Tragic Beauty

by Iris Ann Hunter

  “Ava.” Gavin’s voice turns soft and he steps in close.

  I shake my head and try to step back, but his bloody hands glide up and cradle my face, keeping me in place. “What does he have over you? It can’t be just about paying a debt, can it?”

  I try to look away, but he won’t let me.

  “Tell me,” he whispers.

  I swallow down the scratches in my throat, giving myself time to search for words. I want to tell him everything, but he won’t get it. He’ll think there’s an easy way out of this, when there isn’t. Maybe we’ll steal some time and be happy, but just when we think we’re in the clear, Shayne will come and shatter everything.

  Everything.

  And so I gather up all the words I can, and lie.

  “I don’t want you,” I hiss, yanking back from his touch, feeling my heart crack wide open as he staggers on his feet, like I’ve punched him. “It was one night. One night! I was supposed to be a fling, remember? Why can’t you leave it that?” I’m yelling now, hoarsely, with rage and fury and despair, not at him, but at my life, at all the fucked up things that have led me to have to put this poor, beautiful man through this. “Why’d you have to come here? Why can’t you leave me alone? Just go! Just go and never come back!”

  Gavin blinks slowly, then says very, very quietly, “Is that what you really want, Ava? You want me to go and never come back?”

  I can’t even say the word, so I nod my head, causing tears to shake free. A coldness settles into his face, a hardness that has little pieces of my heart falling away.

  “Fine.”

  He turns to go, when the wail of a siren approaches and headlights shine through the crowd. Seconds later, Sheriff Carson steps into the open, the brim of his hat set low, his big belly straining against the buttons of his shirt. “What’s going on here? Got a call about a fight.”

  The crowd is quiet, but Shayne’s loud voice cuts through the silence. “He assaulted me!” he shouts, pointing at Gavin. “Again!”

  The Sheriff glances to Gavin, then back to Shayne.

  “I got all these witnesses!” Shayne says, waving a hand at the crowd. “They all saw him lunge at me. I wasn’t doing anything! Just having some fun on my wedding night and that fucker straight up attacked me!”

  The Sheriff glances around the crowd warily. “That how it happened?”

  I close my eyes, not wanting to hear the words that will surely follow. It’s Buck’s voice I hear first. “No, Sheriff. Was the other way around. This fella here, well, it was self-defense, plain as day. Ain’t that right?” he asks the crowd.

  My eyes dart around, hearing agreement spread from one person to the next.

  “Liars!” Shayne bellows. He turns to his guys. “Tell him!”

  Red steps forward. “Shayne’s telling the truth, Sheriff.”

  Sherriff Carson grunts, lifts his hat to scratch his balding head, then settles it back in place and lets out a sigh. It’s the word of thirty or more people—mostly respectable—against the word of four known troublemakers. “Alright, well…” He glances back to Gavin, then to Shayne. “You’re both standing, so no harm, no foul. Let’s break up this gathering. Go on. All of you, back inside. Nothing left to see.”

  Even from the distance I’m at, I can see Shayne trembling with rage, but he keeps his mouth shut.

  Slowly, the crowd breaks up and starts to wander in. I see Gavin and Buck exchange glances, as something unspoken passes between them, then Buck disappears into the bar, along with everyone else, and the side door slams shut behind him.

  I know Shayne’s eyes are on me now, watching through the darkness, but all I see is Gavin.

  He stands with shoulders slumped and turns his somber gaze to me.

  My feet want nothing more than to run me to him, but I use every bit of strength I have to force them to stay in place. I just stand there and watch Gavin blink his beautiful green eyes, look down at the ground, then turn and begin to walk away. Tears begin gushing quietly down my face, then Gavin turns the corner, and he’s gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ava

  The ride home is deathly quiet. I risk a glance over to Shayne, covered in blood, his face now swollen to the point he’s unrecognizable. Red had tried to get him to go to the hospital, or at least let him drive us home, but Shayne wouldn’t have it. He’d climbed into the dually, his eyes set dead ahead, and never once said a word. But I know the silence is only temporary. I know what’s coming.

  I turn my head and stare out the window, losing myself in a sea of darkness, thinking of how I hurt Gavin, thinking of what he was ready and willing to do for me, without a care for what it would have done to him. Outwardly, I feel numb. All the pain’s still there from what Shayne did to me earlier, but it seems disconnected. Instead, it’s the pain inside that consumes me, ravages me.

  I lost something tonight.

  Not just Gavin, but a part of myself too.

  Back at the house, I try to mentally prepare myself for what lies ahead as Shayne drags me down the hall once more. Only this time, he takes me to another door, opens it, and pushes me in just past the threshold. He holds me there, his hand clamped firmly at my nape. I’m confused for a moment, then he turns on the light, flooding the room in a golden haze. I blink, taking in the scene before me—a scene I wasn’t expecting. It’s a room, elegant and beautiful, with soft peach walls, a canopy bed, and a dark mahogany vanity topped with a staggering amount of jewelry. Off to the side, I see an open closet, filled with clothes and shoes—a full wardrobe. It’s a fairy tale room. A room fit for a princess.

  I don’t understand, until his words come back to me.

  I had a room set up for you. But until you’ve earned it…

  A seed of guilt burrows deep inside me, but I swallow it down. I won’t let myself go there. Not after all he’s just done to me.

  His body leans in close and his lips rake along my ear, as he whispers, “This is how it could’ve been.”

  He hauls me backwards and drags me down the hall again, to another door that he opens and shoves me through, so hard, I fall to the floor.

  “Leave this room, and I’ll kill you and everything you love,” he says, then slams the door.

  I stagger to my feet, my eyes darting around. It takes me a moment to register that I must be in a guest room.

  A moment later I hear a loud bang that sends me scurrying to a far corner, where I huddle up tight. More loud noises follow—things crashing, things breaking. It sounds like someone’s tearing the house apart, but I know the sounds are coming from the room next door. From the room he made for me—the room he’s now destroying. The beast roars, again and again, shouts of rage that blast through the walls, followed by more crashing, more breaking, more pounding. It sounds like I’m in hell. Pure hell.

  I clamp my hands over my ears as the relentless thrashing goes on and on, and I think perhaps I should be grateful I’m not bearing the brunt of his wrath, but I know that will change. It’s only a matter of time.

  My eyes feel heavy, my body weary. I shut my eyes tight and the image of Gavin appears, walking away, forever. A sob leaps from my throat and I keel over onto my side, and curl up into a ball and begin to cry. I cry so hard and for so long, that eventually, I fall asleep.

  I wake with a start the next day to more noises coming from next door. Only this time, different noises. Drills. Saws. Hammers. I try not to think about what he might be doing and instead try to stretch my legs out. Pain stabs at my hip, but it’s nothing to the pain I feel inside.

  Slowly, I get to my feet, still wearing my white, blood stained dress, my body sore and cramped from sleeping on the floor. Waking sunlight streams in through the window, and it’s only then that I finally take in the room. Taupe colored walls, more wood rafters, and a queen-size bed with a maroon comforter that matches the carpet. There’s a dresser too, with matching dark wood nightstands. It doesn’t look like hell, but it feels like it.

  I walk slowly to t
he bathroom, up to the dark vanity, and look at my reflection in the mirror. I look like one of those ruined brides you might find in a horror movie. My dress isn’t bridal, but it’s white, with streaks of dried blood everywhere. Mine and Gavin’s, and probably some of Shayne’s. My hair’s a mess, my eyes red and swollen, and I even have some smears of blood along my face.

  I look down at the ring on my finger, and my eyes fill with tears.

  I look away.

  I need a shower.

  I know it will hurt, but I need to wash away what I can.

  I do my best to keep the water off the brand, but it finds its way there anyway. I crumple against the wall, but I grit my teeth and manage to get through it.

  After I’m out, I spend some time cleaning the dress, turning what’s red to pink, then put it back on, because there’s nothing else to wear.

  Back in the bedroom, I see a loaf of Roman Meal bread lying by the door, and know that’s my food for a while.

  Twelve days end up passing, with no further sign of him, except for the occasional sounds of construction from next door, like he’s building something. Something I don’t want to think about.

  During that time, I cry and sleep, occasionally nibbling at bread and sipping water from the faucet.

  Sometimes I sit and stare out the window, losing myself in the hills beyond, or watching the horses that graze in the field off to the side. There are a couple bays, a chestnut, a black, and a grey. Some days, the bays and the chestnut get taken out by the guys to go to work, other times they all get to spend the day grazing. I never see Shayne out there. Only Red and the other two.

  Sometimes I pretend I’m back in the pasture with my friends, feeding them carrots or riding Sadie through the countryside. Other times I think of Ben, wondering what he’s up to, wondering if his tractor is giving him a hard time. I think of my ranch—or what used to be my ranch—of the mustard that will probably be sprouting up not too long from now, and the little creek that’s probably running since we’ve had some rain. I even think of my father a little, wondering if he’s finally found some happiness. I don’t think of my mother.

  Then there are times I think of my books, of all the other worlds I once escaped to, wishing I could escape to those places again, but knowing I probably won’t ever see those books again. At least not those copies.

  It rains a couple times, gets cold, but mainly the sun is out, like always in Southern California, shining bright like nothing bad is happening, like my world hasn’t just been taken from me.

  And through it all, every waking second, and even in my sleep, Gavin is in my mind, constantly. His green eyes, his scent, the sound of his voice, the way his touch felt along my skin. I’ve relived that night with him a thousand times, cherishing every detail, every memory. When I curl up in bed, I cry myself to sleep with him there, next to me in my mind, trying so hard not to think about how I hurt him, how he looked walking away. Instead, I try to hold onto the good, to the laughter we shared, the desire we fed. I knew my time with him would be my lifeline, knowing things would get dark, and it has been. I just never expected things would go the way they did. But I know full well I’ve only had a glimpse of the darkness that will come for me. My time in this room is only the calm before the storm.

  It’s just a matter of time.

  The storm arrives late the following night. I’m sleeping, dreaming of Gavin, when the covers disappear and rough hands tear my clothes off and yank me from the bed.

  I’m shaking so hard I can barely support myself as he drags me from the room and down the darkened hall to the next door. A door I’ve been through before. A door that now has a large deadbolt above the latch. He opens it and tosses me inside, where I fall hard on a rough cement floor.

  A single, dim light bulb hangs from above, exposing the room in a creepy, brooding light. When I look around, my pulse spikes and my eyes grow wide. Now I know what he’s been building.

  Gone is the princess room. Instead, now there’s another room. A dark grey room that begins to spin around me. A dog crate I’ve seen before sits in the corner. Next to it is a chain with shackles that hangs from the ceiling. Against the wall is a bare mattress atop a black iron bed frame, with bindings attached to all four corners. Against the other wall is a large thick metal X, with more bindings. Near me is a wire mesh cage, the size of a large armoire, filled with whips and rods and so many other things I can’t seem to focus on because my vision begins to blur. Around me the prison walls spin faster and faster. I see a couple doorways, but both doors are gone now. One I know must be the bathroom, the other is to a closet I know once held clothes, but now sits empty. Where there was once a window, now there’s a thick sheet of plywood painted black, sealing me off completely from the rest of the world.

  No.

  No.

  This—this—can’t—

  Shayne’s cold voice shatters the silence. “Welcome to your new home, Ava.”

  I whirl around, only to catch a glimpse of his looming shadow in the doorway as he tosses in another loaf of bread, then slams the door and locks me in. My screams ricochet across the prison walls as I stagger towards the door and pound my fists over and over, until my knees gave way and I slide to the floor.

  Everywhere I look, the horror grows, sending bile into my throat. I barely manage to get myself to the bathroom before I throw up. I hurl until there’s nothing left, until I’m curled up on the cold stone floor, shaking and sobbing. Eventually, I struggle to my hands and knees and make it to my feet. I ignore the naked, terrified girl in the mirror and stumble back into the room. I stare at the mattress with exhausted eyes, but can’t bring myself to lie there, remembering how he snuck up on me in the other bed. Instead, I limp to the closet. It’s dark inside, and empty, like me. I crouch down and curl up in the far corner and close my eyes tight, shutting the madness out while I hug my knees to my chest. I imagine Gavin’s arms around me—imagine he holds me while I rock back and forth. That’s when a small voice begins whispering in my head. It’s my voice, but it’s so soft I can barely hear it. But it’s there, whispering the same words, over and over.

  He won’t break me.

  He will never break me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ava

  I wake to the sound of the lock turning and the door opening. My naked body begins to shake and I huddle against the corner of the closet.

  “Come,” Shayne says, as though calling a dog.

  Fear keeps me frozen and I curl myself up tighter.

  “If I have to come get you…”

  He leaves the words hanging, but I still can’t bring myself to go to him. A dark figure dressed in nothing but black pants appears in the doorway. I shrink back when he closes in. He grabs me by the hair and drags me on my hands and knees until I’m crouched on the floor, in the middle of the room, trembling.

  He begins pacing while I stare at the cement.

  “You fucked up, Ava. You fucked up.” His voice sounds off. It has the anger, but there’s something else—a weird pitch to it that makes him sound unhinged. He’s no longer just a beast. He’s a wounded beast.

  He stops for a minute, and I can hear him breathing, sort of erratic, sort of heavy.

  I need to be careful, so careful.

  He’s moving again, back and forth, back and forth, his bare feet falling fast and heavy around me. “All you had to do was keep your word. But you didn’t, did you? Because you’re a liar! A cheat!” His fist is in my hair again and I cry out when he drags me to my feet and shoves me hard against the wall. “You did this to me!!”

  I’m facing him now, and can’t help but gasp. It’s Shayne, and it isn’t. I see the familiar black hair, and the scruff he’s let grow. But his face has changed. There are parts still swollen and tinged green from fading bruises—things that will heal—but his nose is flatter now, and crooked, and a fresh scar tugs at his upper lip, making it look like he’s snarling. There are other deformities, like mismatched cheekbones and a
droopy eye, but it all blurs when the tears begin to build. I shake my head. It isn’t my fault. It isn’t my fault. But I know he’s right.

  It’s all my fault.

  Because I broke my word.

  Because I gave myself to another when I said I wouldn’t.

  And because of what I did, now he’s not just a beast on the inside anymore, but on the outside too. And maybe I shouldn’t feel bad after all that he’s done to me—he’s scarred me for life, and more—but now I’ve scarred him too. And while I probably shouldn’t feel guilty about it, I do.

  Because I’m not the beast.

  He is.

  The tears spill down my cheeks and seem to catch his eye. He stares at them and watches them fall, the only sound his ragged breaths. It feels like being in the eye of a hurricane. But then the storm comes again and he growls and tosses me like a rag doll across the room. I land on the concrete with a thud.

  I curl up on my side, clutching at my stomach and gasping for air, when I see him approach. That’s when I notice the tattoo—notice the bloody slashes through my name, as though he took a knife to it.

  Shayne stops behind me and leans over. “Do you have any idea how bad I want to kill him, Ava? How bad I want to rip his fucking life apart? I’ve already killed for you once, and so help me God, I’ll do it again.”

  He’s killed for me? My mind jerks and my stomach lurches, but I push past it, knowing Gavin’s life hangs in the balance.

  His words keep going. “I’ve already done my research, Ava. Already had a guy out there digging everything up. I know where he lives. I know where his mom lives. I know everything about him. Who he’s fucked. What he’s done. I know the past he’s got sealed up in juvenile records. I could skin this man alive.”