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I closed my eyes.
Abruptly the weight of the bed gave way. I opened my eyes and he was standing, holding the core out to me. I gripped the blanket, holding my breath.
He glowered and said, “In time you’ll wish you’d taken this from my hand.” Then he walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
I threw the blankets off, sat up, and exhaled until my chest felt like it would cave in. I stared at the door. My skin felt hot and cold, like I had the flu. I recognized the feeling as safety, relief. He was gone, maybe for the night.
I could sleep, alone. This room was dark and foreboding, but at least I was alone. I didn’t have to spar with him or, more importantly, what he did to me. I settled back into the bed, my limbs relishing the warmth and my muscles finally releasing the tightness that had been wrapped around them like a boa constrictor all day.
Then the door flew open.
At the harsh banging sound of the door bouncing against the wall, I jumped off the bed. I didn’t look to see who it was; it was instinct. Thoughts weren’t coherent. I just knew I had to hide. I scrambled to the floor and under the bed. Tears fell from my lids, but I wasn’t crying. To cry I would have had to acknowledge what was happening, and conscious thought had left the building.
I wasn’t even under the bed when a hand grasped my ankle.
“No, please!” I frantically palmed the carpet, the soft fibers feeling rough and cruel against my skin as I was pulled out from under the bed, the light from the other side disappearing.
He threw me to the ground and seconds later I heard the door slam. Pushing my hair out of my face, I looked at the new room. I tried to find any distinguishing features, but there weren’t any. It was small, no bigger than a closet—I would know, too, considering I’d slept in one most my life.
The place was barren. There was no furniture, meaning no bed, no lamp, no chairs—just in case you didn’t get the picture with no furniture. The hardwood floor shone even in the darkness.
There was only one item in the small space: an apple core.
An apple core he’d obviously left behind.
My gaze traveled to the door I’d been thrown through, eyes fixing on the doorknob. It was fancy looking, some kind of turquoise porcelain with a brass lace head.
I blinked, looking away. I didn’t need a bed. I could sleep on the floor. I’d sleep in the attic in the scratchy insulation if it meant I could get away from the Beast. There was just one thing keeping this from being my heaven, one little thing: a window. A small, wide-open window exposed me to the frigid, New York City winter.
I walked right to it and of course tried to close it. I tugged and tugged but it was painted or glued or held open only for Thor to close. With a sigh, I went to the opposite side of the room and sat in a corner, drawing my knees up to my chest.
I unzipped the Dior dress and lifted it so I could pull my arms inside the fabric, sort of how I used to do with sweaters when I was a child and Papa would forget to pay the gas bill. The sweater arms would hang limply by my side and I would keep myself warm by putting skin to skin. The dress didn’t have arms though, so I tugged the skirt up around my neck.
Snow was starting to fall outside and the wind carried it inside the room. It fell on the floor, dusting the hardwood with white ashes. Shivering, I stuck my head inside the dress. I figured he wouldn’t leave me here for very long. That was what I thought at first.
At first, the cold was just uncomfortable.
My hunger increased.
My thirst did too.
My skin numbed.
After what felt like two hours, I lifted my head; the floor was entirely dusted in snow. I glanced over to the door and it was like the doorknob grew before my eyes.
I stood up. Holding the dress to my body, I walked over and curled my fingers around the knob. It turned and would have opened for me, but I snapped my hand back as if the knob was electric. Memories of what happened the last time I went through an unlocked door slammed into me and I stumbled backward, still staring at the porcelain knob.
Slowly, I walked back to my corner. Sitting down, I stared at the turquoise knob and stuck my hands inside my dress again. The dress was a reminder of the lesson I’d learned about unlocked doors: the other side was undoubtedly worse. I was freezing, but I didn’t put my head back into the dress.
On the floor white cinders of snow masked the dark wood. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the door, but it was hot on my neck, just like the apple core. I was all alone in the room, but it was like I was trapped inside with two other bodiless, malevolent entities.
I tried to focus my mind on the way the snow drifted across the floor. It slid and slipped, like it was floating. At the end of what felt like three hours, I gave up. I stood up and, holding my dress so it wouldn’t fall, walked over to the window, my ribs feeling like they were made of paper. The entire time the doorknob and apple core were at my back.
When I reached the window a gust of chilly air hit me.
It was night time, but the city that never slept was earning its name. Lights were on everywhere, twinkling in reds, yellows, whites. Cars were honking in a cacophonous symphony. I put one hand on the sill and looked down at the street. People were milling about, but they looked tiny. It would be a long way to fall, but it would be over instantly.
If only I could fit.
