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Part 25
Disclaimer: I used a few sentences from “The Berrisford Agenda”, slightly modified, in this part during the Joshua/Liz talk. Not mine, just borrowing.
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“What are we doing down here?” I ask Joshua, slightly creeped out.
We’re in the basement. Have I mentioned that I hate basements? Well, I do. Too many spiders. Have I mentioned that I hate spiders? Well, I hate them.
Yeah, yeah, I know. They’re fascinating creatures, how can anybody even remotely interested in science hate them?
Simple. I just do. They’re way too creepy and way too fast and have way too many legs if you ask me. I shudder at the mere thought of them.
Can you imagine what happens when I actually see one?
Yup. Exactly. I turn into Maria. Hell, Maria sucked into the alien abyss was the personification of cool and composed compared to me when I see a spider. Remember her running from the Crashdown screaming? That’s me, only ten times worse and with a lot more jumping up and down and swatting at myself to rid my body of non-existent spiders that I feel crawling all over me.
Paranoid much? Hell, yeah. At least when it comes to my arachnophobia.
In the mean time Joshua is cramming around in what looks like a big pile of rubble. Then I realize that those are his paintings. Oops. Sorry.
Pulling one of them out he puts it on the table in front of us, leaning it against the piece of junk that’s on top of it.
I raise my eyebrows and open my mouth, but as much as I try to come up with something to say that would at least be in the direction of nice, I can’t. All I see on the canvas are a few brushstrokes of color at the sides, the rest is black. This is supposed to be art?
“Oh, um, that’s really-” I begin, trying to come up with something civil to say, but my mind just goes blank. Guess that happens when you remove civil from your repertoire, you can’t just switch it back on whenever you feel like it.
“This Alec,” he says.
“What?” I say, not quite able to hold back my laughter. But hey, at least I’m laughing and not crying. God knows the mention of his name is enough to make me feel like I could weep for weeks on end, especially after our recent fall-out.
I haven’t seen him once ever since and it’s been days. But that’s for the better…right? Right. I want nothing to do with him. I just tend to forget that sometimes…have to remind myself of that little fact every now and then.
“Alec very complicated. Outside lots of pretty colors,” Joshua continues, pointing at the edges of the painting. “Tricks and treats. Inside, darkness. Confusion. Pain.”
Is he serious? This is supposed to represent Alec? The guy who calls the TV his ‘boob tube’? The guy who thinks it’s the most normal and acceptable thing in the world to cheat on his girlfriend, sleep around as if he was Casanova himself and generally treat girls like scum, lying and cheating like the deceitful, heartless, two-faced bastard that he is?
“Whatever,” is all I say. Let him keep his illusions if it makes him sleep better at night. I’m not going to be the one to rob him of them.
Joshua suddenly pulls a second painting out of his pile and puts it beside the one of Alec. It looks a lot like the first one, except that it’s black all over with bits of color peeking through every now and then, as if it had been all colorful at first and then carelessly painted over with black.
“This Liz,” he says softly.
What the hell?! That’s supposed to be…oh please! No way in hell does that represent me! Come on! Where does he get all this nonsense from? Been watching the ‘boob tube’ too much with Alec? This guy has seriously being sniffing too much paint. Those hazardous fumes must have damaged that canine brain of his. Or maybe he’s been eating those fruit loops made two decades ago. A new life form has probably evolved out of them by now, must do funny things to your body if you actually sample the stuff.
I’m about to protest, tell Joshua that he couldn’t be more wrong if he tried, but something in his gaze stops me.
“Liz thinks she can outsmart Joshua,” he says quietly. “But Liz only outsmarts Liz.”
Then he turns around and leaves. And I’m left to stand there, staring at my soul, so perfectly captured on a canvas that it’s scaring the shit out of me.
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I feel a bit uneasy going back to Crash. Hell, uneasy is the understatement of the year. My stomach is tied in greasy knots, my mouth dry…I’m beyond nervous, scared.
The last time I was here I ran into Alec and that’s the last thing I want to do right now. Seeing him…it hurts too much. It’s dangerous. Reminds me of things I want to forget, hence making it impossible to forget them in the first place.
And if I’m honest with myself, I’m terrified that he’ll actually ignore me too if I do see him. Our last fight in Terminal City…that one was different…felt different.
Final, somehow.
I glance around, let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see him anywhere. Not that that has to mean anything. There are back rooms, not to mention that he could walk in the door any second.
I head straight to the bar, wait for the bartender to come over. Ask him if he’s seen Ava around lately, show him the picture. He shakes his head, says she hasn’t been in for weeks. The disappointment hardly registers, I’m so eager to get out of there again.
A gentle hand on my arm stops me. I gasp, whirl around. It’s not Alec. I curse the part of me that has the audacity to be disappointed.
It’s…damn it, what’s his name? He was here the first time I came in to ask about Ava. Bruce…Brandon…Brady? No. But it was something with ‘B’…I think.
He smiles at me. “Hey…Liz, right?” His voice is soft, nice. “It’s nice to see you again.”
My lips quake into a quick smile before it disappears again. “Yeah…been busy.” Then I remember that he knows Ava. “Um, you didn’t happen to see Ava lately, did you?”
“Ava? No, I’m sorry, I haven’t seen her. Are you still looking for her?” His voice is slightly concerned, his brows furrowed.
I grimace. “Yeah. Um, anyway, I have to get going. Nice seeing you again.”
I turn to walk away but his nice, soft voice stops me. “Wait. Would you like to have a drink with me? I’d very much like to get to know you better.”
I hesitate for the fraction of a second. “I’m sorry, Brian.” Right…Brian. That was his name. “I really can’t. Another time maybe.”
“That’s okay,” he tells me pleasantly. “Have a nice evening.”
All too grateful to finally leave the place, I hurry up the stairs, push the door open. The chilly wind wraps itself around my body but I hardly even mind, hardly even notice. It was warm at Crash but I’d prefer the windy streets over that place any time of the week.
I start heading home, get about ten yards away from the bar. What happens next is like a blur.
Someone clamps a hand over my mouth from behind, another hand wraps itself around me in a violent embrace. Before I can even process what’s going on I’m dragged into the shadows, thrown against the wall. My head meets the bricks with a sickening crack and I almost black out.
“You fucking bitch! You little cunt! Think you’re too good for me, don’t you?! I do everything right, everything the fucking way you sluts want it! I’m nice, polite, friendly and even offer to pay you a fucking drink! And you can’t even give me five fucking minute of your fucking time! Got what you wanted and just walked out on me like all the other whores, using men like you own the fucking world!” He’s screaming at me, shaking me.
That’s when I register who it is.
It’s Brian. Not the Brain from the bar two minutes ago…no friendly face, no serene manner.
A brutal grimace distorts his normally hansom features. His eyes…there’s an insane look in his eyes. My fear triples, my heart beating furiously in my chest. He’s trapped my arms behind my body. I can’t move. Can’t fucking move…can’t breath.
“You need to be taught a lesson…you all need to be taught a lesson,” he mutters.
Oh god…oh god. He’s going to rape me. He’s going to kill me.
That’s all I can think, over and over again. Tears shoot into my eyes…frozen into place…terror robbing me of the ability to move. I’ve never been so scared, so terrified.
I feel his breath on my face…panting, hot, sickly sweet. I clamp my lips together tightly when he presses his mouth against mine, whimper, try to turn away. He pulls back leering at me, panting harshly.
His hand grabs my breast roughly, squeezes hard. It hurts. I whimper again before a sob breaks free.
“Please,” I whisper. It’s all I can think of, all I can say. “Please don’t do this. Please.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up you little slut! You brought this upon yourself! You with your high and mighty attitude! This will teach you! This will fucking teach you to use men, to play with them! Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?!”
I’m openly crying by the time he tears open my blouse. I try to twist away from him, squirm out of his grasp. I try to fight him, damn it, but there’s nothing I can do. My hands are trapped.
He’s a head taller than me, outweighs me by at least fifty pounds and he’s a hell of a lot stronger than I am. He’s pressed against me in a way that prevents me from kneeing him, kicking me, moving in any way at all actually. I’m helpless. I’m fucking helpless.
Oh god, no.
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