Behind these walls I've built,

the lonely soul I've nearly killed,

fragile, swept away

by overflow of decay,

of pain, of desolation,

from dust gathered

in search of love, but finding

the pursuit and the catch

both and, neither nor

can fill the fearful ache

as our emaciated souls

hope ever for.

The whisper that sounds

in the hollow in my heart,

like all men,

the minstrel’s song of war,

as old as time,

a dance with all my demons:

the dark tower,

and the garden...

With a smile, painted on,

the heart in exile

the faithful heart,

faithful, stony bower,

torn apart in search of

what shadow cannot steal.

Houses and hearts, in ways the same,

each the canvas, blank

of true love and sorrow, both,

till we take up the paint.

The scale and the color of our love

heart to heart, soul to soul--

for man may there be mercy

if in these he fails:

to paint a porcelain heart

with tender eyes of hope,

leaving it to shatter,

the canvas to be splattered?

When what we treasure most

becomes our agony,

for desiring from afar

the embrace of another heart with lock and key,

can still we choose

to suffer with

and thus from walls be freed?

No one am I to dare such things,

and yet I wonder:

can my walled up soul still choose

to love the one in front of me?

Do the love and the will

of a cracked heart such as mine--

all my rubble here to find--

read as I hope they do:

a letter to you,

detailing an honest confession,

the mosaic of a weary life,

setting sail to port and home,

my home now made anew

by my love for you...?

But sit awhile and speak with me,

about love beyond what I perceive,

and teach me the power of a name,

from which I've often turned, afraid,

the hope of Misericordiae--

of mercy in my broken state,

the consequence of the places I have been.

And if we go from thought to thought,

in which we ponder many things,

let lost hope be mine once more,

the chance of the sun in my soul,

to break through mud, brick, and stone...

The fear of never being whole

stripped away from my soul:

At last opening a tiny door

in my heart,

and there not hiding anymore.

It was a cold spring evening when I first began to notice it. I’d just stepped out of the door to hit the shops, right before closing, when the scrape and clang of metal rang out behind me.

There was nothing around that could explain the sound, and certainly nothing as close as it felt. In a different environment, it might be ordinary, but here it was shocking and unfamiliar. All the same, I dismissed it. It was easy to do once it had ended: perhaps the sound wasn’t so harsh, or maybe there was some obvious point of origin I hadn’t considered. I went on my way, content to push it from my mind.

It sounded again while I sat on a bus, a week later. No one else even looked up, while I clung to the edges of my seat in absolute certainty that the bus was being torn apart. When the vehicle moved, and there was no explosion or rupturing of engines, I dismissed it again. I always did have an active imagination, perhaps I was too easily frightened.

The next time it came to me I was sat in an open field. The sunlight streamed down, and there was nothing but beautiful and buzzing nature in sight. The rusty scrape and clang split the natural and comfortable silence, and a few crows flew up, possibly perturbed by the noise as much as myself. After that the silence fell empty and cold, and I remained there, shivering in a sudden and aching isolation.

I looked over my shoulder often after that. In each and every quiet moment I waited for the tearing and screeching metal.

It didn’t come.

The next time, I came to it.

I’d been walking through a maze of houses for some time, attempting to find my way to a small shop I’d been told about. Hannah’s directions were quite terrible, and I found myself entirely lost and walking rather hopelessly. The streets were silent, not even a car to be seen, but I was so distracted by finding my way that in this moment of quiet I didn’t remember the scrape. The clang.

I eventually turned down an alley, only to find myself looking at a set of steps leading downwards.

In retrospect, I should have recalled that the town only sloped upwards in that direction. That as such, there was no possible place for that stairway to lead, not really. I should have recognised the scraping - distant now, as if behind a door, but there all the same. Instead, I dragged my weary body down those steps in the hope of finding myself closer to my destination. I wouldn’t.

Three steps down. I couldn’t see to the bottom, it was as though my vision was blurred. I could just about make out the shapes of buildings.

Six steps down. The screeching came into focus, drawn out and persistent. I looked over my shoulder to see only blackness. I knew I couldn’t turn back.

Ten steps down. The buildings ahead were metal; industrial sheets welded together at odd angles. The doors bore huge and old fashioned locks, along with deadbolts on the outside that were, mostly, open.

Fifteen steps down. A face peered out through a gash in the metal, that was lined with solid bars like a prison. The face was pallid and fearful, with white knuckles gripping tight on the jagged edges of the opening.

Two more steps, and my feet hit the ground. There were no more stairs behind me then, only dark.

The ground beneath my feet was metal; rusty and irregular.

I heard the scrape, tear, clang.

Then a resounding thud.

The sound got nearer - coming up behind me from within a blackness my eyes could not penetrate.

A screech split the air, and joined the scraping in an unearthly and discordant thrumming.

My heart pressed desperately against my ribs, pounding as though against the bars of a cage that it might somehow escape. My skin now ice cold, I turned and saw yet more faces pressed at the gaps in the metal. Eyes were wide and fearful. In many places there were a few pressed together, trembling with one set of hands gipping another.

The metallic rasping got nearer. I couldn’t make my feet move again. My knees trembled, each breath ragged and empty.

A painful cry of despair suddenly erupted from one of the buildings, a deadbolt clanged open, and a figure ran out to me. She surged forward; her searching hand finding my own and pulling me, stumbling, into action.

I followed as quickly as I could manage, but she pulled me on still faster. Her nails bit crescents into my hand and my shoulder ached and tore as she dragged on my arm. The metal plates beneath my feet resounded with every footfall; the vibrations sending tremors up through me that made my muscles weaken and quiver.

We turned down one street, and then another. Each one had the same houses that could have been pieced together from a scrapyard, the same grim faces looking out, the same strange deadbolts. Some bolted shut. The screech and rasp kept coming: at times closer or further, but always coming. The figure ahead of me didn’t look back. She ran determinedly on, her bare feet drawing little sound from the plates beneath us. I felt like every sound from my own thudding soles would draw it closer.

Was drawing it closer.

Screeeeeeeee

I looked behind me.

I shouldn’t have looked.

It towered immensely, silhouetted against the setting sun. Its outline, for that was all I could see, was irregular and angular; it was as though it had been welded together much like the buildings that surrounded us. It was so huge that for every dozen steps we took, it took but one. And it was gaining, its long arms dragging and scraping on the ground.

Then it disappeared from view as she yanked me around a corner, and just the rasping and screeching remained.

There was a chilling scream from our right. The figure looked to the side, and I saw her face for the first time; pallid and gaunt like all the others. Her mouth hung open in a wordless terror, her pace faltered, her nails pressed deeper. I didn’t look.

Couldn’t.

A roar of bending and twisting metal filled the air. More screams. An iron door, now torn in two, flew through the air in front of us. I felt something fly by my head.

I couldn’t look.

More wrenching and twisting and rasping. The screeching from the creature grew higher and louder. Closer - from the right, not behind now. So close.

The figure snapped her jaw closed; gritted teeth and turned. She pulled harder and faster. My shoulder surged with burning and aching.

A heavy thud. Clang. Right behind us. I could feel the massive vibrations through the soles of my feet, shaking up my spine to my skull. My shoulder burned as though my arm could pull free of it, and there was a horrible crack and splitting agony as I was thrown forward. I spun around as she let my hand go, her face set intently on mine.

I did not look at the shape behind her.

“Go!” she screamed, and pushed me backwards.

Then I was falling, time slowed for a moment. Her hand reached out, then pulled back. She turned quickly, and a hand with claws that eclipsed her whole body was above her. It thrust down, fast, and she was thrust down with it. Into the ground.

I was falling. Blackness engulfed the scene. And me. It was as though I might fall forever. I was almost convinced I did.

My back hit the ground with a small impact, as though I’d fallen no more than a step. Above me, the black that I fell from melted away to leave just the evening sky. Then it all went black once again.

-----------------------

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed the next town over. Someone had found me there, apparently. In the middle of a road in an unfamiliar town, with a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and strange scratches in my palm.

I couldn’t tell them why I woke up screaming.

Couldn’t answer their questions about what happened.

Couldn’t tell them about the stranger whose life I stole. Who found me in that unknown place, and saved me from it. I’m not sure I’d want to.

I still hear the screech and clang in quiet moments. Sometimes, I see an improbable stairway. I turn away.

James wishes he knew what they were.

They held each other every night, the four gray walls of their dorm room at Briarwood Prep, the only which had seen it. They shared "I love you's." They shared dreams.

In his head, James saw a future: he saw himself and Chris in some great city, New York or Paris, unafraid to just be themselves. The crowd too full to care. But he began to doubt if Chris saw that same future.

He did not see the quiet way James's heart broke when he suggested that he start "dating" Nancy Callahan. "It's not real." He insisted. But it's 1965. And they're seventeen years old. And what people think still matters.

Chris had become paranoid, when his younger brother began asking questions as to the nature of their relationship. Perhaps bringing James to Thanksgiving was a mistake, a hidden line that took it all too far.

"It's not real." Chris said. "It doesn't change how I feel about you."

But in that dance hall, looking on as Nancy and Chris whisper and laugh and dance too closely, it feels real enough to James. He looks after them, joined by Chris's commiserating brother, who's love for Nancy mirrors his for Chris.

He looks at them--the perfect couple. The star basketball player and the studious book worm. And he saw that future too. The marriage, the kids, the suburban home, the easy life that Chris could have.

Long enough, he stares until his heart can't handle the burden. Briskly, he stands from his table of broken hearts and escapes outside the hall.

A slow tune begins to play, an old Broadway ballad. On the Town if James can recall:

Where's all the time gone to?

Haven't done half the things I want to.

Oh well, we'll catch up some other time.

James begins to cry, because the lyrics feel all too real. He leans himself against a strong oak tree and lets his eyes flutter closed.

He wishes he did not see Chris and Nancy arm and arm when he did.

His eyes fly open as a strong hand grips his shoulder. He turns to see Chris, his Chris, with love and sadness in his eyes.

He does not speak a word, but James can hold it in no more. "I know you said it wasn't real. But it hurts. Seeing you with her."

For a moment Chris is confused, as if he'd forgotten Nancy's very existence. And then his face twists into a mysterious sadness that only he could understand. Lightly, Chris grabs the sides of James face, pulling him in until their heads touched ever so lightly.

James closed his eyes once more. Allowed himself to breathe Chris in; his perfumed scent, his steady heartbeat, as if this was the last time.

"Please." Chris begs, truly begs. James had never heard such pleading in his voice. "Just hold on a little bit longer."

James starts to sob, though he wills himself not to, for fear of looking weak. "I don't know if I can." he chokes out.

"Once we graduate, we disappear. We can be anyone we want." Chris says, and James looks up, eyes filled with sudden wonder. Because this is the first time Chris had mentioned that future at all. And in that brief glimpse, James could see--the love, the passion, the dreams the two could share. And it was beautiful. And it was worth holding on to.

Just when the fun is starting

Comes the time for parting

But let's be glad for what we had

And what's to come

James had almost forgotten the music, lightly dancing in the spring wind. Chris holds out an open hand. An invitation, and a promise.

"Dance with me?"he asks. And James looks around in awe, because the world was all around them. The starry sky, the grassy campus, the dance hall full of life, only a breath away.

"Here?" he asks, unsure he heard the words. Perhaps he merely dreamed them. Because they were far from those four gray walls and so close to normal it hurt.

"Right here." Chris confirms. "Right now."

And James wrapped himself around the man he loves for all his might, because he did not know when this moment would end. And they swayed, two souls in the empty night. And perhaps that beautiful future would not be or could not be. But right here, right now they were perfect. And that was everything.

And lightly that tuned continued. That beautiful sad tune that had somehow become theirs.

There's so much more embracing

Still to be had, but time is racing

Oh well, we'll catch up some other time.

I took my wife to lunch in my hometown today. We passed a cleaning business that was Prime Time Video once. There at eighteen I worked for $5.15 an hour and free rentals, and one night…

She entered as I held the keys to lock up for close, and we held one another. She was confused and scared, she said, and she still loved me, but she needed time. I loved her, too, and in those fifteen minutes her body felt the same in my arms as it had six months before. She left. I released my yearning soul in an e-mail before I slept, saying all I regretted and loved and wished.

But that wasn’t the time she had asked for. I broke it, that thing of fervent prayers that had been within reach for a night. I would have followed her; I knew what she was worth. I cried.

It’s funny now, especially the math. That night was 18 years, a marriage, two children, a career, and three home video formats ago. I will go to bed now. I met my wife, my love, in a college film class, and she is quietly breathing there by my pillow.

I am going to put this pin on today and walk outside being proud of myself in the world for the trans gay bean I am.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Or I’m going to sit on the floor and sob over [insert 48 different fandom specific things here] for the next three hours while I eat this bowl of cold ramen and probably threaten to delete my best friend’s kneecaps. And then eat more ramen. Then it’s fanfic time. Then crying over my lack of ownership of any beanies and not enough flannel shirts (I have at least 12 of them). Then cry over my lack of boyfriend. Then more kneecap deletion. Then more [insert fandom]. Then probably dissociate from reality for a couple hours. Then more ramen. Then more fanfic. Then more-

I’m just a gay bean that just wants my cup of ramen to be warm, a beanie or ten, and a boyfriend. Please. That’s all I ask.

He could feel it

His body turning to dust

Like the others around him

He didn’t wanna go

Not now. Not when they’re almost done.

He could do nothing but feel pain

I don’t feel so good.

As he stumbled over to the man who helped him

The man who shaped him

His hero, mentor, father-figure.

It wouldn’t be long before he too was gone

So he fell into the man’s arms

And in a voice holding nothing but fear,

I don’t wanna go, please, I don’t wanna go.

He fell to the ground his feet turned to particles

Continuing until only his head remained.

He managed to get two words out to the man

Before the dust took him like it did countless others

The man with eyes stricken with grief and despair and anger

The man who could only watch as the boy left this world

I’m sorry.

Lena was moments away from being burned alive.

Mia had actually done it.

She'd lit the match.

She’d thrown it into the puddle of gasoline leaking from the pipe, screaming arson, chanting about how much she wanted to watch this place burn.

How much she wanted to burn.

“We're going to die in here,” Lena whispered, struggling to keep her voice monotone as she continued to stare directly into the other girl's deep brown eyes. They weren't cold anymore-not like before. They were blazing, filled with an indescribable passion, and she felt herself being drawn closer and closer until they were almost touching.

Lena could feel her breath on her face.

“Probably,” Mia said.

And that was that.

Those were the last words they ever said to one another.

As they inched closer and closer together, it was as if their minds were melding, melting, into one.

Neither of their gazes ever wavered.

‘What if we were friends for the night?’ Lena had asked herself earlier.

‘What if I wasn't the school's reject and she wasn't the cruel, pretentious ice-queen that everyone made us out to be?’

'What if we were the same?'

She'd never thought someone like Mia Singh could even get angry because Mia was perfect.

She passed every test, went to every student council meeting and had the highest grades in their entire class.

Lena had thought she was soaring, but it turns out they were one and the same.

They'd been drowning.

And now, they were both burning.

Lena felt the flames catch onto her skirt, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she wanted to burn too.

Somehow, Mia already knew that. Lena didn't need to tell her.

‘What if we could be more than friends for a night?’

Mia pressed their foreheads together and suddenly amidst the flames, Lena felt hot.

She was burning her from the inside out and Lena wanted her to.

She wanted her to, so badly.

She wanted her.

She wanted-

Suddenly the steel gray doors of the basement storage room burst open and in came a horde of men in uniforms shouting orders at one another and snatching them away from the flames.

Lena hacked smoke out of her lungs and shook all the of the soot from her hair, gulping up the fresh night air.

One of the firefighters immediately asked them if they were okay.

He told them that his department had gotten an alert that to their school's core temperature had risen to unprecedented amounts and that he and his squad had driven over as fast as they could.

He told them he was sorry the department hadn't gotten to us sooner and asked them how the fire started in the first place.

She let Mia do the talking.

She let the girl craft a wonderful tale about how the pipes had burst and how Lena's cigarettes had accidentally triggered the fire.

The chief gave Lena a look of disappointment but not surprise.

He'd taken one look at the gauges in her ears, her greasy, knotted hair and her scrawny bony figure, and decided he could trust Mia's story because apparently pretty girls with glasses can’t lie. He kept asking Mia more questions and then asked another firefighter to call their parents.

Lena's mother didn't pick up until the 5th call.

She asked the firefighter to drive her daughter home because she was sleeping and they’d all just interrupted her.

God forbid anyone interrupts her beauty rest.

Mia's parents came mere moments after getting the call.

They looked livid. Her father questioned every single firefighter in sight while her mother criticized the school, calling it a place unfit and wildly dangerous for the likes of her daughter.

That made Lena smile a bit.

If only she knew how dangerous Mia truly was.

Her mother gave Lena a fleeting glance, looking at her as if she were some stain on the bottom of her shoe.

She was used to it.

Before being hauled off into her parents' car Mia gave Lena one last look.

Her eyes were cold again, just like they had been before the fire.

‘What if we could-’

That didn’t matter.

They were strangers once more.

.

Whosoever is delighted in solitude

is either a wild beast or a god

Francis Bacon

Sometimes life resembles a fairytale and everything works right. You are satisfied with what you got and never really look back at what can go wrong. But usually, life gives you a hard time and complicates itself with every passing day. My life wasn’t easy, my family wasn’t that of a dream; my dad causing trouble wherever he went - he was good from nature but sometimes the need for money took over everything else.

Even the safety of his only daughter.

So here I was now, sitting in a dark attic, without a way out. A sadistic woman kidnapping me and taking as a hostage. Using my as leverage to her own plan, because my father once more wanted more then he could swallow.

❋

It was just a week ago when somebody attacked me and pulled me to the ground. Using a rope and a sedative to achieve their goal. Throwing me into a car and taking me to some strange house that seemed to be crumbling into pieces, but at the same time proved to be impossible to run away from.

❋

I remember the time when I first woke up. My hands in a tightrope, laying on some old bed. A headache spreading faster than a fiver. I blinked a couple of times, not understanding the situation, my mind a bit fuzzy and in a daze - lifting my head and trying to look around. The thought that I'm in an attic spreading, a lot of clutter everywhere. Big cardboard boxes, old rugs, just a bunch of stuff on every surface - and a very angry looking young woman in the center of it all.

What happened to me... why am I here?

I see someone’s up.

She says smiling darkly.

Did you have a good sleep princess?

What are you talking about, I don’t even...

My head starts to hurt even more, and I close my eyes to regain some control or at least some clarity.

Don’t worry sweetheart, that’s just the sedative leaving your body. It will pass soon.

Why. Am. I. HERE ?!

I blurted out, my stomach making somersaults. I open my eyes again and flinch. She’s coming to me with speed, her face catching more light. I freeze and stare at her, not able to look away. It’s not the anger and cruelty on her face that scares me so much. Her face is covered with strange scars, they’re white and almost pulsating with a bright glow - as if there is a little light moving underneath her skin and “blinking” from time to time. I want to scream, but somehow manage to stop. This was just a bad dream, some strange kind of a joke. This woman, she must have special makeup on her face, that just has to be it. I stare at the scar starting under her eye. It goes past her cheek, down her jaw and then curves to the right, disappearing under her grey shirt and the beige leather jacket. I swallow and my heart starts to race again.

Like what you see?

The corners of her lips lift and her stare turns colder.

You really shouldn’t be screaming at your host, darling. It is considered rude.

Alright - I try to keep myself calm - Why am I here, can you tell me... please?

She furrows her eyebrows as if this wasn’t the answer that she was expecting. She takes a step back, her face more serious. She crosses her arms and looks around as if noticing the surroundings for the first time.

This is my place, the attic to be precise. And underneath it, there are 3 floors, all secure and locked. So it is in my interest to warn you, there is no way out - and it would be very smart of you, not to try.

She walks up again and I just stare at her, too shocked with everything to actually do anything. She takes out a knife out of her pocket and comes closer... then cuts the rope binding my hands.

There will be no need for that. After all, I am a businesswoman first - a scary monster is just a sweet extra to the package. Once again, I would advise you not to do anything stupid. I have a low patience for fools and you don’t strike me particularly as one. Do you understand what I’m saying here?

Yes, I do.

I sit up slowly, rubbing my wrist from the tightrope. This was getting stranger and stranger by the minute. It was a good thing I was a calm person by nature - this woman looked like she meant every word she said and could be very dangerous if given a chance.

Good. I will make sure that you are delivered some food to “your room”.

Wait.

I say quickly before she can leave. She looks around and stares at me questioningly. As if telling me “Don’t test me, girl, I have a low resistance for those who upset me”.

What is it now, princess?

I ignore her tone and take a deep breath. She stares at me and smiles at my faint attempt at gaining control.

Just tell me who you are and why I am here. Tell me anything... please.

I add after a moment when her stare turns darker.

As I said, just a businesswoman that has been treated as a fool by someone who wanted too much from me, that took something that wasn’t his.

What does that have to do with me?

Your father stole my possession and is working with people that I don’t approve of. People that are making my life much “more” difficult then it has to be. Do you understand what I am getting at?

My father.

I say weakly, not even arguing with her. Already familiar with my father’s doing’s - again he has put my life in danger, with this strange sociopath woman, that behaved as if she could tear me into pieces, like a real beast. And not just a beauty that flashed somewhere underneath all that anger and crippling scars.

I see that you are aware of your daddy dearest’s reputation. I’m glad. It will make things a lot less complicated. Now don’t panic sweetheart. You will be freed soon, just as long as I get back what I want. Are we good here? So glad.

She stares at my shocked expression and smiles. Her lips stretching into a heavy grin. There is fury underneath the calm that she pretends to have. I stare at her dark, long and wavy her, and eyes to match, they are so dark that they look like beautiful onyxes. Those eyes were ready for the kill if necessary.

❋

So days pass, my kidnapper not showing much and when she does, to check up on me, it usually causes tension and a lot of screaming. My screaming, she just smiles in her usual dark way as if this isn’t anything new to her, as if she was used to people hating her and treating her with rage.

So I try to stay calm, as much as I can. She terrifies me sometimes. Not with her looks, because I have grown used to that. Honestly, I don’t even notice it sometimes.

My focus on her behavior and mood swings. It’s that rage of hers bubbling underneath that scares me. Her scars are strange, but they are just a part of her, just something on her skin. Irrelevant. If only we could “get along more” then maybe this prison time would be more bearable. But there are also those odd days, when the situation almost seems normal... just two women living in the same house.

❋

I hear some rumbling in the basement and decide to go down there. Against my better judgment, because I promised myself that I would stay right here in the attic. In a faint attempt at being rebellious and sending her a clear message about how I felt.

She’s bending over an old water pipe, the damn thing shaking and making awful ear-piercing noises as if it was about to explode - and I could see that she was using some kind of heavy looking tools, trying to fix the damage.

She groans exasperated and finally looks up, her eyes full of fury and notices me. Standing there like a complete idiot, not sure if I should leave or stay. The coward in me struggling with my natural curiosity... and some unimaginable interest in this woman. She was a force of nature and it was fascinating watching the way she handled life.

Well, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to help me, princess?

She asks me in a mocking tone, a half-smile on her face. Though at the same time, I know that she must be in fact exhausted. Sweat dripping down her forehead, her face covered in dirt, almost making her white scars disappear. The bright light no longer pulsating, when her eyes stare at me. She looks so ordinary. So mundane. Not at all like the monster that she has such a high reputation for amongst her enemies and friends.

I thought I was your prisoner and not your slave.

I say sarcastically and cross my arms, defense mechanism kicking in.

Same thing darling.

She lifts her eyebrow, and I just shake my head. The coward in me slowly subsiding.

Now get over here, and help me before this ship starts to flood and sinks with you still in it.

_____

A sit in the old chair, legs thrown over the banister. She’s finishing the repair and my sweater hangs against the heater, my shoulders covered with a blanket.

It turned out we did have a small flood and a lot of cursing from someone. So much that if this was to be aired on TV, her hole rant speech, would be one long beep sound. I stare at her bare arms and wonder how is she not freezing - and then I start to think about something else and decide to ask her since all of the shoutings seemed to release some of the tension between us.

What’s your real name?

I ask, wrapping the blanket tighter around my arms.

Excuse me?

I can see her stop abruptly, whatever it was that she was doing.

You know, your real name, and not just the way your little minions call you?

She stares at me bewildered and strained, looking furious - and then, just like that, her expression turns normal. As if there was no rage to start with.

It’s Megan - a deep sigh - My name is Megan.

The way she said it, as if the word was almost unfamiliar to her. Like she hasn’t used it for a very long time. Her expression saying “a monster doesn’t need a name, whatever you call it, it’s still a monster in the end”. I bend my head again and stare at her intensely.

What? Having difficulty with something your highness?

She asks in a dark tone and returns to her doing’s, a heavy wrench finally sealing the pipe.

No, except the kidnapping and being held against my will... I am just “peachy”.

I don’t see her face, but I just know that she’s rolling her eyes at me.

Well ? Speak up, woman.

Can I ask you a favor?

Wasn’t me answering your question, just that?

She asks and I just sigh.

Could you stop calling me 'princess' all the time or your 'royal highness' ?

She turns around and stares at me, as if she wanted to make a hole in my head, just by looking at it. She puts a hand to her tired face and closes her eyes.

Fine... Grace.

She grinds her teeth and it sounds like there is sand stuck in her mouth. I snuggle in my blanket and stare at her with a satisfied look. Finally some progress.

Now, If I could just escape this danger area, I would be perfect.

❋

After that day, we seem to finally get along, it’s not exactly friendship yet, but there is some mutual respect. I like to sit in her huge library, going through all sorts of books. Partly because I like to read, and my family home was never filled with those, just with my father’s gambling problems. I sigh, focusing on the words before me, enjoying the heat from the fire, on this very cold day. Loud wind blowing through the cracks of this old house.

I get lost in the read, when suddenly I hear a noise. The front doors squeaking and being closed shoot, with an even louder bang. I roll my eyes, she was such a diva sometimes. As if saying “I’m back, prepare and hide all of your valuables” I hear her on the stairs and then see her stand by the frame of the door.

Some uncertainty about her behavior. I furrow my eyebrows and she crosses her arms,

giving me a funny smile.

Mind if I came in and got myself warmed up? It is freezing outside.

I wouldn’t know. You never “let me” outside.

She rolls her eyes and comes in, grabbing a chair and rubbing her cold hands and putting them closer to the fire.

Think I won’t bother your special lecture time?

Megan looks up and stares at me expectantly, waiting for the arguments to start.

You can stay... if you behave that is.

I will try my best.

She turns back and stares at the fire happily cracking. I look at her and the light that surrounds her. A warm glow, that makes her features softer somehow. I think she senses that and turns her head slowly, then looks at me and gives a small, shy smile. I take a deep breath as something moves inside of my. A strange feeling taking over me, my heart performing some odd dance under my chest. I swallow hard as a simple thought fills my head and rumbles away with force. I could love this woman. I feel a blush spreading on my cheeks and clear my throat. What was I thinking? She was my kidnapper, for crying out loud. This was ridiculous. She gives me an odd look and her smile deepens, causing my breathing to speed up again. What was going on around here?

You feeling alright? Did the big bad book scare you?

She mocks in a playful way and I regain some control. Her sarcasm returning some of my courage.

I was thinking how beautiful you look in that light, not as scary as usual... when you don’t look like you want to tear me up to shreds.

I say and she furrows her eyebrows as if she didn’t hear me correctly. Then I watch as a faint red color start to spread across her neck and reaching her face.

Oh, that’s... nice, I guess.

She stands up and starts to leave.

Don’t fool yourself. Sweet words won’t make you free you before it’s time.

I know. I’m fine with that, just stating the obvious.

And the weird thing is that I mean it. She is a beautiful woman, despite her white scars and her constant bad behavior, and it really would be easy to fall for her... if it hasn’t happened already.

❋

I like spending time with you.

I look up and stare at her, ready to go to sleep.

You show it in an odd way.

It’s just the way I am - and it would be better for you if you didn’t like me back. This will soon be over and you can return to your normal life.

What if I don’t want to ?

Then darling, you are a bigger fool than I thought.

She leaves and I stay in the attic all alone. She does that a lot. Getting me closer and pushing me away again. Like she wants me to be around and at the same time, she knows that this will never work. Her demons too strong to let her be happy. This hurts me so much because, despite the situation, I care for her, and with every day, I want to be closer to her. I’m not scared of her anymore, I’m just scared that she will leave me behind once all of this is over. I will be left with all of those unexpected feelings to cope with it.

This has got to stop.

I have to know what I stand on. I don’t care about my father’s debts, his foolish behavior and what he did. The only thing that matters is Megan and how I feel for her... and what she feels for me. And I know that she does, even when she pushes me away and thinks I want to gain something from this. I know there is so much more to her and I’m not going to leave her. Me and her - we deserve to be happy. We all had fears and bad stuff in our life to face, and there is the same fear underneath our skin.

❋

Another couple of days pass and I know we are stuck in place. Our fears and wants mixing together, causing tension. We act like caged animals, walking around in circles. Too stubborn to give in. All the rage and fear, confusing our minds. Playing with our broken hearts. And finally when it just too much for us, someone breaks.

And that person is me. I have had enough, this had to stop. I was taking control.

❋

I don’t care about your stupid scars !

I yell at her, frustrated, that she is constantly pushing me away. I groan exasperated and reach her momentarily, pulling on her shirt, to get her closer, and push my forehead to hers. Anger making me stronger. I let it fill me up and consume me. Finally, after just a moment of hesitance when even my heart stops to beat - I touch her lips, feeling so greedy and wanting more with every following second. I can also feel her strain, she’s surprised by my outburst, by what I just did. But then her hand lies on my back and she pulls me closer to her.

I guess I was fooling myself all of this time, thinking that I hated her for kidnapping me and acting like she owned me, but that was an act. I used my fury to cover other feelings. Pretending that the fear ruled me, that she was dangerous to be around. When in fact, she was just as scared as I was. She hated what happened to her and that hate spread like wildfire, taking everything with her and leaving her scorched.

Why are you doing this? Can’t you see what I have become?

She says to me in a whisper and shakes her head in the last attempt to pull me away.

The way you are now...

Hideous and a monster inside and out ?

She asks before I can finish my sentence.

No. You are not a monster, inside or outside. You’re just hurting.

She starts to protest again, but I shut her up and kiss her again, she doesn’t hesitate this time and takes complete control over me. She holds my face in hers and stares at me dazed, in complete awe, but happy. It’s about time, she had to suffer too much already.

And the way I look now? I’m a freak show.

Don’t you dare say that, okay? I won’t let you.

I pull the brown curls from her face and put it behind her ears.

You are beautiful to me. You have scars on the outside and I carry my inside... what’s the bloody difference ?

I smile at her and slip my fingers against the white pulsating scars, their tiny glow setting a warm notion of joy against my heart. The joy expands and leaves me almost breathless.

She is mine, this beautiful and amazing woman is all mine, and I am hers. I slip my fingers against the scars again, starting from the beginning. Under her left eye, against her cheek, down her jawline, then even lower as the scars turn into a curve, from her left side to the right, under her cleavage, straight to the heart. She holds my hand to her heart and stares at me as if she never saw a stranger creature then me.

I look at her face and see all of those emotions, that she has been putting off for so long. So many feeling fighting on her face. Each one of those feelings trying to take over at the same time.

You really don’t mind.

No. I never did. Just your outrageous behavior.

I smile and she returns it. Bursting into sudden laughter.

Well, sweetheart. You must be crazier than I am.

She grins, her whole body relaxing, and as the smile finally reaches her eyes. There is a rumbling sound and the earth starts to shake slightly. Furniture starting to move and the light flickering, sudden wind breaking in the completely closed room.

What's going on?

I scream at her because the strange wind is peeking up, the rumbling noises increasing as if all hell was waking up. I stare at her, and I can see that her body is in pain. She screams, her body bending in half.

No! Megan! What’s happening ?!

I try to reach her but there is an invisible force, not letting me through. Lightbulbs start to break, sending sparks all over the attic. I close my eyes and cover my ears, a dreadful noise filling the space around us. There is a big bang and I fall to the ground and roll into a ball. I lie there terrified, when just in seconds everything goes quiet. My heart is hammering under my ribcage and I breathe with difficulty.

Only one thought to keep me from fainting.

Megan.

I look up and there she is, in the same position that I am.

Megan? Are you all right?

She lifts her head and looks at me, her chest moving really fast. I freeze, too scared to even move.

I’m fine. I think. What the hell was that? Did you feel that? Like a wretched storm in here. Are you okay, love?

I stand up and so does she. I stare at her, something is different, but I can’t really tell what it is.

Yeah, I’m alright. What...

I don’t finish as something happens to her face.

The room fills with silence again and I forget to breathe. No sound, but one. It’s as if glass shattering, the sound of ice freezing, like little needles. Millions of little needles. I stare at her and her scars, and they just, crumble like old cement. Turning into dust and falling to the floor. I walk up to her and put a hand to her cheek. The dust on my hand, sparkling at first and then fading into oblivion. I stare in wonder at my hand and then look up, my gaze lost in hers, shaking my head and just smiling.

I think everything is going to be alright.

My stare is still in a daze as she looks at me and returns the smile, just as shocked as I was.

And then I feel it, a gentle warmth filling her from inside and outside. She found the peace for her raging soul. Now we both could breathe without fear or doubts.

I think so too. Thank you. For being my ‘grace’. I needed that in my life, so badly.

Yes.

I take her hand softly and watch her lips break into another smile.

You and me, just two beasts in a cage.

❋ .❋. ❋ .

Inspired by the Beauty and the Beast , and once upon a dream written for a modern fairytale challenge.

I hope you enjoy after some editing work and staring back at an impressive need I once had for ellipses (such addicting beasts... don't you think?) . I'm still working on it, but thankfully it has moved on to more steady level after all this time.