A Starr is Born

That night he released the bounds around my wrists, and I found myself sleeping rather comfortably in his arms. It was as if he wasn’t even there let alone someone I should fear. I decided to stop fearing him because fear is an all around unconstructive feeling, though he did do a pretty good job at keeping it instilled in me.

My eyes flicker open and I realize must have slept soundly through the night because I’m still in his arms. I look at him, and he is still, somehow, sound asleep. I had never truly looked face to face with the man while he was seemingly at peace. His make-up is almost entirely gone, though his pale scars are still highlighted in the red lipstick, and his eyes are still heavily darkened. He looks almost tranquil aside from the fact that I know he’s horrifying.

Instead of the usual vice-like grip, he has me in a very gentle embrace, as if he’s confident that I won’t try to leave as he’s sleeping. Is he becoming at peace with the fact that I seem at peace with him?

I decide to shift a little as to experiment. His grip doesn’t tighten as an insurance mechanism, but instead shifts around me all the while still holding onto me gently. Shamefully, I had to admit this was something I had never experienced before in my life. If you negated the fact that I had been kidnapped, arguably raped, abused, and psychologically tortured, you could take a photograph of this moment and believe we were truly in love.

Also shamefully, I had never experienced someone so focused solely on what appeared to be my pleasure alone. Rarely did I orgasm with a lover, and never had I experienced so many in a row. I wonder if my skin is betraying my true emotions and glowing in the daylight on this cool autumn day.

I peak over his shoulder to look at the window behind him, and I notice the trees have mostly shed their leaves. My eyes trace down and widen with surprise.

On the nightstand behind him sits a freestanding knife and a freestanding gun. Did he really just leave these things totally unguarded?

My focus returns back to him to see him still, apparently, sound asleep. He’s breathing gently, and his lips are parted slightly. I recall the feeling they had on my own last night, and I decide to experiment, so I lean in and press my own against his.

He doesn’t return the kiss. He must be out, totally. I reach in again and gently kiss his bare neck. I lean back to look, and again, no reaction and no shifting.

I manage to free one of my arms from between us and I slowly reach over him for… I wonder if now’s the time. Is it? Is it?

No.

I decide to stop my hand’s journey at his hair. I run a finger through his greasy and un-kept tresses. Perhaps there is something very deliciously sexy about a man confident enough to costume himself in such a way all the while retaining all of his masculinity, if not more so than any other man I’ve ever been with. His hair is also slightly curly and showing hints of being dirty blond underneath the bleach and garbage. Perhaps in his younger and less crazed days he looked like a cherub. Now he normally looks like an incarnation of Satan.

I bring my hand back in and continue my study of his face. I look at his scars, and I bring my hand to his face and let my fingers very lightly trace the groves. Half of his mouth twitches in response, and I recoil my hand.

I’m still for a little, but it seems it was only a reflex. I bring my fingers back to the scars and continue my study. They’re soft. My fingers trace all around his face, feeling his newly formed stubble covered in greasepaint. I trace all the way up to his ear, lightly pressing my fingers on the skin right behind it. I bring the hand back to myself and stare on.

He still hasn’t stirred.

I think again about that knife and that gun.

I think again.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I had managed to slip through his arms while he was still asleep. I was growing restless and hungry. I decided to fix some French toast for the two of us being careful to add some nuanced and aromatic spices to the batter. The kitchen smells like heaven, and I truly hope it will make him happy.

I want to save the meal for the two of us to enjoy together. I think he enjoys seeing me eat. There was a point where I wasn’t doing that anymore, but I’ve once again re-established my interest in living. I manage to take an end piece for myself to tide me over while I wait for him to rise. I slip the French toast in the oven to stay warm as I wait for him.

I sit at the kitchen table, and next to the table is a door leading to the outside deck. I open the blinds to the patio door and look outside. Everything is very still aside from the wind, which rustles through the trees occasionally. The sky is a wintery overcast. I take it all in, longing to just smell some fresh air, to be immersed in it, as opposed to just sneaking it in.

I didn’t even hear him come down when I hear, “Good morning” from behind me.

I turn around to see he’s downstairs, very tousled, wearing just his pin stripe trousers, unbuttoned, but being held up by his suspenders. His body is well formed except for the punctuations of battle wounds throughout his life. I take it all in. His body is deceptively thin for someone of his strength. I guess I shouldn’t judge because any petit male ballerina could easily kick my ass and perhaps even his. Or maybe he isn’t that strong, and I’m just that weak.

“Good morning. There’s French toast in the oven and warm maple syrup on the stove top,” I smile slightly at him.

I turn back to the window. I hear the oven door open and the clattering of plates. One could argue he looks sexy in his disheveled state. It’s like a stray puppy from the wrong side of the tracks that’s been hurt its whole life, and you’ve decided you just want to take care of it and show it that there is still love in the world. That’s how I feel…right now, though we all know those motherfuckers usually need to be put to sleep…I repress the thought.

I hear a plate being set next to me, and I look down to see he did set a plate next to me, and he takes the seat next to me with his own plate. I turn begrudgingly away from the window and face the food.

“Thank you,” I say to him before I go to eat. We eat in silence, and I steal occasional glances behind me to look out the window, admiring the changing air.

“What are you looking at?” He asks me.

“Hmm?” I turn back.

“What are you looking at,” he makes sure to articulate. I’m not sure I’m used to him asking me questions the way a normal person would.

“Oh, just the autumn air. It’s my favorite season. It suits me.” I smile weakly, and return back to my food, playing with it more so than eating it. I can feel him watching me, and I take care not to look back up at him.

“Do you want to go outside?” He asks me and swallows.

I look back at him hopefully, “Would you? I was afraid to ask for fear of sounding ungrateful.”

“I can take you on a walk,” he responds to me. I try my best not to flinch at his attempt at deprecation.

I look back down at my food, “no, no, you really don’t have to. I’m fine. “

He takes one of my hands with his hands.

“No, I’d love to. You’ll just have to be on a short leash.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moments later we are walking through the woods, together, him bundled in his trench coat, and me bundled in something that the dead guy must have worn. I smell like mothballs, but I don’t care because the coat has huge pockets, and I am finally outside again. I decide to savor the feeling without feeling too shallow about my appearance.

The whole time he keeps me safely guarded, guiding me with his firm grip around one of my arms.

We walk in complete silence, and we approach some type of stream with a tiny bridge on it. In that instant I recognize exactly where we are.

“Can I sit?” I ask, hopefully.

He looks at me.

“I just want to sit by the stream. You can sit with me if you’d like.” I ask more eagerly, and smile at him, doing my best to not blink, so I can get bleary eyed over the whole thing.

He looks down at me.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he answers, shortly.

“You sure?”

“Go.”

I go over to the little stream, and I sit hugging my legs into my chest, reliving the very familiar sound of this particular water rustling. Everything smells wonderful.

I notice he doesn’t sit with me, but watches me from afar. I turn around to look at him, and he’s staring at me, intently, as if following my every action.

I smile slightly at him. My intentions are innocent, I swear. I turn back to look at the stream and pick up a twig on my side, I run it across the dirt and the fallen leaves exposing the rocks underneath.

“Okay,” I hear a voice behind me, “time to go.”

I look up and he’s standing closely behind me. He extends his hand to me, and I brace myself on top of a medium sized jagged rock to get up. I quickly fold my hands back into my oversized pockets to keep them warm. His grip is once again firm and he leads me in the direction back to the house.

I stop in my tracks, “Did you hear something,” I turn around.

“Hmm?” He turns with me.

I loosen my arm from his grip, “Over there.” I point out.

“No,” he turns around, and I quickly reach into my pocket for the jagged rock I picked up and smash it across the back of his neck.

I don’t have time to see if I’ve effectively knocked him out because I’ve bolted as fast as I can. I know exactly where I am, and I have to rely on my adrenaline to get me through,

“You bitch!” I hear behind me along with the sound of his running.

I don’t bother turning back. I keep my eyes focused on the ground ahead of me trying to jump over any loose branches or rocks in my way. I run and run, and I hear a gunshot and think I might have seen a bullet fly pass me. I keep on running and running, this time in a zigzag, hoping to dodge any potential bullets that might pass me, jumping to avoid any loose tree roots.

I feel him coming closer to me, and I turn around for only a second and it’s that second I trip and come falling to the ground. He’s at my tail quickly, pinning me to the cold earth. He wrenches my arm behind me, and I scream from the pain.

He drags me up and leads me back to the direction I was just running from. I won’t accept my defeat this time. He would be an idiot to not realize that I’ve been trying to play him for a long time, and I realize he isn’t an idiot. There’s no getting out of this one, so I might as well retain all of my integrity because it might be the last time I have any.

The ball’s in his court, and I’m afraid to admit that means it’s game over.

We’re approaching the same stream as before.

“You like this place so much? Fine! You can stay here.”

He stops in front of a tree and throws my back against it. I land against it, hard. I struggle as best as I can, making a production of the whole ordeal, and he bangs my head against the tree. I get light headed, and in that time, he’s grabbed both of my arms from behind, and tied my wrists together around the tree, binding me to it.

He makes his way back in front of me, lifting my hand gently with one of his hands.

“Look at me, Auburn.”

I look up at him, woozily.

“Did you really think you could fool me?” He asks.

“Actually, I think I did,” I respond.

He takes his other hand and slaps me across the face. I cough up what I think might be blood. I can barely lift my own head up, so he lifts it up with one finger under my chin. I let him take me where he wants. I look him back in the eyes.

“And we were really starting to get along, weren’t we?”

He smiles at me and goes, leaving me in the cold forest when it’s about to get dark.

“That’s too bad!” I scream back, “I really thought we could be good together!”

Count on me to say something stupid.