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He could kill me if he wanted, and the plastic cover I used to catch paint would catch my blood. He’d roll me up and haul me out.
“If you'd rather, I'll address you as Isabella. The name doesn't matter, only that we're in each other's company. 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' Cheesy, right? But I'm aware of your penchant for such sentiments," he rambles on. Offering a reply doesn’t even cross my mind. There isn’t enough air entering my lungs for anything other than shuddery cries. There's nothing to do but try to survive his verbal attacks. That is…until silence overtakes the apartment.
“Isabella,” my new identity was strangled on his tongue. It's no longer mine. “Look at me,” he demands. Forcing my attention, I fix my eyes on the man.
“Say my name.”
My head shakes, and soft whines and desperate pleas reminiscent of a breached dam spill from my lips. It's beyond me.
“Please, Isabella. It’s been so, so long,” he falls to his knees, grabbing at my thighs and pressing his lips against the base of my ear, “Say it,” his command is losing its faulty charm, showing the sound of his bared teeth more and more, “Come on, say it, say it,” his grip tightens.
Dry bitterness sticks to my tastebuds. Before causing any upset, it's crucial to spit it out. The first few attempts I make at speaking fail, fizzling out into whimpers.
“D–Dan…te,”
He smiles, showing off his scarily sharp canines and an excited glint in his widened eyes. His satisfied moan disgusts me. Bile is climbing up my esophagus. The grasp his hands have on my limbs doesn’t lighten. In fact, it becomes heavier as he lays his weight on me, squeezing me in a tight hug and resting his head on my chest. Paralysis grips me.
“Whoa, Isabella, calm down; you're excited, I get it. I am too, but if you don’t slow down your heartbeat, you’re gonna go into cardiac arrest,” he chuckles. His joke isn't funny. “Here, I’ll remove the cloth so you can breathe better,” his fingers grab the fabric. He pauses, “If you scream, I’ll kill you.”
Hesitantly, I nod. The desire for the gag's removal panics me. He plucks it from my mouth.
“Is that better, baby?” The pet name is laced with venom, no matter how hard he tries to make it sound like syrup. Nodding, I stifle my sobs. Provoking his anger isn't an option. Speaking is like walking through a minefield. The silence is safer. He takes a deep breath.
“I was thinking,” he initiates, “...and three years is a long time to think, by the way, so you know that I’ve thought this through—you’ve had your break, your moment of being‘single,’and it’s been time to end this little game of tag you’ve been making me play. I don’t think it’s fair to me, and I don’t think it’s fair to yourself to force yourself through all these mental gymnastics. Moving, unemployment, your hair!” he points out, running his fingers through the strands, “We talked about your impulsiveness.”
He won’t stop talking, although I wish he would. The rapid progression from insane into a seemingly genuine concern for my well-being sickens me. It's so simple for him. To switch, just like that. I can’t believe I fell for it. He was always like this, and when I think back on my memories, I'm confounded by the lack of red flags before we started dating. Everything he said made sense, even when it didn’t fit together. He made it work. I was always thefucking idiotthat allowed him to convince me with his ‘logic’ and ‘facts’ and charm. It was the times he looked and sounded normal that terrified me.
"A secluded retreat awaits us," he muses, shedding his prior seriousness. Instantly, I shoot him a glare.
A what?
"I've acquired a boat! Just the two of us embarking on a sea adventure. It's bound to be enjoyable, I assure you. Now, I just need to strategize getting you onboard,” he mutters in his last sentence, checking the time. It's nearing five. “You didn’t make it easy on me, I gotta say. Down hundreds of flights of stairs, through the lobby, and out thiscrowdedcity,” he chuckles. Bitterness seeps through the laugh, “And we knowyou’regonna try and stir up some trouble,” he bangs my nose harder than he should’ve.
He is going to kidnap me.
“I guess we’ll figure it out when the time comes,” he voices. “In the meantime, let’s catch up, shall we?”
He's going to drag me out to sea and throw me overboard.
“Isabella?” he sings, “Can you focus on me for five minutes, huh? Hah,” he clenches his teeth.
Soon, I’ll be missing and most likely never found again. I don’t have time for small talk. Still, I can’t make him angry.
My gaze follows the man as he returns to the couch, getting comfortable again.
“I know you’re not the best at keeping up conversation. Don’t worry, I have some things I wanna ask you about,” he flashes his canines at me again, “What’s with this Evan Blackburn guy?”
Oh no.
“Only a client,” I respond quickly. I need to get him off his radar immediately. My voice is more strained than I expected. The numb dissociation keeping my brain from overloading doesn’t translate to my hiccupping and trembling frame.
“Only a client,” he repeats. He doesn’t believe me, “Mm…handsome, rich client…gave you thischarmingapartment,” he drawls, running his palm across the couch’s seat cushion, “Must be a real generous client.”
“He didn’t want the interviewers t-to…see my old apartment. Too ratty,” I explain. It's pointless. He nods.
“You’re so gullible sometimes.”
Well, he has something right.
