An Unhealthy Obsession

My lashes untangle, letting go of the everlasting hug they were in. I try to rub my eyes, only to find that my hands are handcuffed to each other. A spark of uneasiness hits me as it becomes clear that my feet are tied as well. They are behind my back, tied to a pole, stopping me from escaping this unfamiliar place. I start examining the scenery around me, hoping for a free soul to come and take me with it. 

It is an old room and occurs to be locked for years. The cobwebs and thick layer of dust cover the wooden floor; it has nothing placed on top of it. A room without a window is a prison, it only signals descent and nothing else. I have been taught this by my grandmother. 

The only piece of furniture is the wooden table; motionless in the corner. It stands still as if attempting to warn me about the dangerous instruments it might be a home of. The door in front of me is the exit, while the one on the left is a bathroom. I could tell that because the left one is slightly ajar, and a smell worth puking for is emitting from it, enveloping the lifeless objects.

“How the heck did I get myself in this situation!” I whisper as I swedge to break free. Although, I am aware that it is of no use.

As the door slowly creaks, my apprehension level ascends.

There she stands, wearing her signature smile. Her charcoal eyes peek from the long bangs, and the rest of her hair is tied up in a messy bun. The short strands of brown hair sway freely from the sides as she walks toward me. The warm smell of canned soup originates from the bowl she’s carrying, making my stomach growl as if it will digest itself if I don’t feed it anything soon.

“Why the heck am I here, tied up?” I question.

Her stillness angers me.

“Answer me, Lenore! Why am I here?” I try again, but no replies to my question. 

However, there is some motion. She sits poised in front of me and speaks, "you’ve been passed out for two hours, fifteen minutes, and forty-six seconds. Add twenty seconds to that too; that’s the total time I was away from you, not listening to you sleep.” She forwards the bowl, “Eat it now. You must be hungry.” 

“I don’t want it!" I assert, "Tell me why I'm tied up.”

“Darling, please, eat it. This is the last time, I’m warning you.” She brings the bowl closer to my mouth.

“No!” 

I yank my head away from it, causing the soup to slop on her grey jeans.

She rises. Her standing up is the last thing I see before her fist hit my jaw. I am pretty positive that I have lost a tooth or two. I am trying to alleviate my unfortunate tongue that happened to be in between my teeth when she smacked me. I peer at her from the corner of my eye- she is scooping up the spilled soup with her hands. She collects it in the bowl. 

“I worked hard on this!” she says as she clenches my jaws.

I gag as she gushes the soup down my throat. She flings the bowl away when she hears me coughing. I desire water, but I am unable to demand it due to the continued cough. Her hands brush the soup off my lips. She licks her fingers. My urge to puke got stronger by witnessing all this. I was caught off guard when leaned in and licked my jaw.

“I don’t know whether it's the soup that tastes amazing or you.”

*****************************************************

I notify her that I need to use the restroom.

"It's an old tactic," she says.

"Well, what do I do know then? I gotta pee." I argue.

"Pee your pants. There's no way I’m letting you use the bathroom, simultaneously providing you a chance to escape."

"You know I can’t hold in my pee." 

She ponders for a bit and lets me use the bathroom.

"Don't try to do anything funny though."

"I won't"

She unlocks the chains.

"Un-cuff me, how am I-"

"Shhh, you have to use it this way or pee your pants."

I try to walk and stumble due to my handcuffed feet. She holds my handcuffed hands and leads me to the bathroom. I want to pull my hands away from her, but now is not the right time. 

When we reach the bathroom door, I push her away and lock it. 

Something has got to be here, come on! I mutter to myself as my eyes frantically search for something useful.

I search every drawer, my eyes begging for something I could use in my defense. They are empty. Only spiders appear to be having a fun time in there. At last, I spot a hair dryer behind the dusty toilet.

“Open the door, honey," she bangs on the door.

"Open the door, please." The banging becomes harder, threatening the door to plead for its life, "open this shitty door, I say!"

The dryer is clutched in my sweaty hand, my hair blocking my vision. But I am too scared to care for it. I can't afford to pay attention to something else except that door.

"I have the keys, don't make me use them, darling! It'll be good for both of us if you just open the door. "

The creaking sound of the door made me jump a little. Without having a second thought, I thrash the hair dryer ahead. It landed with a loud thump. That was my signal. I look up -in the hope to see Lenore lying on the floor- but to my surprise, she wasn’t there. Breathing became a hard task for me. I wait a couple of minutes before stepping outside. Not a single sound was there to hear. My tied feet made me slip. I hear a soft chuckle as I turn around. There she was- ready to strike me. She leaps towards me, but I successfully land a kick on her head. 

She hit the wall. 

This is my chance. I gather myself up and hopped to the door only to find out that it has been locked. Damn. I never saw her locking it. My soul leaves my body then and there as the clouds of realization start to float in that I cannot escape. I am greeted with a forceful hit on my head as I turned around. My ears start filling with a buzzing sound. The blurry image of her taking deep breaths is the last thing I see before my head hits the wooden floor. 

*****************************************************

“Your father is a cop, he’s gonna find out that you’ve kidnapped me, Lenore!”

For the past couple of minutes, I’ve been trying all sorts of verbal threats- more like manipulation strategies, but nothing seems to affect her.

“If you agree on marrying me, we can blame it on a made-up person. But if you don’t, I’m gonna say that you brought me here.”

“I’m tied up!” I make a sensible statement, unlike her.

“Don’t accept me to fall for that- I’ve already got that covered.” She scoots over towards me.

I try my best to hide the look of disgust on my face but sadly, I’m not great at acting. I cringe as she lays her head on my shoulder, “why doesn’t anybody love me? Growing up, my abusive parents didn’t give a shit about me, nor did I have any friends. I felt like everyone forgot I existed.They all called me a creep- but you accepted me. I developed feelings for you, and they got stronger day by day-“

“I have a fricking girlfriend! And I love her.” I interrupted her.

She silences me, putting her finger on my lips.

“I confessed to you, numerous times, but you rejected me. Why did you love her?”

“Not did do. I still do love her-” 

She covers my mouth with her hand that scents dried up blood. It made me incapable of speaking.

I’ve taken care of her as well.” She giggles.

“What? What have you done to her!?” I demand answers.

“She was a pain in the butt.”

“Tell me”, I push her off, “where is she?”

“Why do you love her so much, dammit!"

She stands up and rages towards the table at the corner, “she’s dead now, and you’re mine!”

“I- No, no, no! She can’t die like that!” I cry as I struggle to free myself.

My heart feels like being buried under a huge stone. I find my lips quivering, and tears ran down my cheeks, wetting the dusty jeans I am wearing. 

“I can look just like her!” she yells.

“How could you do that to her! She was the one who introduced you to me, I didn’t even know you existed!“

She ignores my painful cries and grabs the rusty scissors. Her brown locks dripped down like feathers.

“You liked her because she had short hair, right? Right! Look, I have short hair too. And her cheeks would always be a pretty shade of pink,” she says as she puts the burning hair dryer on her cheeks. 

An unbearable holler encircled the atmosphere, accompanied by her tears. 

She deliberately steps toward me, “you liked her because she was white? I’ll bleach my skin! Please," she sits in front of me, “I’ll do anything just... love me.”

Her facades remain meaningless to me. I just sit there like a sculpture, consuming everything she did. 

“I liked her because she was not you,” I whisper before drenching my face with tears.

“Please, just look at me. I know you would love me," she puts my head on her shoulder, “Please, just talk to me."

"You're hurting me."

I close my eyes wanting to fade away. My tears dampened her shoulder.

She tightens her grip while enunciating between tears, "just love me, okay?"