A Starr is Born

It’s been three long weeks that I’ve been here. Today, I find myself sitting in a warm bath. I’m surprised there is one in this place. I’m not surprised that I’m clearly the only one who uses it. I’m hunched over in extreme pain, blood filling the bathtub. It was an excruciating moment of solitude in what had been the most intense weeks of my life. But I was still here, however, and quite alive.


Three weeks ago.


When I hear the Joker’s laugh die down and all together disappear, I think about breaking into tears. I try to hold back thinking it might be the testament of some strength, but I finally let go and break.

I run into the bathroom that’s adjoining the room, clearly a master bedroom. I slam the door shut behind me and rest my head in my hands, weeping into them. The fact is undeniable, as I see it.

I’m going to die.

Not only am I going to die, I’m going to get raped and mutilated until I have to beg for my death.

I look up into the mirror. I look a terrible, obviously, but I see myself once again, and I don’t view my tears as a weakness. I decide, resolutely, that I will survive. Rather, I will do the best I can with what’s been given to me and hope luck is on my side for everything else. But now is the time to take a shower. The Joker was right . . . I was covered in shit.

The next time I open my eyes, I can tell it’s the morning. Actually, I see the sun is out, but I have no real idea of what time it is. I look outside and see it’s a sunny beautiful fall day. The leaves are just starting to turn. I knew I had smelled change in the air, but little did I know how big a change was about to happen.

I go to open my window, and I’m surprised it budges. I open the window and look down. There is no possible way I can get to the bottom, and I’m thinking that trying to sneak out through the window would be suicide. It would an insult to his intelligence and my own to think I could just walk out of here.

I turn back into the room, and I look at my surroundings, which I can finally see. Surprisingly, it’s just a standard master bedroom. Nothing too demented looking. It actually kind of reminds me of my grandfather’s room. There’s a bed and a dresser, and nothing else. I see my clothing is still on the floor, so I go to put it back on. I’m afraid I have no other option but to re-don my khakis and oxford shirt. This was only slightly less degrading than him coming in and seeing me completely naked.

I go to the door, tentatively. I stand very still in the room, listening for any sign of life immediately outside the door. I take barely audible steps towards it, the sound thankfully being absorbed into the carpet. I’m standing only feet away from the door, and I reach my hand towards the knob. When my hand about reaches the door, the knob turns. I’m so scared I can’t move. The door creaks open slowly, and now fully open, no one is there.

I bring my arm down and stare at the open door. Left with little idea of what to do, I go towards the open hallway. I step outside and look down the corridor. No one.

Then, two arms come around me, one around my neck and one around my stomach. A hear a voice whisper roughly in my ear.

“You know, you ought to check behind you when leave places,” then the all too familiar laugh.

He turns me around to face him, his hands resting on my waist. He’s looking down, into my eyes, the colors on his face freshly defined. I notice he’s very tall, perhaps even a foot taller than me. I try to look away, and I can’t. I think part of it is the humiliation of being the one to break the starring contest. I am resolved to the idea that I will not let him break me down, not that easily.

I take notice of his hands on my waist. It’s firm, but gentle. I guess he knows in this position, I’m not dumb enough to attempt an escape, so all he needs is a gentle reminder that he’s in control. He brings his face next to mine, and I try to push mine back away from his, but then his grip on my waist becomes tighter, limiting my movement to the length of my neck.

He whispers again into my ear, “I didn’t realize I took your breath away.” He brings his face back in front of mine, and I look back, noticeable confused. Then I realize what he means; I haven’t exhaled or inhaled throughout the course of the interaction.

I exhale heavily and take in a fresh breath of air. I took in a whiff of his scent; sweat mixed with make-up, mixed with gunpowder. I remember to breath through my mouth in the future.

He smiles a crooked smile, and he leans in to kiss me, but I turn my face away. His lips land on the side of my neck, and I gasp, a little, from the shock of his lips on my neck. He buries his head into the crook of my neck, laughing into it. The vibrations of his laugh and the gently tickling of his greasy and tangled hair against my face give me involuntary goose bumps. He lifts his head up, burying his face into my hair. He takes in a deep inhale and exhales by my ear.

“We’re going to have to get you some nice shampoo,” he says. Then he takes a step back and gives me the look over, “and some new clothing, though I do like a girl in uniform.” He laughs maniacally.

He takes me by the back of my neck, this time with force, and leads me down the stairs, all the while explaining:

“This is headquarters. An old guy used to live here, and I killed him because I thought this was the ideal location. I think he was the owner of a couple of fast food chains. I figured I should put him out of his misery because no one loved him and-“.

“Arthur?” I say, weakly.

“Who?” He stops us on the steps, looking at me. I look down, “He… used to be a regular. Every night he’d get the same thing. He hadn’t come in for a while, I didn’t realize he was-“

“Does that make you sad?” He asks mockingly as he guides my head up to face him. I see he’s frowning, cartoonishly.

“No.”

He looks at me through the corners of his eyes.

“He was a miserable fuck anyway. He’s this rich and never tipped us?”

He smiles crookedly at me, and he continues leading me down the stairs.

I continue. “I thought he had a son. Some younger guy used to come in with him everyday-“

“Oh yeah, we killed him too. We chased him down route 10 and forced his car off the road.”

I thought it was kind of demented that I wasn’t more saddened by this whole story, but I figure my trauma is all focused on this one issue I’m currently facing. I don’t have the energy to be emotionally invested in anyone else, especially if he was a shithead with one foot in the grave anyway.

We entered a kitchen, very suburbanly decorated, which meant not decorated at all. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat me down, and took the chair directly across from myself. I looked down at my hands. I could feel his sneering.

“Look at me, Auburn,” I look up, slowly. “So,” he leans forward, shoulders hunched, “your job here is going to be woman’s work. You’re going to cook and clean and be judged very harshly if you fail at either. I hope you can cook.”

I nod “yes.”

He looks at me, “what?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Good, because if that didn’t work out,” he leans a little more forward as if confiding a secret, “I’d have to kill you and dump you into the Joe Schmo’ garbage bin and find a replacement, and to be honest, most of your co-workers are a little less fortunate looking.”

I blink.

“And as long as you follow all the rules, I’ll keep you as long as you stay interesting. “

I look down, stopping myself from asking what happens if I become less “interesting,” but think better of it not wanting to know the answer.

“Auburn?”

“Huh?” I look up sharply.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” I respond, quickly.

“You’re lying,” he shoots up and his chair falls over. Before I have time to process my fear, he has his hand around my neck, and he’s forcing me to look at him.

“I don’t like being lied to.” I struggle to take in short breaths. He releases me, and I fall back into the chair. He’s behind me now, and I look forward. He’s like a vulture. I can feel he’s waiting for me to die, so he can pick at my rotting corpse. He slams his hands on the table on either side of me. He has me surrounded.

“New rule,” he growls. My body tenses, not looking forward to the new rule, “when I talk to you, you look at me. You understand?”

I turn my face, slowly and deliberately. I have to crane my neck back a little as to avoid contact with his face. I look him square in the eyes.

“Yes,” I respond.

He smiles back and goes in for the kiss, and I move my head away, sharply. He rests his forehead on my cheek and pulls his head away from mine. I look him right in the eye, remembering my resolve to not let him break me down.

“Get to work.”