by M. S. Parker
“You looked so pretty, sleeping there. I kept wanting you to wake up, but when the princes kissed you, you stayed asleep. I knew that meant they weren't your true love and that if I had been there to kiss you, you would've woken up.”
I felt sick and only partially because I knew the film he was referring to was one of those my mom had drugged me for. Sometimes, they wanted me to be able to talk and act, but there were other times that, after I ate or drank something, I'd get tired. When I woke up, usually it was over. At least that part.
My mother was nothing if not resourceful. Those were the days she scheduled more than one film. I'd be awake enough to react, but still groggy enough to be easily controlled.
The biggest reason I wanted to throw up was the way he was talking, like we had some sort of magical love story.
“I had to see more. I knew that if I could just find you, we would be together forever. I went back and got all of the movies they'd released before. I subscribed to your website. I watched you grow up and fell in love with you more every day.”
I could feel the walls starting to close in and I focused on my breathing. If I had a panic attack now, I wouldn't be able to defend myself against what I knew was coming.
“Then you disappeared. Nothing new came out and all of your videos online were the same. I still watched them, but I searched for you and you weren't anywhere.” He scowled. “Then, a couple years ago, even those went away. I only had what I'd saved on my computer and the videos.” He motioned toward the TV. “This one's my favorite. It was one of the last ones made. How old were you?”
I didn't want to answer, but I felt him getting more and more tense as he'd talked and I didn't want to risk him blowing up over something so small.
“Twelve, I think.”
He smiled. “My age.”
I kept my face blank.
“Not my age now, of course,” he amended with a grin. “But the age I was when I fell in love with you. We're older now, but we'll always be twelve together.”
Oh shit. He was even more fucked up than I'd realized.
“Do you remember filming this?” he asked.
I nodded. My hands were in fists, my fingernails digging into my palms.
Hands on my legs, pushing up my skirt.
“It must have been an amazing day.” He sighed and leaned back.
The shrill laughter of my mother when I cursed at the first man and he slapped me.
I was sure they'd cut that part out.
“I've always wanted to watch it with you.”
I bit my bottom lip to stop myself from speaking. Please, no. It was bad enough to have to relive these things in my nightmares. I didn't want to see it unfolding in front of me. Especially not with someone who would get off watching it. I had a feeling, though, that I didn't have a choice in the matter.
His eyes narrowed and I could see that he was coming out of that half-dreamy state he'd been in. He shifted in his seat and the gun came to rest pointed in my direction. “We're going to watch it, and if I ask a question, you're going to answer it. I've had years to think of questions I wanted to ask, and I'm going to finally get what I want. Understand?”
I nodded. I could do this, I told myself. I'd survived it actually happening to me, and then I'd survived reliving it to testify in court and telling my therapist. I could survive this. And I'd be watching, waiting. The moment Christophe's guard was down, I'd act. An elbow to the nose or a right hook. A jab to the throat. Or, what I really wanted to do, a kick to the crotch. Anything that would give me the chance to disarm him or run. I wasn't going to be picky about which. I had no doubt that running away was a better option than seeing what else he had in store for me.
He pushed play on the remote and the film started again. He turned it up this time, turning the muffled sounds I'd originally heard into some of the voices that haunted my nightmares. I could feel his eyes on me and I turned my face toward the television, fixing my eyes at a point just above it. It kept the images fuzzy, but couldn't stop me from hearing. And just like that, I was back there, lying on that filthy mattress in the basement.
He pushed too far and I gagged, barely managing to take him into my throat without throwing up.
“What happened to your arm?” Christophe asked. His leg brushed against mine. “There was nothing wrong with your arm in Snow White Goes to Camp, but it was bandaged on some of the web videos and then it looked like you had stitches in Snow White's Day at the Beach.”
I remembered those two. The first had been the night I'd most like to forget. The second had been done at a “friend's” house, by his pond. He'd played the lifeguard who'd had to save me from drowning. I'd been on enough pain killers during the web videos between that I didn't remember them except in bits and pieces.
I considered lying, but didn't figure there was a point. With the video playing, it was easy to put myself back in that state of mind and the words just came out. “I was eight, I think. I never knew if my birthday parties were on my birthday or just for the videos.”
“There were six birthday web videos and four regular videos.”
He sounded like he actually thought he was being helpful.
I ignored him and continued with my story. Maybe, I thought, he'd understand what had happened if he knew what I'd done.
“Just after the one movie.” I couldn't bring myself to use the title. “I couldn't take it anymore. I broke the mirror in my bedroom and used a piece of it to slit my arm open.”
“Why would you do that?”
I jumped as Christophe yelled at me. Of all the reactions I'd expected, that hadn't been anywhere on the list.
“Why would you try to hurt yourself? I was waiting for you!” He grabbed my wrist with his free hand and shoved up my sleeve, exposing my scar. “Stupid, stupid girl!”
I wanted to yank my arm back, then maybe scrub it clean with bleach. His touch made me sick, but it wasn't the first time I'd had to let someone touch me when I would've preferred to slap his hand away.
His fingers squeezed my arm until I knew I'd be bruised. “Never again!” He hissed. “Don't ever try to hurt yourself again!”
“I won't. I promise.” That was one promise that would be easy to keep. It wasn't me that I planned on hurting in the near future.
He stared at me for a moment and then seemed satisfied by my answer. He turned back to the screen, but didn't let go of my arm.
“Watch,” he commanded.
“Watch yourself,” he growled. “Watch me fuck your little whore ass.”
I tried to push that memory back. It didn't belong during this video. That came from another time and place.
On screen, younger me was making pained sounds as the first man started on me.
His breath smelled like cinnamon and coffee.
“The scar on your side isn't from you hurting yourself too, is it?” he asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “I was six and I told my mom I didn't want to make a movie. She poured hot grease on me.”
“Why wouldn't you want to make your movies? You're so good in them.”
I stared at him. The fact that he sounded genuinely confused scared me more than anything else, even his violent reaction to my suicide attempt.
I didn't know how to answer that question, but he seemed to be engrossed in the action on the screen and didn't press it. As the action on the screen progressed, his grip on my arm lessened, but never quite to the point where I thought I'd be able to get away. Time began to stretch out. I tried not to watch or listen to what was happening to younger me, but whenever I started to get into a place where I was able to ignore it, Christophe would ask me a question that brought me back.
Some were strangely nonsexual. My favorite color. The books I liked to read. Others were about sex but matter-of-fact. My favorite position. Who was the best lover I'd ever had.
That question had brought a bit of clarity as Rylan's face appeared in my mind. I pushed thoughts of him aside. I couldn't think ab
out him now.
As the movie got closer to the end, the questions became more specific and more perverse, asking about specific acts he'd seen me perform. I answered them all automatically, surprising myself at how quickly it all came back, the numbness, the ability to say what needed to be said to stay alive.
I was pretty sure there was more than one movie playing but I didn't look closely enough to see any differences. All I knew for certain was that we sat there through the rest of the early morning hours, watching and listening to things that were made all the more horrific because, the entire time, I could see the outline of Christophe's erection straining against the front of his pants.
Finally, as the last one ended, he let go of my arm and stood, keeping the gun on me as he did it. My focus sharpened and adrenaline flooded my system, pulling me out of the almost hypnotic state I'd been in. Something was about to happen.
Chapter 19
“There's a bag on the floor next to you,” he gestured with the gun. “Pick it up.”
I leaned down slowly. I didn't like the idea of looking away from him, but I didn't think he would suddenly attack me. It wouldn't have made any sense. I knew that what he wanted from me wasn't going to be as simple as a flat out attack.
I picked up the bag and put it on my lap before opening it. As soon as I saw what was inside, everything inside me froze.
“Do you like it?”
I couldn't speak at first, even though I knew that the longer I waited, the bigger the chance he would get pissed and decide that shooting me was the best option. Bile was rising in my throat. This couldn't be happening. Not again.
No. I wasn't that girl on the screen anymore. She was gone. Buried deep in the past.
But as had been made abundantly clear over the last couple hours, the past wasn't gone and what was buried didn't always stay that way.
Further proof was sitting on my lap and Christophe was standing a few feet away, waiting for my response.
“I-I don't know what to say.” That seemed like the safest thing to say. It was the truth because there weren't any words to describe what I was feeling at this moment.
“Take it out.”
I reached into the bag, hoping he couldn't see my hands shaking. I didn't want to touch it. One of the reasons I wore the clothes I wore, chose those specific styles and fabrics, was because there were certain things that had been such a part of my childhood that the feel of them sent me right back there. Before I picked it up, I knew that it was made of that filmy sheer shit that made up little girls' princess costumes, except I knew this would be like the other dresses I'd worn. There wouldn't be any of the solid material under the sheer.
I pulled it out and saw that I was right. The one thing I hadn't expected was for it to be not just similar to those dresses, but for it to be identical. Christophe had managed to find an adult-sized version of the main dress I'd worn in the Snow White movies.
“I had it specially made.”
Well, that explained one thing.
“I wanted our first time together to be perfect. Magical. Just like it always should have been.”
And that confirmed what I was the most afraid of. He didn't just want to have sex with me. Him forcing himself on me would be bad enough, but I could get through it. I'd done it before. That wasn't what he wanted though. He wanted me to be that girl. To be Snow White again. And he was going to make me relive my darkest moments. I didn't doubt for one moment that it would end there. He wouldn't only make me re-enact one of the movies. He would do each one. It wouldn't take him long to realize that, as possessive as he sounded, that he wanted to see other men use me, and that would be when all of the repeats would begin. Including... that night. The one that had made me feel like I had no other option but suicide. I'd come a long way since then and I was older now, but if I had to go through that again, I wasn't sure I could survive.
Or if I'd want to.
“Put it on.”
I looked up at Christophe, my face a blank mask. “Here?”
He shook his head. “In there.” He pointed back toward my bedroom. “Here's what's going to happen. We're both going to walk back there, nice and slow. I'm going to pick up your phone and make sure no one interrupts us.” He smiled at me. “I've been waiting too long for this.”
I put the bag back on the floor.
“There's something else in there.”
I reached into the bag, flinching when I felt something strange against my fingers. I didn't let it stop me though. I pulled it out... and wished I hadn't.
It was a wig. Shoulder length and ebony black. It was the closest I'd ever seen to my natural color.
“I wish you hadn't dyed your hair.” He reached out as if to touch me, then stopped. “It took me days to recognize you. You'll have to take out those piercings too. I want it to be perfect.”
“So we go back to my room and I dress up?”
He nodded. “Just like in the movie. You'll be the princess again and this time, when your prince kisses you, you'll wake up and we'll get to live happily ever after.”
I stared at him. How the hell did this man function in normal society? How had he managed to keep all of this crazy from seeping out all over the place?
His smile widened.
“It's so nice to finally be able to talk to you. I've had friends over the years who could understand to a point. They shared my love of you, but I knew none of them were your soul mate.”
Great. He already had a group of men who liked me. I was probably too old for them now, but there could be ways to make me look even younger. Not a child, but definitely younger.
“Now, it's time.” He motioned for me to stand. “I'll take your phone and then I'll step out so you can prepare.”
I stood.
“Once you're dressed, lie down on the bed and go to sleep. Then I'll come in and we'll finally get to be together.”
The two of us started down the hall. My mind raced as I walked as slowly as I dared. Moving from the living room to the bedroom changed things. Getting out would be harder now, but maybe I could find a way to get someone's attention, let them know that I needed help.
I had a window in my bedroom, but the air conditioner was in it, sealed in. I couldn't get it open without making way too much noise. I could try to lock the bedroom door and then block it with my dresser, like I'd thought about doing when I'd first woken up. That might give me the time I needed to get the air conditioner out. After that, I just needed to get down the fire escape.
Unfortunately, once Christophe took my phone and stuck it in his pocket, he stepped into the hallway and left the door partway open.
“If you need any help, let me know,” he said. “I'll be able to hear you quite clearly.”
I heard the unspoken warning in his words. Don't try to lock him out or try anything funny.
The best I could do was stall as much as possible and hope that something happened. Worst case scenario, I let Christophe do what he wanted and then wait for him to fall asleep. He'd been up for a long time and looking forward to this even longer. The more I dragged it out, the quicker that part would take if it came to it.
I took off my pajamas, hesitated, then pulled the dress over my head. The feel of the fabric made my skin crawl. The hem hit me mid-thigh and the chest was tight, making me feel like I was trying to fit into something from my childhood. That didn't help things.
“Are you dressed?” Christophe called from the hallway.
“I'm taking out the piercings now,” I said. I removed each one automatically as I looked around my room. There had to be something here I could use. A weapon of some kind. What was it my self-defense instructor had said? That if my attacker was bigger than me, leverage was my greatest weapon.
An idea formed. It wasn't one I liked too well, but it was better than waiting for him to fall asleep. I set the last of my jewelry on my dresser and picked up the wig. I didn't want to wear it, but I couldn't implement my plan unless I got Christophe in here,
and I knew he wouldn't come in unless I was wearing the wig.
I pulled it on and tucked my hair underneath it. It was itchy, but I pushed that aside. Mild discomfort was nothing.
“I'm dressed,” I said. I was surprised that my voice wasn't shaking.
“Get onto the bed and go to sleep.”
As I climbed onto the bed, I felt the memories circling, bringing the darkness with them. I knew if I let them through, if I gave in to the past, I'd be lost. If I hyperventilated here and passed out, I wouldn't wake up, safe. There wouldn't be strong arms holding me and protecting me. There would be no soothing voice and kind words. I knew if I was unconscious, I would wake up to Christophe on top of me, acting out his adolescent fantasy.
If I wanted to survive this, I needed to save myself. Lily wasn't here this time. Rylan wasn't here, and if I wanted to see him again, I had to use the strength that Lily had always said she saw in me. I allowed myself just one moment to think of Rylan, of how he made me feel. Safe. Real. I could do this.
I laid down the way I'd always been told to, half on my side, half on my back. But I didn't close my eyes all the way. Through slitted lids, I saw Christophe come in. My heart pounded in my chest as he took off his clothes, never letting the gun waver. Only when he was fully undressed did he set the gun aside. I felt a surge of wild hope. That was exactly what I'd hoped he'd do.
He came toward me and I tensed, but for the first time, it wasn't fear. I was getting ready.
“My princess,” he whispered as he climbed onto the bed.
I forced myself to stay still, to wait until he was close enough to touch. As he leaned down to kiss me, I made my move. My knee came up even as I grabbed for him, nails slashing at his face. The second I felt something hard against my knee, I knew I'd misjudged. I hit his hip and my nails caught his neck rather than his face. I didn't have time to be scared though because he was grabbing my wrists with one hand and the other struck me across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek. The second blow dazed me.
I waited for the assault even as my brain scrambled to try to get my body working. Instead, Christophe climbed off of the bed and went for his pants. I stared stupidly for a moment, then tried to push myself up, but my arms weren't obeying. I heard Christophe muttering, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. The tone, however, was clear. He was pissed. All I'd managed to do was make him mad.