I stand there, trying to figure something out—something that’s nagging at my mind. If the beast doesn’t sleep in the master, or this other room, then where does he sleep? It’s when my eyes drift to the left that I notice the hallway doesn’t end, it turns.
His lair must be that way.
I walk slowly, carrying the supply bucket in my right hand and dragging the vacuum with my left. When I turn the corner, there’s another view of the hills through the windows on the right. I hadn’t been paying attention before, trying not to let myself get taken with the outdoors, a place I’m not sure I’ll ever get to visit again—but I see it’s getting late now, almost dark, except for the slashes of reds and oranges across the sky. I’m struck by the sunset, staring at it while I walk, until I’m struck by something else.
I blink, not sure if I’ve fallen down some rabbit hole. The bucket drops from my hand and the vacuum falls to the floor. It’s a room, an enormous room, with a glass dome ceiling that lets the vibrant colors of the sky come through. That alone should hold my attention, but all I can see is—all I can focus on—are the books. The shelves and shelves of books. Shelves so high, a ladder sits hanging on all four sides, leading up to a narrow landing that lines the entire room, with another set of ladders giving access to the shelves above it. All I can do is stare. Stare at the books. So many books.
Then I hear a noise. A strange noise. A noise that sounds like water. Running water. I turn around and only then do I see the fountain in the middle of the room, centered under the dome. It’s large and round, with a stunning statue of three rearing horses in the middle, with water coming out their mouths and falling into the pool below. I walk to it, only to find myself walking through the circle of roses that surround it. Red roses. Their sweet aroma lingers in the air, while thorn covered branches reach out wildly, looking unkempt and ragged, but still managing to bloom in places, making me realize…it’s spring, or summer. I’m not sure, until I remember the view out the windows—the way the grass in the hills had been a deep shade of gold. It’s summer.
Summer.
I don’t know why that hits me like it does. Maybe because the last time I remember, it was winter.
Then I see everything else. The leather sofas and chairs, all scattered around in little vignettes, the lamps, the Navajo rugs, the greenery all about. Everything around me blurs while tears spill quietly down my cheeks. Because I know. I know what this is. I know who this is for.
“What do you think?” a deep voice asks.
When I spin around, I see the beast leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed, black eyes quiet. I look down quickly and find myself so weak I can barely stand. I stagger to the edge of the fountain and sit, my hands knotting themselves in my lap.
“What’s the matter, Ava? Don’t you like it? I thought you loved books. When we were kids, every time I tried to come over and talk with you at lunch, or during recess, you were always off in a corner with your nose buried in one of your damn books. Books, books, books,” he sighs. “How I used to hate your books. You’d be so deep into them, you wouldn’t so much as give me the time of day. Remember that? In fact, most times, you’d just get up and walk away, whenever I came around. Drove me crazy, Ava. Fucking crazy.”
He walks now, slowly, around the roses, watching me all the while. I see him, from the corner of my eye. He leans down and lifts a rose to his nose and breathes in, then lets the rose go. Now his eyes are on me again, so I turn away.
“But you want to know why it really drove me crazy?” he asks, his voice drifting as he moves around me. “It wasn’t because of the books, but because I knew you already had it in you what you thought of me, ever since you threw that first rock my way, all because of that damn cat. But…to tell you the truth, Ava, I don’t blame you really. I never did think much of myself either. I know I’m no prince. I know I’m damaged goods. Always have been and always will be. But why do you think I was always causing trouble when you were around, hmm? I’m not saying I wasn’t inclined to cause trouble back then anyway, I know I did plenty of that whether you were around or not, but…after the way you lit into me about that cat, I knew it was the only way I could get your attention. So I spent all my time back then, thinking up ways I could get you to look at me, even if the only way I could get you to do it, was with that fire in your eyes.”
I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say.
“So,” he continues, “after we made our deal, and I knew you’d be coming to stay with me, I built this for you, knowing I’d need some help getting you to think differently of me.”
I shake my head, even though I already knew that.
“Oh, come on now, Ava,” he chides. “You know I did. Of course I built this for you. I built the entire house for you.”
Wait. He built…the house…for me? Not just this room? The house that hardly looks lived in? He built it…for me?
I shake my head again, and a tear falls.
“Think, Ava. It’s a small town. I know you’d have heard I tore down the old house and was building a new one. When did I do it, hmmm? I was always planning to do it after my parents died, but I didn’t start on it until right after we made our deal. I wasn’t sure how long your piece of shit daddy would last, so I moved quick. This sucker was up in under four months. Turns out I had plenty of time to wait after that though, didn’t I? But it gave me time to get everything set up good.” He chuckles, but it sounds sad. “That was silly of me though, wasn’t it? That was back when I thought I could make you want me by making you a pretty room and buying you silly things, like clothes and jewelry. And this…” he waves his hand. “I thought if you had all this, it might change how you felt about me, might help you see past all that monster I got in me, and who knows, maybe you’d never want to go back to that shithole you were raised in. Hell, that little grey horse out there—you know which one I’m talking about—I know you’ve seen her. She’s still waiting on a name.”
Another tear falls and lands in my lap. “Not fair,” I whisper.
“No, darlin’, I suppose it’s not fair. I never did play fair though, you know that. Especially when it comes to you. I’m one of those—what do they call it—complicated guys? Yeah, that’s it. Complicated. One of those guys who doesn’t make sense, so women sum it up with a word like ‘complicated’.”
He’s back in my sights again, and I see him reach out and cradle a rose between his fingers. “You know why I have all these roses around, right? Not just because your middle name is Rose, but for all those little red roses you had on that dress, the day we made our deal. Figured you must’ve liked them, if you were wearing them too.” His eyes drop to his chest and he rubs his fingertips over his shirt—over his heart—where the tattoo rests. “I know I carved this all to hell, but I’ll get it fixed up again.” He sighs, sounding more man than beast.
I hear what sounds like a snap, followed by his footsteps as he walks towards me. I look to the ground, only to see a rose appear in front of my eyes.
“For you,” he says, quietly.
When I take it, my hand’s shaking so hard, a petal falls and I watch it float to the ground. By the time it lands…he’s gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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 h
is 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.
Tragic Beauty Page 17
