She sat there quietly gathering lace between her diminutive fingers. Two amber eyes stared out from a thick fringe of blond lashes. They blinked strands of ghostly blond hair away, too nervous to remove her fingers to do the task. Small perfectly pointed teeth chewed away at a pale, plump lip, a stockinged foot tapped away at the glossy parquet, and two round nostrils flared with each warm breath.
A small plate rested on the tipping side table, shielding its precious buttered scone from the ground, as it began its arc of destruction towards the wood. The child watched this magic happen, taking in every shift of movement throughout the fall. Her head snapped back to attention when the plate, still holding its vital cargo, made landfall. Through all the clatter and drama of the drop the tiny plate still manages to cushion its partner; even though it cost it much of its body. The scone lay there perfectly safe as small bits of the glass scattered around it in agony.
The sounds of the plate’s death throes brought a smile to the child’s lips because she had just discovered waking silence. There had always been an ever present breathing sound heard by the child, imperceptible to all other creatures. Sometimes the sound would overpower her and other times it was barely noticeable but it was always there. Thrumming inside her skull. The only other time that she could experience total stillness was when asleep. Once she awakened, the sound would begin anew and she would scream. All day long, she screamed and screamed and yet no one heard her. She would bring her hands to cover her tiny ears and still she must scream to try and block out the infernal buzzing. No one else could understand her suffering. She would never win.
But sometimes its pain could be eased by the presence of one. He came into the room at this moment and smiled kindly at the shuddering child. He bent over, unclasped the pale hands, and placed those tiny vessels back into the lacy exterior of her dress. He couldn’t hear her either but he seemed to understand more than the others. At least, that’s what she hoped. Large liquid eyes watched hers tenderly; their darkness only contrasting the lightness of her own. The noise dimmed in his presence, fading almost into obscurity when he cupped her heart-shaped face in his large, calloused hands and kissed her rosy cheeks with warm, soft lips. She loved him. This dear, beautiful man. It didn’t matter that he was almost twice her age, she knew what that feeling meant in a very innocent, juvenile way. She was only happy with him.
Whenever bored, he would let her out of their house, dressed up like a small doll, to meander through confection shops and to be coddled with at the dressmakers under his watchful eyes. She never saw the sad glances they directed at her back. She wouldn’t care if she had. She was just content to skip along beside him in an effort to keep pace so that her hand would remain ensconced in his broad palm. Occasionally, she would drag him to a new plush storefront and exclaim at things that caught her fancy. He would always enter the ones that she was very ecstatic about and discuss the object in question in a hushed voice. She would wait in a corner, peeking shy glances in his direction from around her pigment-less hair or a hat. They would always leave the stores with his one arm around her and a parcel cradled in the other. Whenever they were within a block of their home, she would slow down to a walk and he would throw her up into his arms and carry her the remainder of the journey. She would use the cold as an excuse to bury her face into the side of his neck and grip his broad shoulders. Her sanctuary.
One day, the man wouldn’t speak to her. He stood outside the room conversing with another man as she sipped the cup of tea that he prepared for her each morning. She tried to stay alert, but was overcome by an overpowering sleepiness. After half an hour of fighting to keep her eyelids apart, she succumbed and curled into a tiny ball in the plush armchair.
Hands. Dark, hairy hands. White knuckled and gripping around her thin throat. Pushing her further into the mattress. It groaned under their weight. A curled upper lip bared yellowed teeth and blasts of fetid breath tasting of cigarettes and liquor stung at her eyes. He panted close to her face and he would lick the inside of her ear every so often. Her whole body shook with the pain and lack of oxygen. She screamed. His eyes widened. One hand moved to cover her mouth. Two smoldering eyes glared into hers. His breath became more erratic. A low growl began to emerge from his chest. It only lasted a few seconds. He collapsed, heaving, on top of her. She shut her eyes
And opened them to the sounds of birds outside her window. The man sat on the edge of her bed reading to her as a doctor felt the clammy skin of her forehead again. Her eyes seemed blurry and mismatched while a throbbing pain in her hips made it even harder to focus. The breathing sound persisted, louder than usual. Her screaming was nothing to rival it now. The doctor stood and whispered something in snippets to the man. Too old. Changing. The man nodded and returned to the bed side, smoothing back her hair as the doctor exited the room. She could hear the front door click shut and the clunking noise of the lock’s tumblers as a servant barricaded the door. It was too late now. The man continued stroking her hair quietly and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek before standing and pouring himself a drink from the glass tumbler on the side table.
She watched feverishly as he downed one, then another, then another. His breath now became labored and he wobbled over to the bed. He lay down next to her, stroking her once flawless skin, now clouded with oil. He kissed her. Not on the cheek, on the lips. Her heart fluttered. He didn’t stop, not once. Not even when he crushed her throat nor when he ripped her flesh apart. I love you. He went harder. She didn’t scream once. The breathing sound was gone, all she could hear were his muttered words as she choked for breath. I love you. I love you. He was almost to his limit when she parted her lips and asked her only question. Why wouldn’t you call me Luke? The man’s eyes widened. I love you, the boy whispered. The man deftly snapped his neck. He finished at that moment and quietly shut the amber eyes. He pushed the lank hair away from the newly stubble ridden face and removed the dress from the bed. He threw a pair of pants over the body to cover its repulsive lower half leaving only the perfectly flat chest bare and cleaned himself thoroughly of the sickening scent of man.
