touch of his skin.

  “Rose, don’t make me go back down those stairs to get a key.”

  She could still make out his words. She couldn’t escape him. He was going to be guarding her all night. It was just her and him. She should have run. What had she been thinking? So what if the DRMC killed her. Anything would be better than spending another night with this monster.

  She wished Patrice was still there. Why couldn’t he be the one watching her? She knew there was no point wishing things like that. This was her life now. It wasn’t a place where wishes came true. It was a place of nightmares. And if she was going to survive she’d have to wise up and act a lot smarter than she was right now.

  She got up and climbed out of the tub. It would do no good to anger him. She could make him go down to the office and get another key. She could make him kick down the bathroom door. But what good would that do? There might be some times, some places, when heroics were called for, but she had to be honest with herself, this wasn’t one of them.

  She forced herself to unlock the washroom door and walk out to the room.

  “I’m opening it now,” she called through the door. “I’m sorry.”

  She opened the door and Fat Boy pushed his way inside. He was angry but not as mad as he’d have been if she’d forced him to go down the stairs again.

  “Why was the door locked?” he said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You fucking better be.”

  He came into the room and sat on the armchair in the corner. Rose remembered when it had been Patrice in the chair. If only it could have been Patrice in it now. But it wasn’t. She had to stop letting herself think like that. She had to face up to the facts. This was her life and she was a fighter. She was going to survive. She was going to harden up, toughen her resolve, and do whatever it took to get through it.

  “I was just washing up,” she said and turned to go back into the bathroom.

  She thought the safest thing for her would be to stay out of Fat Boy’s way. Maybe he wouldn’t be interested in her now that he’d already fucked her. Maybe that was all he’d wanted. If she could stay out of his way, out of his sight, she might just get through the night.

  “Wait,” Fat Boy said.

  She stopped. She was at the door to the washroom. She tried to look as casual as possible. She didn’t want things to get nasty. She was wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt that Patrice had picked up. She knew she didn’t look provocative. Also, now that she wasn’t tied to the bed she thought that maybe she wouldn’t be as alluring or tempting to a man like Fat Boy. Maybe it had been the fact that she was tied up that had excited his lust.

  “Come over here,” he said. “Bring me one of those beers.”

  There was a brown paper bag on the table just inside the door and it contained some things that Fat Boy had brought over. There was a couple packs of cigarettes, a six-pack of Molson’s Dry and a Snickers bar. She grabbed a can of beer. It was cold to the touch.

  “Open it,” Fat Boy said.

  Rose looked at him. He was calm, sitting on the chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. She wondered what was going on in his mind. It was like trying to penetrate a deep, dark hole.

  She opened the beer and handed it to him. He took it from her and took a long swig.

  “Refreshing,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “Get on the bed,” he said.

  She sat back on the bed. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew something bad was going to happen to her again. It was like the feeling she got before a storm. The atmosphere seemed heavy, dark.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she said with a quiet voice.

  She knew she sounded silly as she said it, like a child. He smiled at her, his lips drawing back over his teeth in a mean snarl.

  X

  “LIE BACK,” FAT BOY SAID.

  Rose lay back on the bed. Fat Boy got up from his seat and stood over her, drinking from the beer can. She thought he was going to tell her to strip her clothes but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking down at her. She had a flashback to the night of the rape. She began to shake in fear and couldn’t control herself.

  He held his beer can over her and poured it on her. She was shocked. It was awful. She just lay there as a stream of beer flowed from the can down onto the new cotton shirt that Patrice had bought her. Why was he doing this? It was humiliating.

  She stayed in her position watching the beer soak her new shirt. After a few seconds she was so wet that she could see her breasts through the clinging cotton. It was soaking the bed too, ruining it, staining the sheets.

  Fat Boy still had that awful snarl on his face as he watched the beer pour onto her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. He had a steel lighter. He flicked it shut with a snap and put it back in his pocket, then went to the side table and got another can of beer.

  “You thirsty?” he said to her.

  She said nothing.

  He opened the beer and the sound of the can opening reminded Rose of a gun being cocked. She pictured using a gun on Fat Boy. He held the second beer out over her and again began pouring it over her. She couldn’t believe it. Why was he doing this to her? What possible pleasure could there be in this for him? He poured the beer over her breasts, then lower, over her sweatpants. To Rose it looked as if she’d soiled herself. It felt like that too. She hated being there, lying on the bed while he did this. He let the beer flow over her chest and then onto her face and mouth.

  “Drink,” he said and laughed.

  She looked at him and could tell from the fierceness in his eyes that he meant it. She opened her mouth and let the beer flow into it. She swallowed as much of it as she could.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Swallow up for daddy.”
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  She lapped up the beer and almost choked on it. When she coughed he laughed at her. “Come on,” he said, “you can do better than that.”

  He opened a third can of beer.

  “Get up,” he said.

  She sat up in the bed in her soaking wet clothes and he handed her the can.

  “Drink it,” he said.

  She looked at him. There was such a cruel twist to the snarl on his mouth that it scared her. She didn’t want the beer but she was too afraid to refuse. She opened it and brought the can to her lips and took a sip.

  “I said drink it,” Fat Boy said.

  Rose shook her head. She couldn’t understand why he was doing this. Why was he being so cruel? What was wrong with this place, with these men? She brought the can to her lips and took deep gulps of the beer.

  “That’s it,” Fat Boy said.

  He got himself a beer and the Snickers bar and sat back down heavily on his chair. He opened his beer and began to drink it. Rose sat on the bed in her soaking wet clothes and drank hers. She felt like a mess. Her clothes, the new ones that Patrice had bought for her, were covered in beer and clinging to her skin. She felt awful. She wanted to change but she knew she wasn’t allowed. She eyed Fat Boy warily as she drank the beer and when she was finished he went and got the two remaining cans and handed one to her.

  “I can’t,” she said. “I’ve had enough.”

  “You’ve had enough when I say so,” he said and sat back down.

  Reluctantly, she opened the can and took a sip of the beer. Her stomach was already full and she was beginning to feel a light buzz from the alcohol. Fat Boy had finished his candy bar and was smoking another cigarette as he sipped the last of the beers.

  “Why are you making me do this?” she said.

  Fat Boy sneered at her. She looked away but looked back at him when he spoke.

  “Let’s just say that I’m a filthy, horrible man,” he said and laughed.

  Rose nodded. That much was true. She brought the can to her lips and sipped some more of the beer. Her stomach was already full but she was able to drink it slowly. She didn’t know where he was going with this. One thing she did know was that there had only been six cans of beer in that grocery bag and this was the last of them.