The Wilting Blue Flower

INT. A LOVELY DINING ROOM - DAY

MIA(44) looks down at her bland mushroom soup. It’s different from the usual taste. The liquid turning putrid in her mouth. She takes the napkin on her lap. She doesn’t remember placing it there. She wipes the soup from her tongue, but the flavour is persistent.

“Everything good, Mia,” a MAN(48) says across from her. She glances up at him. His presence is blending with the dull dining room. This is his home, Mia guesses. She’s not a fan of guessing; better to remember, she thinks to herself. Probably a habit she picked up from somewhere. Guessing bad, remembering good. 

She doesn’t like the way the man is staring at her. Oh god, the way he’s staring at her. If there was a walking red flag, it’s this man, the living embodiment of bad choices gone on far too long and a cesspool of bad choices.

Stringy hair of a balding man too old to care and not young enough to do something about it. It lays on his sunspotted head like a greasy cap. His clothes are at least clean, but like psych ward clean. Mia’s never gone to a psychiatric ward, but she’s seen enough TV to know how off-putting they can be with their sharp corners and dull colours.

That’s the dining room, simple colours of grey and beige, not the nice kind you’d find in a modern home of the, quote-unquote, new generation. But more in the style of old and aged. The way the wall paint bubbles from years of neglect, letting the moisture rip it from the walls, is unsettling. The floor is in the same state, not bubbling, of course, but not swept or mopped.

It doesn’t bother Mia. She looks at it for a second before losing it in her mind. The problem is the man across from her. Staring at her with those eyes, those energetic blue eyes. It’s as if she’s a pet on display.

“Tell me again how we met?” The man asks. He slurps up a spoonful of mushroom soup. The sound cutting the silence and irritating the ticking analogue clock on the wall. Even the house dislikes this man's existence. Forced upon these walls without consent and abused with images it never wanted.

"H-how we met, huh?" Mia asks. She plays it cool. She can't run; even as thin as the man may look, it's a risk. She pieces together a smile. "Why don't you tale me?"

"No, no, no, no." His voice holding a slight annoyance as he stirs his soup. "I love it when you tell me." He locks eyes with her again. A smirk creeps on her face before a chill runs down her spine. "Wait... Did you say tale? You meant tell, right?”

"Yeah, that's what I said... tell." She really needs to get out of here, she thinks. But her mind can't formulate a plan. Run and get caught. Fight and get killed or worse. Why can't she remember how she got here?

"Everything okay?" the man asks. His voice flows like velvet sheet on gravel, catching on every rock. Charisma is something this man lacks, and it's evident to Mia. The lack of it is so apparent it hurts her to hear him speak.

"I'm okay," she quickly responds. "Why do you want to know all of a sudden?"

"Why are you asking? You’ve always told me when I’ve asked."

"Oh. Have I?"

The man's eyebrow twitches at her response. "You can't forget," he tells her with a stern look.

"I haven't." She tells him. She doesn't know why she said that. It's instinctual. Like something she's always said. She thinks that she's always said it. The words hold a type of power, a statement. One that might already be broken.

She stands up and takes the bowl to the sink. How did she know where the sink was? She just knew every kitchen tends to be the same. It doesn't take long to find the layout and commit it to memory.

She passes a fridge and notices a photo of herself with some people she doesn't recognize. No, she does recognize them. It's her family. But what she doesn't remember is when she took the photo.

She must have stood there longer than she should have because the man is already upon her, taking the bowl from her hand. She flinches.

“Come, let's do the dishes," he tells her. Mia half listens, her attention drawn to her hand. There's a ring with a diamond stud with two sapphires next to it. The ring isn't new; it’s locked on her finger from constant wearing.

"Remembering our wedding?" The man asks, turning on the faucet. He slowly increases the flow.

"Y-yes. A wonderful time."

"It was, except for my father. He was a little drunk then, trying to gather your attention."

Should I run? Mia thinks. The man's back is to her. She wonders where the exit is. It's the only thing she hasn't found. There are two doorways in the kitchen, each leading to another room. It could be salvation or another maze. Now that she's looking around, there's a bag of trash, or something that she thinks is trash, lying in the corner. It doesn't smell, but it takes up space. The area is cluttered like a pack rat, trying to keep everything it’s found.

"A terrible time," Mia says.

"But we got through it."

Mia slowly approaches the sink. She tells herself to be patient. She'll get out of this. Helping the man out with the dish turns out to be more of a risk than she thought.

She looks down at the soap-filled sink and just stares. She chuckles. How do I do this again? She thinks to herself. The man hands her a dish, and she takes it. Slowly she dips it into the water, letting the soap wash off. Right, this is how you do it.

They work in silence. Every once in a while, he tries to reach for her hand. Each time she pulls away.

The man slowly reaches for her hand again. He doesn't know why she's being so fickle. He kind of likes it, a challenge before the main course.

She pulls away.

The man tries again, and Mia pulls out, stepping away from the sink. She can't even fathom why she even entertained the idea. What was the purpose? She can't pinpoint it. Maybe it was a way to throw him off his guard. Maybe in a way she did care for him? "No," she tells herself.

"No? What is going on with you, my dear?" the man asks.

"Nothing, you're going too fast."

"I assure you the time of going slow is far behind us."

“Well, I want it slow," Mia says, taking one of the doors.

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

It takes her to the living room, which is even more cluttered than the kitchen. There is an enormous amount of photos on the walls and on ledges. Most of them of her and the man. Some of just her at different ages. Elementary, middle school, high school, university, and galas. The same for the man as well. She thinks she just walked into a memory palace but fears it’s not her own.

There are knickknacks and trinkets that probably hold special meaning, all lost on her.

She hears the faucet turn off, and it brings her back to her primary goal. Escape. But she can't find the bloody door.

She freezes as the man’s hands wrap around her waist. She tenses. There’s pain in her body. Her joints ache. There’s a fatigue in her that she hadn’t noticed before. It feels like she’s been stretched out and overused. The moment she feels the man’s lips press against her neck, she breaks free.

“Going a bit fast, aren’t we?” Mia chuckles.

“I think I’m going quite slow.”

“Maybe we should go to the room.”

“I think here is fine," the man says, pulling her close. She was right. He is a lot stronger than he looks. "I'm starting to like this bait and hunt scenario."

"Bait and hunt? I don't know what you're talking about."

The man lays some soft kisses on her neck. She can smell the cologne on his skin. The worst type. A mix of sleazebag and medicine. She pushes against him, and he pulls her in tighter.

She can feel her pressure rising as they fall back to the couch. She thinks it's a couch. It covered in blankets. They smell like the man and...

...her?

Mia glances at the sofa, but it’s short-lived. The man grabs her jaw and turns her face. He kisses her lips. Soft pecks before delving more aggressively, as his tongue worms its way into her mouth. It rubs against hers.

She hears a click, and suddenly her bra feels loose. He's good, she thinks, and it’s bad. The way he undressed and unclipped her bra was something Mia felt like the man had done a thousand times. Yet, to Mia, it’s her first.

If she's not careful, he's going to have his way with her. Her little gambit isn't going to pay off. The plan was to wear him out and then escape, but she didn't want to sleep him. The man is proving he's more of a stud than she thought.

She can feel his hands sliding up underneath her shirt. From the corner of Mia's eyes, she sees the light coming from what she can tell is a door. The exit.

The man stops kissing her. "Tell me how we met again." He orders her, taking deep, long breaths. He can feel himself riling up, and now he wants that little push.

Mia shakes her head no.

"Tell me how we met again?" This time a bit more concerned. Mia shakes her head, and the man slides his hands up against her skin. She screams and kicks him hard in the groin. Letting her stalker fall back. She jumps from the couch and rushes to the door. She knocks over the knickknacks.

"Mia!" the man calls out to her. "WhAt's mY nAmE?!"

She freezes as she holds the doorknob. She looks back at the shivering man. The look on his face strikes a chord in her heart. The fear riddles his complexion. She’s missing something. It’s important. Very important to her and to him. They had a relationship, a bond of sorts. A pact.

"I don't know you, you freak." She says. Tears burst from the man’s face as she watches this forty-year-old bawl and shake like a toddler. He calls her name over and over and over. She can't take it and opens the door.

EXT. OUTSIDE - CONTINUOUS

Once outside, Mia freezes. She doesn't know where she is. The neighbour doesn't look familiar, and that scares her. Maybe she should take a walk around. Maybe she’ll see something familiar. Maybe not.

She takes a step forward into this unknown world, then she remembers. She turns back to the house. "the man?"