Chapter Text
Pondering into the night, the rain pouring down soaking his dampened trench coat. The sound of leather boots colliding the stony streets muted by each splash they contact the watery surface. Street lamps illuminate heavy water drops, its light showing a figure of a man emerging from the shadow. Abruptly pacing through a shivering wind, he stops outside a store which is seemingly vacant. The flickering neon sign says “The Honey.” He entered the old store, attempting to escape the breeze, but the cooling air traveled through the cracks on the building wall nonetheless. Dodging table remains and various junks, he paced to an old ruined door which was strangely stored in the corner. The other side of the door there’s a staircase leading him to the basement. Each stomp sends a squeaking noise, damaging his ears.
Beneath the old store there is an empty square room, packed with the smell of wet carpet. Its ceiling is painted as a clear blue sky with a few clouds and a Sun with a smiley face in the center. The Sun is shining as it’s the only light source in the room, sending some warmth to his cold skin. Its walls are decorated as a children's playroom, full with paintings of imaginative flowers and houses on each side of the walls, giving an uneasy feeling in his stomach. The man walked to the painted house on the left side of the room and extended his hand to its yellow door. He pushed the mechanic which is hidden in the painted door knob, click, click, screech, click, revealing a secret door.
He opened the door and walked through a passageway. His boots stepped on the concrete floor, echoing the corridor, which led to an automatic locked door. He bent his right knee slightly and reached down the shallow pantry shelf on his right, adjusting a blue jar on the second-last row of the shelf to its left. Standing back up again, he turned the handle of a red mug on the shelf’s third row to the right, granting access to the keypad lock on the door. He picked up a book beside the mug and opened it, revealing a yellow switch handle. He put the handle on the switch beside the keypad and flicked it open, activating it. He entered the password, unlocking the door. Eventually, he’s inside his secret lair.
He took off his coat and hung it on the coat racks, hanging his hat on the hat rack and then changing his leather boots to diesel boots. “WEIC0M3, W3LCOME h0ME!” was written on the plain wall near the entrance, each letter was painted in different colors and styles, various in their patterns. There’s three ceramic cat figurines, which were on the table underneath the quote, each performing different acts, sitting, sleeping and walking. He patted the one on the left, the sitting cat. His lair was decorated and designed as an average normal house which gave off a cozy and relaxed atmosphere. He walked down the hallway decorated with well-framed pictures and plastic plants, reaching a white wooden door which was labeled “NO GET IN!!”
The door creaks dramatically when it is pushed. He reached the light switch and turned it on. Click. And shutted the door behind him. There’s a human sized feminine figure sitting in the center of the room mocking a curly brunette wearing an apron.
“Good morning, Laura.”
He opened a wooden box on its lap, which was held between both of the mannequin’s delicate hands. A sudden raucous symphony overthrew the reticence. It used to lull children to sleep, but as days went by, it was left untuned and discordant.
In spite of how out of tune the melody was, there was a glimpse of familiar rhythm dancing in the sudden warming air surrounding them. How could something be this dissociating and also have such nostalgia? Yearning for answers, he reached his hand out to the box, closing his eyes shut. Feeling its wooden texture, recalling the mahogany senses. He breathed it in, filling his lungs with its scent, and then let out a half breathe. He shook his head, ditching an unanswered inquisitiveness. Opening the eyelids gradually, inviting lazy lights from an outmoded bisque lamp beside them.
Glancing inside the box, he remembered what he was here for.
“May I take this?” He said, picking up a miniscule keychain.
CRACK. The mannequin abruptly turned her head with an unnatural velocity.
. . .
Their eyes met for a while till one of them broke the eerie silence. Her unfeeling eyes staring deep into his soul, as he walked outside the room and shut the door.
Laura was a daughter, a wife, a mother of two. She passed away approximately four years ago, in May. No one grieved her death. And none mourned for her.
I’ve met her… seventeen years ago,
It was one of my old friend’s birthdays. We had a good time at some bar across town with some other friends. Most of us were wasted. I admitted I was slightly drunk, but I was conscious enough to drag them to the motel room nearby we booked beforehand. I should be resting, but overwhelmed with exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep that night, so I went to the same bar and drank some more, hoping it would put me to sleep. And I did. But… There’s a woman there. She’s quite attractive. We talked and I thought we got along pretty well, but I passed out in the middle of our conversation…
Next thing I know I was somewhere else.
A shaft of ceiling bulbs pierced through his heavy eyelids, half opened half closed. Everything was a blur. He squeezed his eyes and opened them again, attempting to regain some focus. But, he could only see in colors, white ceiling and a moving silhouette. His head throbbing, his body paralyzed and numb, it was probably a hangover. While he was regaining his consciousness, something guided his arm to connect with the moving figure. Smooth, plushy, oily. He heard breathy mutters, sounded soothing ang feminine. The ceiling was spinning, as if he was rotating in place. What’s happening? He tried to speak the words and failed miserably. The voices attempted to pass through his dry throat had turned into moans. Not long after that, the figure was larger, closing in, hot air blowing all over his face like heated blankets. And then, he felt lighter… and soaked. Did he piss himself? No, he stopped pissing in his sleep long ago. Sleep, bed. He blinked again. Processing the situation, his eyes widened in shock. I’m fucking? Why– how?
“Wha–” Before he could utter a word, his mouth was sealed shut with another’s. Feeling a rhythmic high-pitched vibration and a piece of flesh in his mouth, uncomfortable wetness drooling down beside his cheeks. Was it before or after the kiss? The warning he had attempted to make had ended up being a soft whimper. He turned and pushed her away, breaking the kiss. He held back his force, making sure her arms would not bruise. His heart’s palpitation as if it was going to explode out of his chest. His breath was so rapid he felt like his lungs were going to tear. He took a good glance at the woman. He knew her.
“Laura?” Her name slipped through his mind. “Why-” His voice cracked with overwhelming confusion and betrayal and other unnamed emotions.
He began accessing his surroundings. Queen sized bed. White ceiling, white walls, an organized desk, well-decorated. And then himself. He was naked. Covered in fluids. Gross. He felt dirty.
“Wh– where am I?” He questioned the woman with a stern voice, demanding answers.
“My place,” she replied, "Don’t you remember?”
“Like hell I am!” He shouted out his mixed feelings — ashamed and enraged. Hints of tears ready to burst out. But suddenly, there were knocks on the door interrupting his ongoing yelling. Laura abruptly picked up a dress, which was currently on the floor, then stood up and put it on. She opened the door ajar and squatted down.
“Mommy, I heard yelling. Is it dad? I wanna show daddy my latest drawing.” His heart dropped at a sweet, tiny voice of a little girl by the door, calling out to her mother. His lips were pulled apart by the shock.
Laura frowned and replied sadly, “Oh, no, honey. That’s not daddy.”
The child tilted her head with her childish curiosity, “Then who?”
“Ah…” she trailed off. Her eyes unconsciously darted roughly everywhere as she was finding a suitable answer for the little girl. “He’s a friend of mine. We just had a little fall out, you don’t have to worry about me, Abby.” The girl nodded.
“My sweet little angel always cares about me,” Laura smiled softly and put her arms around her little angel. “I am so blessed with you.” The girl giggled cheerfully at her mom’s words. A smile painted all over her youthful face as she offered her help on preparing the table for breakfast. Laura thanked her little girl for her offer and kissed briefly on her forehead. Before the girl left, she spoke up a little for her mom’s friend to hear her, “Good morning!” He could not utter a word in reply.
“Seems like you’re joining us for breakfast.” The woman said coldly.
“You— you monster,” his voice cracked in disbelief. “How could you use a child’s innocence— no, your child’s innocence against me?” He raised his voice, screaming in a whisper. “How disgusting can you be?!” The room filled with nothing but his quiet whimpers and the monster wearing the skin of a woman looked at him with a blank expression on its face.
She sighed in disappointment and rummaged through her closet, and put men’s attire beside him on the bed. He flinched when she reclined near him, and then, he just froze. He threw the attire at the door as she closed the door, leaving the room.
What is this feeling? He asked himself, knowing damn well that it wouldn’t be answered. The embarrassment, the shame, and the violation had sent him an eternal tremor down his spine. He had shown how weak and vulnerable he was and how stupid he was. It felt like shit. He knew how he always drowned in his thoughts, but this time it was not just about how he would walk or how he would react to others’ sayings. Perhaps he would drown forever in a bottomless ocean of confusion.
Reminding himself of reality, he blinked. Pulling himself up from a pool of thoughts, he looked down at his hands, forearms, and then his abdomen. Attempting to brush away the various liquids sticking on his exposed body—sweats, saliva, semen, and who knows what else—his hands were stained and tainted awfully. Disgusting, dirty, nasty. Those were all he could think about, repeating themselves in his mind like a broken record.
God, I really need a shower.
He noticed another door, assuming it was a bathroom door. He hoped it was, and it was. He tried to stand up, but his trembling legs and aching hips refused his order and eventually obeyed gravity. After the shock, everything was quieted down into a deadly silence. His whole body went limp and unmoving with fatigue from hours of being used, despite the temptation to clean himself. Letting a moment pass, he tried again and successfully stood up. He swore he almost ran into the shower.
The water ran down his stained and dirty physique, washing away the discomforts. His vision suddenly became blurry and disoriented; thus, he closed his eyes and leaned against a tile wall for support. His unbearable headache had sent him down on the tile floor. He hugged himself tightly; its pressure had disrupted the blood flow. The water streaming down his face became hotter. His face became hotter. And then he heard a rhythmic whining breath. Was he laughing? Was he crying?
The rage inside was building up more and more as time passed. Every second, he felt angrier. Why didn’t he punch that monster, beating her into a bloody pulp? Instead, he let an eternal flame of anger out on the tiles, painting them red and covering his knuckles with crimson. His eyes followed the bloody trail running down the drain, neglecting the sharp pain with a warm sensation whenever he attempted to move a finger. It doesn’t matter.
He dressed up while being spaced out; his mind was shutting down from overwhelming anger. There was a girl who stopped at the sight of him. She couldn’t be older than six, judging by her height. The girl greeted the stranger as she gleefully led him to the dining table. He wondered what expression he was making at the moment because the girl looked away nervously as if she immediately shifted to a shy kid, almost socially awkward. When was he downstairs again? He didn’t know.
He only finished a quarter of a bland meal in front of him, losing his appetite completely. He was so dazed and lightheaded, until a warmth on his thigh. His breath hitched at the touch, flinching away. He turned his head to the woman instinctively. His grip on the cutlery became stiff, the knuckles turning white. Despite the injuries, his nerves had set aside the enduring pain. Muscles trembling, eyes widened in shock. Sudden cold running down his spine. A white piece of a fried egg was in his open mouth. A very bland piece of fried egg.
Why didn’t I move? Why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I– Why didn’t I?
. . .
Minutes had passed, or perhaps hours had passed unnoticed. He failed to realize how far he’d walked. Trudging along an inconspicuous street, laborious steps struggled to balance one’s body. And eventually, his insensate body surrendered to gravity. His head collided with a cement footpath; eyes opened; numbness had already possessed his body a long time before the impact. He did not feel the pain, but instead he felt like he only watched the aforementioned fall happen. Like the body was not his. Drowning in a pool of his own blood, his uninflated lungs ignored the hopeless attempts of the muscles, which instinctively had forced them to. The heart’s palpitations conducted a vague rhythm, gradually ebbing away. Inaudible voices called out to the semi conscious body. Despite such a forlorn attempt, everything quietened down to silence.